You, yes – YOU, you very sick person!
Never, ever, ever come back here.
Well. I’ve gone quiet for a bit. I have things to post, oh yes. I can’t seem to make myself want to interact much. I’m a bit sad about missing the responses, you see. I post late at night, Irish time, and all the comments come in when I’m asleep – I love responding in ‘real time.’ Even if I set this doowhazizz to post at a later time, I’d be at work when my friends visit. All blogs are blocked at work, too. I can use the WP app to respond but I really like seeing a comment in situ when I reply – okay, that’s a bit odd perhaps. It’s a visual thing. I also enjoy sitting here, writing my heart out, and hitting ‘publish.’ I’d miss that just a bit too much.
Today, Margaret Thatcher finally died. I didn’t know much about her when I was living in the USA – I do recall the Falklands War, but I wasn’t interested in the politics of it. I never heard about the coal miners, or her support of apartheid, or how she let Irish men starve to death in prison rather than concede that the UK and Ireland were at war. Now that I’m married to an Irishman I’ve heard about these things, and I’ve heard again every time her face was on telly: will she just hurry up and die already?!? So, iDJ is happy, if you can say that. You know what? I can say that, and I just did. He’s glad she’s dead, and I’m happy he’s glad. I expect there will be a Thatcher-themed radio show this Thursday. So there. They should put her in a locked, gated mausoleum to keep away all the people who want to dance (or worse) on her grave. That said, a total stranger just called it ‘utterly pathetic’ that I said we’d opened some sparkling wine tonight for the occasion. Now I’m just a little bit pissed off.
Actually, a bit more than pissed off. If I say something stupid, I expect to be informed of it in a reasonable manner. Not called utterly pathetic. That is the type of interaction I never get here, and thank you all so very much for being reasonable people, or at least ignoring me when I’m irritating.
I couldn’t spell mausoleum to save my life, by the way. I don’t trust that it’s right even now, despite Google saying it is. That’s for you, Tom!
What else… Ah. My life feels like it is on hold, as work told me they would be interviewing and hiring someone to take on my role, and they would be moving me to something I’d much much rather be doing. That was two Mondays ago. No updates. Bollocks. I have no idea what is going on. The relief I felt two weeks ago is dissipating and now I’m coming up with new things to worry about.
Ugh, now I’ve gone and made myself even crankier than usual. I’ve lost interest in my own bitching, so here’s a beautiful photo of Lokii.
Do you want an interesting life? Or would you rather your life be settled, routine, ‘normal?’
The supposed ‘Chinese curse’ is may you live in interesting times. That is by no means the same thing as may you have an interesting life. Interesting Times happen TO you. An interesting Life, hopefully, is your choice.
What would you define as interesting? What is interesting for some is tiresome, tedious, or downright horrifying for others. I think crocheting is interesting, but I’m terrible at it and it makes me angry that I suck at something creative that I also want to do. I think mountain climbing, or rock climbing, is fucking dangerously stupid and why would you want to do that!?!?! But, I have a friend who loves it.
I’m reading Koontz again, his Odd Thomas series. Main character, Odd, is constantly approached by dead people needing help. He’d rather be a short-order cook, or a tire salesman. Well, he is a short-order cook, because the rest of his life is just a bit too interesting. But, he makes the case that he would never want to be famous. I don’t think I’d want to be famous either – not with the lack of privacy and the downright creepy attention people pay to everything you wear and every wrinkle or bulge on your physical body. Perhaps that’s only something famous women have to worry about? I can’t really care about my body’s appearance when I live entirely in my mind. And, if I had a choice, and lots of money, I would dress like a three year old goth: Spongebob and skulls. I don’t want to ever be put in a situation where millions think way too hard about the crap I’m wearing. And I will only wear makeup these days when it is socially expected (which I resent heartily) or I feel like hiding behind it.
There are innumerable women who stay with abusive men because (combined with other reasons) the excitement, the passion! involved is interesting. If and when these women break free, they absolutely miss that excitement. I totally understand that. Adrenaline is addictive.
So. All this comes about from a comment on my Gory Story Time post. Tom basically said that my life was too interesting and he had nothing close in his history to what I’d gone though. And my first reaction was to laugh – because that’s not a big story in my life at all. That’s an amusing side note, a small anecdote, a bit of nothing in the larger history! My life has been truly interesting – but I’m only now realising that it’s pretty much all been by my own choices. These, for the most part, have been pretty stupid choices. But goddamned exciting, nonetheless.
After I grew up a bit, I thought my biggest problem was that I have a tendency to run away. And I do, going back to childhood. But as a ‘growedup’ I would find a great relationship and stick for years – until I got bored, and/or cheated, and used that as an excuse to run away. I’ve also never worked a single job longer than four years straight – pretty impressive as I had my first ‘real’ job at about age 10. I’ve a history of moving around America, town to town, job to job, that finally ended up with me moving entire countries. On a whim, in retrospect. I didn’t have to. Not that I don’t love my husband. But I could have moved him to the US instead. Truly, it made sense for me to move here. BUT – and that’s a big but, that’s why it’s in all caps – I went looking for a man in Ireland intentionally. Because I was bored. I didn’t know that then, this is a new insight into my own motivations. I thought I just didn’t really like the US, and had finally realised that moving from redneck Lower Alabama to Big City Ohio didn’t make a difference – I still didn’t “fit in” with American culture.
