This week has been odd... I've been up and down emotionally and feeling bruised by it all. The weekend was great visiting a friend, eating too much and putting the world to rights. The rest has been painful.
Monday was horrible... it was a stormy morning; someone, not named, was VERY angry and confrontational - not a good start. That evening I went to bed at 8:30pm with a hot water bottle.
Tuesday... I can't remember Tuesday at all!
Wednesday... I went out for lunch with Jenn, when I count my blessings, I count Jenn twice.
Thursday... I went to Hull and spent most of the day needlessly worrying, as it turned out, about nothing. I'd be a crap mum; over protective and a worrier. I spent the rest of the evening feeling completely shoite.
Friday I met a friend for lunch and we talked like 20years had been a blip. However I still can't shake this feeling of overwhelming sadness... I went to morrisons and on the way home cried. I just don't understand what's happening why I feel so low.
This isn't me; I'm the unshakeably positive person! As Andy B says... put me in a sleeping bag and shake me up!!!! *grin*
Friday, 20 February 2009
just plain had enough
I know I've two stories to finish, Denton illustrations to catch up on and more forms to fill out for Job Seekers allowance and Employment Support.
I've also got packing to do and I've no idea when I can start to collect stuff from the house because that all falls under the bankruptcy trustee jurisdiction. The date for my hearing is March 16th.
Meanwhile my ex husband is happily still living off me in the comfort of a home I furnished.
And my private life ... well that's as confused as ever but I do acknowledge I have dear friends who bring so much joy and happiness in my life that my cup truly runneth over.
I'm so privileged to have new friends join the fold:
I've also got packing to do and I've no idea when I can start to collect stuff from the house because that all falls under the bankruptcy trustee jurisdiction. The date for my hearing is March 16th.
Meanwhile my ex husband is happily still living off me in the comfort of a home I furnished.
And my private life ... well that's as confused as ever but I do acknowledge I have dear friends who bring so much joy and happiness in my life that my cup truly runneth over.
I'm so privileged to have new friends join the fold:
- Jenn - who makes me laugh so hard I pee
- Paul - my poker buddy, pizza guru and 10pin bandit
- Andy - my reality check who loves TCM as much as I do
- Dr Mort - my morphine of the mind
- Albert and Mirror Dog
- David S - my inspiration
- David AB - who is so creative it puts me to shame
- Mark - pure energy and enthusiasm
and all my old friends who have loved me unconditionally... I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU.
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
The Play
Lately I’ve spent too much time lost in a fog of things to do, things that needing doing and things that I just don’t want to face yet.
I’m completely paralysed. I can’t find the impetus to just do it… It’s like I’m waiting to break and that only by shattering completely can I pick up the pieces and start again. So part of me is slowly creating a stage play supported by a range of characters each different but equally important. They are maneuvered to, at the right time, cause maximum damage. This isn’t scripted, it’s completely improvised which can only add to the danger I’m facing.
So; the curtain has been pulled back and the audience still don’t know if it will have a happy ending or not.
Act 1 – Being Me
I’m not sure I remember how; I’d been the successful business woman, the loving wife, the unconditional friend and the doting daughter… all prefixed with a ‘the’ not a ‘just’.
How do you become JUST?
How do you recover the basis of who you are when for so long you’ve been a different person for different people?
I walk onto the stage; lights hide the faces of people who sit and silently watch from their comfy seats. I am aware of them, I hear a disembodied cough, the rustling of programs, £5.99 from the ticket hall, and can smell a heady fusion of feminine perfumes and mens aftershave.
I place myself centre stage. The consummate actress, the fraud, the liar…
“Fallow land” I reach down to nurse my stomach.
[this is a story]
I’m completely paralysed. I can’t find the impetus to just do it… It’s like I’m waiting to break and that only by shattering completely can I pick up the pieces and start again. So part of me is slowly creating a stage play supported by a range of characters each different but equally important. They are maneuvered to, at the right time, cause maximum damage. This isn’t scripted, it’s completely improvised which can only add to the danger I’m facing.
So; the curtain has been pulled back and the audience still don’t know if it will have a happy ending or not.
Act 1 – Being Me
I’m not sure I remember how; I’d been the successful business woman, the loving wife, the unconditional friend and the doting daughter… all prefixed with a ‘the’ not a ‘just’.
How do you become JUST?
How do you recover the basis of who you are when for so long you’ve been a different person for different people?
I walk onto the stage; lights hide the faces of people who sit and silently watch from their comfy seats. I am aware of them, I hear a disembodied cough, the rustling of programs, £5.99 from the ticket hall, and can smell a heady fusion of feminine perfumes and mens aftershave.
I place myself centre stage. The consummate actress, the fraud, the liar…
“Fallow land” I reach down to nurse my stomach.
[this is a story]
Thursday, 5 February 2009
February 8th - The Battle of LadySmith (01)
I had seriously misjudged a number of events, all innocuous on their own but collectively had the impetus of a runaway train.
I was levelled not by a feeling of impotence but by the heavy weight of guilt. I knew, KNEW I was responsible and wanted absolution; those magical words that would grant me a remission of sin.
I’d forewarned people but the more I pleaded, cajoled and threatened the more determined they became until finally my resolve dissipated like fine sand escaping from a clenched fist.
I scanned the desertified landscape swathed with the bodies of fallen men their limbs contorted and twisted like a forest of bleached dead wood. The thirsty soil had long since drunk it’s fill of blood and the cries of battle were replaced by a kettle of vultures screeching overhead.
The preponderant were countrymen, running their farms from the back of a pony with a rifle in one hand. These rural Boers brought marksmanship to the war further exploited by a consignment of Mauser magazine rifles and modern field guns supplied by Germany and France.
Our tactics were not flexible enough to adapt to a loosely formed force, we had been trained for tight formations to keep overwhelming enemy numbers at a distance which worked well against the Zulu and Sudan War but not here… not here.
We were incapable of winning battles against entrenched troops, we made the same mistakes over and over again; with the same disastrous consequences.
I was levelled not by a feeling of impotence but by the heavy weight of guilt. I knew, KNEW I was responsible and wanted absolution; those magical words that would grant me a remission of sin.
I’d forewarned people but the more I pleaded, cajoled and threatened the more determined they became until finally my resolve dissipated like fine sand escaping from a clenched fist.
I scanned the desertified landscape swathed with the bodies of fallen men their limbs contorted and twisted like a forest of bleached dead wood. The thirsty soil had long since drunk it’s fill of blood and the cries of battle were replaced by a kettle of vultures screeching overhead.
The preponderant were countrymen, running their farms from the back of a pony with a rifle in one hand. These rural Boers brought marksmanship to the war further exploited by a consignment of Mauser magazine rifles and modern field guns supplied by Germany and France.
Our tactics were not flexible enough to adapt to a loosely formed force, we had been trained for tight formations to keep overwhelming enemy numbers at a distance which worked well against the Zulu and Sudan War but not here… not here.
We were incapable of winning battles against entrenched troops, we made the same mistakes over and over again; with the same disastrous consequences.
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