First post of 2012

My first post of 2012.
A year when I have to look on the bright side
When I have to make things happen for me.
When I have to let the bad stuff just wave over me
and the good stuff stick by.
A year when my life starts again.

dix

Alone and blogging

I haven't really been able to blog for a while in fact there is so much in my life that I haven't been able to manage. I know I may have put this before but to explain my 30 year marriage ended 15 weeks ago now. He left me by sending a text message and ran off with one of my best friends. And it hurts so much. Every day I just hope it will start getting easier - and to be honest in some ways it is. I no longer want him back. I realise that what he has done is so bad and has hurt so much there is no going back. But still I wake every morning with them in my head and I go to sleep the same and in between I have moments of OK, moments of better than OK and moments of utter hell.

I ache inside, I ache with loneliness. I feel it like a pain. I know it is too soon to even be thinking about starting another relationship but I so miss having someone around. After 30 years, even though they weren't all good I so miss waking up beside someone, having someone to talk to, discussing the rubbish on TV, eating with and so on and so on. Some days I really believe that one day there will be someone else for me but most days all I feel is a great be empty hole of the future of being alone, of coping alone. And I absolutely hate it.

Today is a bad day, a really bad day - lots and lots of crying already, up at 5am because I can't bear lying there thinking of them, thinking of what they have done. I can't ring my friends crying anymore - I have had enough of me so I know they have. I want it to stop -I want the days to be better, I want to feel like I can cope with boy and just make a life for myself alone and not keep feeling like this. I know many many people live alone and they do just fine, they are happy and able to live their life to the full. I have done so many things to try and make this go away but it just wont. I am at college one day a week, I volunteer, I have got the house much tidier and have really cleared the clutter, I cook and I clean and I do the garden and I cut wood - lots and lots of things. But I still have so many days like today when I just feel so empty, so alone and can't stop crying.

I know if I just make myself then I should be writing - that may be the savour to my life - if I can write everyday and really get into it I might stop feeling like this but trouble is my concentration span is hopeless, my confidence lower than usual and my avoidance huge.

I have started to do some jogging, maybe physical exercise will stop the pain and help me continue to loose weight and help me see a future for myself.

So here is my first blog for a while and yes it is just me feeling sorry for myself - as another blogger puts it a proper visit from the 'self pity' gnome. I don't know if it will help but I have to try, I have to try anything to stop myself feeling like this. I know somewhere inside I have the means to move on but some days I just can't summon it up.

If anyone is reading this 'I am sorry' but if it helps me at all I am not.

dix

BR - Michael Caine - The Elephant to Hollywood

I actually finished this book some time ago but haven't felt able to blog much recently. Will talk about that soon. I thought it was ok. He came across quite well and I enjoyed bits of the books very much, especially when he was writing about films I knew and liked but other bits were frankly a bit boring. I wouldn't read the book again but if you like Michael Caine this is defo worth a read.

Dix

Betrayed and Alone

I have been unable to blog for a while. I have been unable to sleep, unable to eat and really am struggling to function as a person. You see my husband has run off and left me. That is bad but in a way I think our marriage was over a long time ago - too many lies, no real trust but worst of all no energy to even keep fighting.

The thing is he has gone off with one of my best friends. Anybody who knows me would know that friends are really important to me. I have always trusted my friends or just not been their friend. We have been friends for over 26 years. We went on holiday together, the four of us, couples enjoying our time together, and our children grew up like family.

I feel so betrayed. He left by sending me a text message - 30 years and all I got was a text message. What? But most of all I can't get my head around how she did this to me. I never thought she would. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust her. I couldn't. Can I trust anyone ever again?

I can't sleep - I am having trouble being with myself because I am not sure how I feel about that. I am so angry, so hurt. I have so much to deal with and have to keep strong for boy - have to keep strong for my girls. But really I just want to curl up. I want to turn off my head - just for a while and make it all go away. I want to have company and love. I want someone to just make me feel special. I know that they are cosying up and having a great time and I am alone.

It is not that I want him back - I don't - enough is enough but just for a minute I wish I had someone to make me feel better. To make me feel loved.