Well fuck me, but I sure as shit don’t fit in here, either. After nearly eight years (an all-time record for me staying with one person and a growedup record for living continually at one address, since I was about…14), I’m bored again. I don’t know what is my trigger this time! Do I think I’ve learned all I can about where I live and this culture and all the people that I know? Is it just that the job I’ve had for the last year+ is one I dislike intensely? Am I, deep down, just a lazy feicer and I really, really miss the almost two years I was unemployed as it finally gave me a chance to feel that I had a right to be creative – to write, to draw, to start this blog?
Is it all of the above? How am I supposed to know? Is there something else I’m still missing? I’ve had a few shrinks and therapists, and not one ever pointed this rather important bit of insight out to me.
I know this much: Tom’s comment was a revelation for me, once I gave it some thought. I was pretty damn surprised, because it gives me hope – if only I can figure out what I can do to save myself that doesn’t involve running away. That’s a hard one, as the feeling of being trapped is, for me, something that inspires fight or flight. I fight for a while, but in most situations in my past, I have picked flight. The fight right now has nearly deserted me, leaving only a serious dearth of flight choices that gives me depression in spades. You can guess, if you’ve had depression, what the ultimate choice for flight is when all other options appear to be closed.
But, for now, I’m at penultimate. Because I am still fighting this! I had nearly given up, until Tom’s comment. I’ve fought before when things got this bad: I once decided that getting in my truck in Florida and driving to Maine, with nothing – nothing at all than would fit in the cab (including a very angry and upset Siamese) was better than suicide. Why? I’d never been to Maine, and Stephen King lives there. Those were my only reasons. My point being that I can still see that insane changes will make a difference, for me, rather than the one, irrevocable, change that I will come to, eventually, by choice or not.
I understand that this truly is a revelation, and I don’t expect deep thoughts or even good advice. I needed to write, and this is my outlet. I have written my thoughts and discarded them so many, many times over the last few months – because I don’t want this to be a negative space. This blog is my happy place and I just couldn’t ruin it. I hope I haven’t ruined it now? I still have a lot of stories to tell and – maybe – some art still left in me.
I raise a glass to you: to all of you who are fabulous, funny, fur-covered, intelligent, photographic, creative, lovely, loving, sarcastic, punning, gourmets and gourmands at once, giving, colourful, kind, artistic, and wordsmiths every one.
Thank you all so much for being a part of my life in 2012. Here’s to 2013!
Hey, do I go to work tomorrow or not? Took the day off for a medical appointment, came home to find it cancelled. I have 12 holiday days left before the end of year, which they will pay me for if unused, but I’m also about 2 months behind as there’s so much work.
Answers by comment please, I can’t seem to put up a poll!
Ever wonder why I subtitled my blog, ‘blowing through the cobwebs of my mind’?
Yeah, I didn’t think so. No one has ever asked, anyway.
But I never let that stop me. Here’s my thought process: there’s a song like that, sort of. It sounds cool. Wonder if anyone will get it?
Since either no one got it, or everyone got it (either way no one said a woid), I am now talking about it. See what happens when I make an effort to do this daily? You get this sort of shite! Aren’t you sorry now?
And I thought the song I had in mind was Windmills of Your Mind, a beautifully melancholy song, the corrupted lyrics of which I read in a version in Cracked Magazine circa 1980-something. I still have the magazine, but it’s up in the attic and I don’t love you enough to climb the Ladder Of Doom, stumble over a million bits of junk, find the box, and dig through it just so I can prove that I still own it, and type out their version of the lyrics. But after a massively failed attempt to Google it, I could be persuaded. I’ve got some treasures in that box.
But there’s another song which clearly works better. Since AlienRedQueen reminded me how much I like their music, I’ve been listening to a lot of Type O Negative, a band described as ‘Gothic Metal’ (a big part of what they did, but they were more flexible than that category). I love their version of Seals & Croft’s 1972 hit, Summer Breeze.
The video is shite, just listen. The band was gone before the ‘net exploded into what it is today.
I mentally hear that wonderfully bass voice singing ‘cobwebs’ instead of ‘jasmine’. Even if you hate this sort of thing (Sled, I’m talking to you) give a cursory listen, just for me?
If you don’t, I might devote a whole post to how you can get my hubby’s Halloween podcast. It’s pretty damn cool…
I’m outside, in the shivery cold, wearing two shirts, my ‘smoking jacket’, sweats, socks and slippers. The moon is bright and directly in front of me, and I hear nothing but car tires whispering in the distance, an occasional bird who hasn’t realised that it is dark out, and a few thumps and bumps from the neighbours’ house.