I know I have to get past this. I know I can find the value in myself and realise that I am lovable and that I am beautiful in my own way but for a long time I have felt ugly and valueless and it is going to be hard to get over this.

I know I shouldn't ask but anyone out there reading my blog please pray for me (or whatever faith or hope you have) and help me find the strength to sleep, to feel good, to keep going and to love again. I know it is a lot to ask but any help would be just great at the moment.


Sorry for asking but I just need help to find a way forward.

Dix

Pursuit - a poem by Stephen Dobyns

Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass –
a blend of stock car racing and the never
ending building of a gothic cathedral.
Through the windows of my speeding car, I see
all that I love falling away: books unread,
jokes untold, landscapes unvisited. And why?
What treasure do I expect in my future?
Rather it is the confusion of childhood
loping behind me, the chaos in the mind,
the failure chipping away at each success.
Glancing over my shoulder I see its shape
and so move forward, as someone in the woods
at night might hear the sound of approaching feet
and stop to listen, then, instead of silence
he hears some creature trying to be silent.
What else can he do but run? Rushing blindly
down the path, stumbling, struck in the face by sticks;
the other ever closer, yet not really
hurrying or out of breath, teasing its kill.


Poem, from "Cemetery Nights"

I 'borrowed or found' this on one of the blogs I follow (thanks Roses). It resonated with me and had touch me, made me think about how I live my life. It reads aloud so beautifully. I don't know who this man is but I feel what he is saying.

Hope you enjoy.

Dix

Found Writings

I have just finished my notebook - the one I carry with me in my handbag and write down my thoughts, ideas and general info. This is a selection of those writings. Sorry - some may have been blogged before - some may not.

Cold Hard Cash

Why do the say 'cold hard cash?'

But not frozen solid money.

Yeah, cash is cold

but hard, maybe.

Hard to get.

Hard to keep.

Hard to touch? - Never.

Written 10/05/10 by Dix

The Financial Times

In times of credit crunch

and financial crashes,

unimaginable cash losses

and smashes,

futures are about gradualism,

time waiting and realism.

Written June 10 by Dix

Store

My grandmother-in-law

(if that makes sense),

liked to store food goods

just in case.

It's a habit she developed

during the war

and found hard to break.

Written 17/06/10 by Dix

Recycling Bags

Recycling bags

can't be stored -

they deteriorate

in the cupboard.

Recycling bags can't

be recycled

indefinitely.

Written June 2010 by Dix

Ageing and Time

I remember when I was pregnant and when my children were very young that time really really dragged. I always seemed to be waiting for another time, or for visitors, or for the washing to dry, a TV programme to come on etc etc. It felt like each day went on forever and that my life would always be like that. I would wake up in the morning and find I had this everlasting space where I could take my time to get things done (or not), where the day stretched before me and the evening would slowly come.

I remember when I had a conversation with someone much older than me who said, 'enjoy love, it doesn't last - as you get older time starts to rush by and there is never enough'. I can't even remember who told me this but I remember not believing them. How could this be?

Now I am fifty and my life rushes by, I wake up in the morning always longing for a little longer in bed, even on the beautiful sunny mornings we have had recently. Then I get up and do the morning chores - I feed the animals and let the dog out for a wee, I empty the dishwasher and the washing machine and hang the washing out - rush to shower and wash my hair before hoping I have enough time to take the dog on the beach for a reasonable (or if I am lucky a long walk), before going to work, or out, or shopping, or hoping I can find time to do housework or reading or watch some daytime TV, or if I am really lucky maybe even do something creative.

And then the day is gone - I am home from work - often bloody tired - trying to find time to do the ironing and potter around the garden a bit, or sewing or reading etc, etc. And then I find myself longing for my bed (normally about now, and as I type this I am thinking if I go to bed early I might find it easier to get up in the morning).

And the day is gone, again.
And the week is gone, again.
And the month is gone, again.
And the year is gone, again.
And I find myself at 50 with time rushing past me uncontrollable and longing for a quiet time.

I suspect if I am still blogging at 60 or 70 or even 80+ then this might be a very different blog - it might be talking about how slow life is again. The days dragging forever, waiting to die (well I won't say that but that is how I might feel).

Dix

Witches' Knickers

Witches’ Knickers by Ghillain Potts

A plastic bag blew along the street and up into a tree.
“Hey, witches’ knickers!” said Freddie
“What? Where?” said Megan.
“There! In the tree. Look!”
Megan looked up. In the top of the tree was an orange plastic bag. The wind tugged at it.
“That’s not knickers!” Megan told him. “That’s a bag. From the supermarket.”
“No, it’s some witch’s knickers. See, they swoop down on their broomsticks and they don’t see the tree in the dark till the last minute and the tree grabs their knickers as they swoosh past and – no knickers!”
Hamid came along. “What’re you looking at?” he asked.
“Witches’ knickers,” said Freddie, pointing.
“Oh, right.” Hamid nodded.
The bag fought the tree. The wind pulled. The bag puffed up.
Megan sniffed. “So why would a witch be wearing a plastic bag for knickers, anyway?”
“Ah!” said Freddie. “Plastic bags are windproof, OK? And when the witch flies around on her broomstick, it’s windy, OK? And the wind is cold. So to stop the wind making her bum cold, she pulls a bag on over her real knickers!”
“Freddie,” said Hamid. “Nobody could wear a plastic bag. Where would you put your legs?”
“Umm. Through the handles?” Freddie grinned.
“Don’t be daft.” Megan told him. “That wouldn’t work.”
“Yes it would! Witches have awfully thin legs.” Said Freddie.
“Rubbish!” Megan sniffed. “What you would have to do is cut the two bottom corners off and put your legs through the holes. Then you could put some string through the handles and tie it around your waist.”
Freddie shrugged. “OK, so that’s what they do.”
The bag filled with the wind and jerked at the tree.
“I bet the witch’s come back and she’s tugging it.” Said Freddie.
The bag pulled free and whirled up and up.
“It’s escaped!” shouted Hamid. “Go, bag, go!”
“And it wasn’t a witch’s knickers.” Said Megan. “because there weren’t any holes in the bottom. So there!”
That night, Megan put on her black robe and her black cloak and tied her pointy black hat tightly under her chin.
Then she put on her orange plastic-bag knickers, got on her broomstick and flew out of the window.

I found this book in Waterstones bookshop, reduced because the cover was damaged. Most of the stories (all written in 366 words) are either good, bad or ok. But this particular story really took my attention. I would love that every carrier bag floating around was a pair of witches' knickers and when I see one now I always say 'witches knickers' to myself. I know it is a very different image from American Beauty where he video a bag floating around his yard but it makes me smile. This is definately the sort of short story, and particularly children short story that I would like to be able to write. It just made me smile and I hope it makes you smile too. And hope the author Ghillain Potts doesn't mind me blogging it here.

Blogging and Poetry

I feel bad. I really want to keep up my blogging this year and yet it has been over 2 weeks since I last blogged. My excuse - I have been unwell - full of cold and tiredness. At the moment I feel like a 'sicknote' like I am always unwell, always tired and wanting to sleep huge amounts and full of aches and pains. Hopefully this is about to pass and I can look forward to spring time full of energy and renewed optimism.

I haven't been doing much creative, not even reading much but I have managed to un earth a good poet. I have an addiction, and yes it is an addiction, for buy books but especially little poetry books - self published and pamphlets, anything really. Some are good; some are absolutely brilliant; others no so - but all worth exploring and enjoying.

I purchased a little book of poetry by Keith Chandler called A different kind of smoke. It was in my local Oxfam shop and it is signed by the author (another thing I like to collect). So I took it home and have been doing some exploring inside its pages. I like it, I like it very much, some of the poetry has amazing imagery, some really makes me feel (all things I love about poetry). I know nothing about the author - he may be local, he may have written much more. I just checked the book was published in 2001 in Yorkshire (that is probably a big clue). Anyway I just want to show you two of his works here:

The "chicken girl"

they called you, those who tutted, clucked

but wouldn't "interfere" or help

the mother who, moustached retard.

couldn't cope, left you at home all day,

all night, with feathered foster aunts.