It’s quiet because iDJ isn’t here and so there is no music playing – for a change. You have no idea how much I appreciate a non-musical interlude. He’s off buying me cream for my coffee and taking a brand new PC to its new owners – he does computer work on the side and fuck me but it took hours to set up a brand new Dell out of the box. Crazy. Hope he gets some cash for this. (Edit – he did)
Thumps and bumps are because we live in a semi-d. I share a wall with strangers. Well, not that we don’t ever talk but we have SFA in common, other than a dislike for the new neighbours in the estate who leave their yappy dog out all day and all night and never ever make it shut the hell up.
I smell the smoke of fires, mine and theirs – mine is coal and turf briquette, theirs is wood. The air is still enough that the smoke sifts down to me where I sit in the patch of light coming through our sliding glass doors. Shivering.
I don’t want to go in, even if I have a fire waiting. Outside it’s dry, and not windy, and my back feels ever-so-much better if I sit up straight in my Coleman camp chair. Sitting properly is something I do not do when huddled in front of the fire trying to blow my nasty cigarette smoke up the chimney.
I think I’m getting something. A cold, the flu, a bad reaction to having infected teeth. I haven’t been ill in over a year – I forget what the signs are. I feel weird. Stuffed up, but totally able to breathe through my nose. Achy, but just my neck. Headachy, but I’m used to that. We will see. I have another cold sore. This makes two in three weeks. A sure sign my resistance is low and I’m fighting off some horrible nastiness. For me to admit I don’t feel ‘right’ at all probably means I have something seriously wrong. Heh. Not. Heh.
We got free fish today. A friend of iDJ’s brought us cleaned and filleted mackerel. I don’t cook fish, I haven’t the talent. I leave eggs and fish to himself; he has the touch. I was mostly annoyed that I have to wash a raw-fish smelling bowl, and felt a bit odd that we were getting free meat out of the boot of a taxi. I guess that’s my do-something-for-the-first-time observation for the day.
A not new thing I’ve been wanting to mention is something that happens daily on my drive in to work. Same road, same time, every morning, I meet a school bus coming the other way. The bus-driver lifts a hand from the wheel and greets me. Every day.
How cool is that? I don’t know him, I don’t live in that town, and I don’t have kids on his bus. He knows my car and knows I’m there, and gives a little hello. I love Ireland. I would never get that in the States. I give it back, of course. Two
ships vehicles passing in the night morning. It cheers me as I sit in my little blue and white box, music (that I love, a rarity) so loud I can’t hear my own engine, on my way to another day of work. I look forward to seeing that bus coming at me.
Himself is home, and the dog is tap-dancing in glee and the cats are talking to him – because he talks back, of course. I expect the music to start any second now, he’s standing at the Mac…
I had a very busy weekend last. Staying up until 3:30 am Saturday night helping iDJ with, well, being a DJ – for a double 21st in a pub, no less – was tiring, especially with all the raw fresh testosterone that was liberally flung about when the ‘never a bother, nice boys’ got into fight after fight.
Sunday was the All-Ireland GAA final, and my county was one of the runners. The underdog. I’ve linked to Peternal to show a bit of the support we had here, but it was MAD, MAD I TELL YOU. They painted the white stripes and words on the roads red and green for Mayo. Every business and home on the main street had something red and green or outright supporting our lads.
Not going to the pub to watch the match was not a choice… even with work on Monday looming large. We met up with Peternal and settled in, and – I know, this is hard to believe – I was the only one of age in the pub, and the only of our group of three, who held off on having a drink until after 5 pm. When the game was over. And Mayo had lost to Donegal. Well played, Donegal – at least it wasn’t Dublin or Kerry!
But after that? It was like Paddy’s Day. Imagine if Mayo had won!!! We drank in…1,2,3,4, FIVE pubs before heading to the takeout for dinner after midnight. And no, that’s never one drink per pub. Not even for our slow-drinking Canadian.
Monday = ouch.
Monday night = watching a movie and eating early and going to bed on time.
Tuesday = I don’t want to even look at the 60+ emails with blog updates, comments, etc that have piled up since Saturday eve.
Because I’m also reading Game of Thrones. Sorry, folks… I needed a break! Sorry if I’m only today getting around to reading your posts, and usually only hitting ‘like.’ I also am making an experimental dinner and we had an electrician call around to fix the hot water heater – which has been dead since my last shower – which was on the 16th.
Aren’t you glad blogs don’t have Smell-o-Vision?
Somehow, through complete lack of my paying any damn attention at all, my friend has started a blog and it is FABULOUS.
Please go and meet her, and follow along! Dogs, cats, animal activisim, graphic design, beautiful photos of Ireland: she’s got it all! She’s been mentioned here and photographed a few times, too – she’s part of my KIBIS group. I’ll let you guess which one she is…
You have to love a blog that is summed up by the words “celebrating a pet-centric way of life!”
And, you’ll get to learn more about my small town than I normally get around to sharing with you. I for one really enjoy another non-native’s take on our adopted country, county, and town.
Edit: I got so excited I didn’t do this properly. Peternal is the genius behind Eternal Shades of Grey, too.