Among the dust, the dried sick smell

of chicken mash, the one square yard

of sky, fluff, yuk, hexagonal eyes

of wire, square yard of sluttish sand .........

Aged 10, tiny skull, hands bent back

at the wrist, "unable to communicate

except through head-jerking shrieks"

and, rarely, that self-crooning, sound

hat dustbath, or contentment makes .........

Perched on the social worker's lap

I see your, bright disc-membraned eye

(the other side blurred over, scarred

from unhealed fights) staring back

at the camera as at a bottle cap.

Bottom of the pecking order, you stab

and stab at the dry crust of my heart.

Keith Chandler

How amazing is this, it reminds me of Timothy Winters (Peter Porter) a kind of sad humour of child abuse.

Our Father

a shy stiff serious man. I think

of you as somehow on the brink

of being about to say more

than "good night", one hand on the door -

those warm soft things I try to say

to my son as, finally

tousling hair of kissing cheek,

I tuck him in against the dark.

When (packed off to boarding school)

your letters came, they were full

of news, money sometimes. No fuss

about how we felt. Or missing us.

We must talk more openly... What

made you uncomfortable like that?

Was it your father, hand on door,

dressed in the camouflage of war

not knowing what, or how, to say?

What are you afraid of? Why

can I never thing of you as "Dad"

but just "our Father"? It makes me sad

to stand here, to see you curled

drip-fed, cot-sided like a child,

to leave you in this nursery

of fear, as if with nothing to say.

Keith Chandler

This second piece has such a feel of my own father - who loved me but couldn't show it - as an adult I understood as a child it felt cold and unloved. That was the man he was. Not the same ending (my father died suddenly at 73) but the feeling is there.

Dix

On My Own

Yesterday evening I did something I have wanted to do for ages but have been well, too afraid to do. I went to the cinema on my own. I have missed so many films that other because I didn't know anyone else who wanted to go or I couldn't sort out a time when we could both go. I love going to see a good film at the pictures - it really is a wonderful thing to do. And even though I local cinema is old fashioned, has low and slightly uncomfortable seats and can be well frankly, a bit cool there is no experience like seeing a good film on the big screen.

Going to the pictures on my own was fine, nobody really even looked at me and there was another woman on her own. I just sat at the end and settled myself in and enjoyed the wonderful film - I didn't feel odd, or a Billy No Mates - just a person going to see a film I wanted to see. I didn't feel uncomfortable during the film and frankly just forgot I was on my own I was so engrossed in the film. It is definitely something I will do again - I really want to see the Black Swan film so might do that next weekend although I am told that is a bit scary and not sure I can do scary on might on - but hey, might give it a try.

I went to see The King's Speech and it was every bit as good as a thought it would be. I like Colin Firth but have found him to be a bit stiff in the past but this was perfect for the type of stiff upper class characterisation needed for this part.

I have always been interested in the time in history as it must have been hard for someone who wasn't meant to be King, who hadn't been prepared to be King to end up having to be King at probably one of the hardest times in history - during the Second World War. I never realised that the epileptic prince Johnny was his brother, somehow I thought that was a generation back and in the film his brother came across as a really nasty piece of work (and a committed Nazi which is I think the real reason he was pushed to leave).

The film is everything that is good about British film (apart from having an Australian as Edward - huh why couldn't that have been a British actor but I think the Australian was played by a British actor so I guess that makes sense.

I really recommend it to every one, it is subtle; it is clever; it shows a time in history that many will still remember or like me be very aware of; it deserves all the prizes and accolades that it gets and I hope that is many.

Long may they continue to make wonderful and intelligent films like this one?

Dix

Ps I tried to post this yesterday but for some reason my blog was 'having a moment'.

Attempts at Haiku

Writing Haiku for me, is really just about trying to be creative - trying to get something happening with my writing, however small - much like blogging really - I am writing of a sorts and something may just come out of it.

I brought my friend JC a present for Christmas called Haikubes, little cubes of words and themes to inspire Haiku. My daughter brought me the same set so that we could play together over the long distance that divides us at the moment.

This week I sent her 20 random words chosen taken from the shaken up cubes and we both produced some work. But for me, not without issues. I thought it would be fairly easy to follow the 5,7,5 rule but sometimes syllables are quite hard to work out even though I repeat the words over and over and still couldn't be sure that I had got it right. I really enjoyed the process and am really glad to be creating something however poor.

At the moment I am trying to persuade JC to post hers as well, not only on her blog but on our creative blog Cherry Picker as well. We'll see but I will keep on trying. Anyway here is my attempts.

Smelly Dog

The anal glands
on my dog’s bottom squeezed
of smelly pus. Ouch!

Sleep Wars

Hmmm .., alternative
places swim right by me:

as sleep evades.

Giant Visions

Lots of glorious
glancing giants just because
I consume blue gin.

Ice cream

Great glorious
mouthfuls of creamy
Cold. Lick, lick, lick. Hmmm.....

I have changed the punctuation a bit, not sure it if is right but worth messing about with. I have enjoyed the process and will try more.

Might see if I can make my Bob words in Haiku - that could be interesting.

Dix

Over a 1000 pageviews

Total Pageviews
1,031

I am really pleased that since Nov 2008 I have had over a thousand people view my blog. Now I know that some, or maybe most of these views may have been me but even so some will have been others and for that I thank them truly.

Reaching over a 1000 pageviews is for me like reaching 100 friends in Facebook. Not really important I know, but nice and strangely fulfilling (in a kinda doesn't really matter way).

I am going to really try to blog more often this year and keep going even after Jan/Feb when I normally begin to lose a bit of interest or struggle to find the time.

Look forward to 2000 pageviews.

Thanks to everyone and anyone reading my blog - thankyou.

Dix

Tiredness

It's 3.30am in the morning and I am really really tired. Why are you blogging then I hear you ask (well you would if anyone was actually reading this blog but hey, I am writing and at this time that is all that matters). I am blogging because I am at work and I need to stay awake. I am working a 10 hour night shift and I need to keep going. It gets to the stage (recently I have managed later in the night than this but this is my second night this week) when the wall hits and all you want to do is sleep - rest and sleep. And I can't do that. I have to keep going as I am the only member of staff on shift and keeping an eye on 8 people.

I am not sure I should be using the computer at all for this purpose. Somebody could be monitoring closely, but I hope not. And as it is not my own machine I am not able to add a picture which is a shame as I really like words and images on my page but not to be this time.

I am sitting here wondering why I am cleaning and caring all through the night when really I should be doing something more constructive. I should be doing something that allows me to sleep like normal people. Of course I know that in reality there are probably hundreds of people working through the night and many of them working alone like myself. But somehow that knowledge doesn't help when all you want to do is sleep or at least have a conversation with another human. I do for one reason and one reason only - I do it for the money. You get paid more money at night so I sit here thinking at least I have earned 85 quid for keeping awake and cleaning all night. Not great but better than it used to be.

Trouble is I am having one of those nights when I am 'whigging' myself out and keep thinking I hear noises and things in night. In reality there is nothing but when you are tired your senses start to play tricks on you. I still have 5 toilets/bathrooms to clean, my absolute worst part of the job but I normally leave it until I am the tiredest because it keeps me awake and doesn't take any thinking about.

I guess I better go and get on, have a coffee and keep myself moving. I have 2 and half hours before the sleep in person awakes and I can start getting people up.

Yipee toilets here I come! Wish me luck.

Not being paid- again

I got my payslip from Mencap early this month and what a bloody mess. They haven't paid me again. I know that I only work as and when and that my hours have to be input every month but it is so frustrating that when I really need the money like now I just don't get it. They already owed me 6 hours (which I have been owed for a couple of months) and now it just got worse. Those of you who know me, or have been reading my blog will know that I am not doing so great with money at mo so every penny counts.

We are hoping to have a very cheap but fun camping holiday - I have saved some money to go and was counting on my wages to help with the costs. And now no wages - and I am worrying how I am going to pay for the holiday.

Trouble is I really need a break - time away from home, from bills, from stress and worry. And I should be able to count on my wages when I have earnt them. I shouldn't have to beg for money I am owed. But seems like I so often am. I have got to get a job that pays every month and is regular and not too badly paid.

I feel angry and upset and worried and stressed and well thoroughly pissed off - and all I want is my wages. I cried at work when I told them about it as it has really upset me - I made plans that might just about work and now it is all well, buggered.

Life's just a bitch. Maybe I should check my lottery tickets - that will be another downer!!!

Mog

Ponderisms email

Now I know we get these types of emails all the time but sometimes, just sometimes I really like them. And I really liked this one so thought I would share it with you. I guess that they kinda sum up how I feel about life (or most of them anyway). Try not to take it too seriously because it all comes to an end.

Ponderisms:

I used to eat a lot of natural foods - until I learned that most people die of natural causes.

Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.

The easiest way to find something lost around the house or shop is to buy a replacement.

Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.

There are two kinds of pedestrians: the quick and the dead.

Life is sexually transmitted.

Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.

The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth.

Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.

Have you noticed since everyone has a mobile that takes pictures these days no one talks about seeing UFOs like they used to?

Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.

All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism.

In the 60s, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.

How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, "I think I'll squeeze these dangly things here and drink whatever comes out?

"Who was the first person to say, "See that chicken there? I'm gonna eat the next thing that comes outta its butt."

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?

If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests?Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?

Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog's face, he gets mad at you, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?

Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

Why do I keep blogging this stuff?

Thursday 18th - 2005 fox hunting with dogs became illegal in England and Wales.

And if you believe that you believe anything - please don't get me started on this issue. What the hell make us so bloody barbaric!!!!

If you want to forget all your other troubles, wear too tight shoes.

This is so true - I have trouble with my feet and sometimes the pain is really unbearable - crippling actually. It certainly does make you forget any other worries. Perhaps I should bind my feet then I wont worry about anything else.

Friday 19th - Serfdom was abolish in Russia.

I must admit I really have no idea what this means. Would just say that what ever name you give it slavery definitely still exists and is around us all the time.

Go the extra mile. It's never crowded.

Um, maybe, maybe not. Think where I am going there is not going to be much room to breath.

Sat 20th/Sun 21st

20th - birth of American landscape photographer, Ansel Adams

Strange thing is I think I know who this is. I love photography and I love looking at the historical books around photography. I was lucky enough to do some great research during my time at Uni and some of the works I found around poverty and destruction just blew me away. Hope to continue with my photography sometime.

Improvement begins with I.

Don't you just hate these sayings. I've always thought 'I' just begins with being self centred and selfish but hey maybe that is a successful strategy to life.



Why do I blog quotes and sayings - because at least it is doing something, making my mind think and putting something on-line. Not much, not very interesting but something. I have something to put in my writing diary and sometimes it gives me inspiration for other ideas and for creativity.

And at the end of the year I will have lots of entries on my blog.

More useless blog information

Friday 12th - 1809 the birth of pioneering English naturalist, Charles Darwin.

It seems unbelievable but his anniversary last year proved that this could still be a contentious statement.

Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty.

Saturday 13th/Sunday 14th - in 1984 (14th) British ice dancers, Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean, triumphed at the Winter Olympics.

I remember this being a big deal at the time but I just couldn't get into to it. I remember watching it and thinking OMG this is so boring. Don't mind a bit of ice skating on TV now although don't go out of my way to watch it but I do understand the importance of a British Gold Medal at the Winter Olympics and how it makes everyone feel good. Anything that makes everyone feel good in these times has got to be great.

Live every day as if it were your last and then some day you'll be right.

At the moment my whole life feels like this!!

Monday 15th - the birth of Clare Short, British Labour politician, in Northern Ireland.

She is someone I feel I should know more about - is she a good and worthy person or just another 'dis-honorable' MP. I seem to remember she left under some sort of cloud but was that because she acted badly or because she went against policy - hmm, maybe I should find out.

We should give meaning to life, not wait for life to give us meaning.

At the moment I am trying to understand what meaning my life has. I feel like I am being punished for being a bad person yet what have I done that is so bad. I am worried I am going to mess up for 'boy' and worried who is coming to demand money next and worried what is going to break next - including material and health - and just worried to be alive. This is not a good state to be in and all I can do is try and concentrate on being a good carer for 'boy', keeping myself mentally and physically healthy and just getting through each day - I find myself looking for a sign to show me what I have done that is so bad so at least I can learn. I guess I must already know but just don't want to hear it. Oh well at some point it will smack me straight in the face and then I will know if I am strong enough.

Another self-obsessed day - no I not going to let this happen - just let it all out on my blog and then keep going. I think it is ok for my to be a 'sad sack' on my blog - although I think even the few readers I have will get sick of it and move on - or tell me to 'get over it'. Both is ok, both will help me in some way. Blogging helps me in someway.

Blogging 2

I am not sure how many people are reading my blog - I suspect mainly my mates and the wonderful man from USA but I felt I needed to explain why I have been blogging the facts and quotes. I am sure some of you are finding them tedious and cliche (I agree they may be) but I need to blog them. You see with out them I would just stop blogging. Every so often one of them prompts me to write something, brings back a memory and I hope is more interesting.

At the moment I am really struggling to find time to write. And it is pissing me off. I have basically cut my work to two days a week and was really hoping that during school hours I would have time to write. I desperately want to write. So why aren't I?

It is the age of problem of time, or maybe the age old problem of not being able to say no. I have been working just about full time up to Christmas and didn't see much of my friends and elderly relatives. Well now that I have more time they want to see me. And for this I am really grateful. My friends and family are really important to me. In fact the year before last my friends and family kept me alive. Now I know that sounds dramatic but it is true. When I was ill it was only them that kept me going and helped me see value in myself and understand that I am loved.

I am lucky to be loved - I thank god every day for family and friends because with out them what would life be.

But I wish I could find time to write, be creative because I feel I have so much to say and really really want to say. I want to write stories, I want to entertain people with my work, I want to shock and pain, and make my readers cry. I want them to read my work and feel. So how the heck to I make this happen?

Answers in the comment box please!!!

PS - why I am so bloody tired all the time (TATT)?

Blogging

On this day in 1649 Charles I of England went on trial for treason and other 'high crimes'.

I am sure I saw something about this on TV, one of those sort of history dramas - I think it was mainly political and all to do with the responsibility of being King - a bit King Lear but probably mainly political!

On this day in 1643 Tonga was discovered by Dutch explorer, Abel Tasman.

The easiest way to keep a secret is without help.

Maybe not so easy sometimes secrets just burn away until you just need to get it off your chest. Or is this just me, or maybe it is a female thing. I know I think sometimes proper secrets keep coming back to haunt and can be difficult to deal with.

Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.

I used to think this is true but really it is only when you are young that you can get away with things and not feel the guilt and pain (see above) and as someone who has tried to kinda rekindle that youth I realise you just seem stupid and immature doing somethings when older.

Bob Poems

Anyone who has been reading my blog for a while will know I like to write my Bob poems. They kinda come to me and I hope they make you laugh, or smile or maybe occasionally have a little bit of a point. I have written these three in the last couple of days. They make me wonder if I am questioning the validity of blogging or whether they just are a bit of fun.

I would love to know what people think. Which one (if any ) do you think works? Is one better than the others?

Blogging Bob

Bob says 'Don't disturb me, I'm typing my blog'.
'Why Bob?'
'I like to tell people things'.
'Bob do you have many followers?'
'Oh yes, my mother.'


Bob's Blog (1)

tap, tap, tap,
tap, tap, space.
'What ya doin' Bob?'
tap, tap, tap,
tap, tap, return.
Bob says 'I'm writing my blog.'
'Why Bob?'
'Because the world needs to know how to defecate.'


Bob's Blog (2)

tap, tap, tap,
tap, tap, space,
'What ya doin' Bob?'
tap, tap, tap,
tap, tap, return
Bob says 'I'm writing my blog.'
'Why Bob?'
'Because my followers need to know.'


Just let me know - please...


Dix