I just read that September 21st is world gratitude day. I am a fan of lists, here are some things I am grateful for:
*living in a safe country without wars or high crime rate
*friends who don’t ask anything in return when I need their shoulder for once
*the strength I recently showed when I reached out and asked for support
*the smile that is always there, even when I am not well
*my husband who makes me feel safe
*clean water and food in abundance
*people who like my writing and comment on it (and don’t shy away from reading my short stories – a not so subtle request to read my short stories, lol. The ones on my profiles and the ones hidden in that collection called ‘Try a Little Tenderness’)
*the air that we breathe daily
*and the sun that kisses our skin
*the ability to write and to read
*music that matches my mood
*pizza… I so want pizza now, but it’s almost 11pm… I think we’ll have pizza for dinner tomorrow 🙂
*my busy (and often annoying) mind
*(many more, less shallow things)
Can you share 3 things for which you are grateful?
Sometimes I am greedy. Greedy and needy. Needy to hear nice things. To be complimented and validated.
Pitiful, is it not?
And then someone says something shallow but nice and the need is satisfied. Just like that.
And then someone says something shallow and indifferent and the need grows stronger until it turns into self-loathe and mirthless chuckles aimed at myself.
I had a lonely day. Which is only half true. There’s a difference with being lonely and feeling lonely. I was not lonely, but I felt lonely. Like a teenager I was waiting by the phone for a message from someone special. Because as I mentioned before, I am greedy and needy, and today I was in need of a special friend. He didn’t know. He is not a mind reader and that’s why he still doesn’t know. And time-zones are a pain in the posterior too. And since I am complicated and always afraid to bother other people with myself, I let my thoughts run in circles, fill my journal with thoughtless thoughts and meaningless meanings. And of course I listen to music.
My friend still didn’t react. But my day is about to get busier. Monday night is Movie night with my best friend.
Here I am, debating with myself if I should apologise for taking up this space. But the space is there. And I am there. I can take up as much space as I need. And if someone can relate to my special case of madness, than I welcome you to my inner circle. Virtually. In reality, that circle is closed. No one would survive anyway, lol.
But you know? I know that I am valuable. I just forget about it sometimes. And I just need to hear nice words (or praise) more often than others.
I am replaceable. My words are replaceable. Forgettable.
The love I share and give willingly is not.
I am replaceable. We all are. Which is good.
That doesn’t mean that we/I don’t leave holes and gapes and imprints on soul that will last longer than we/I do.
I always thought that I don’t want to be replaceable or forgettable. I never wanted to be one in a million, not even one of the few. I wanted to stand out and be special. I never did anything to deserve that though. That doesn’t mean that I am not standing out and that I am not someone special for someone else. And even if I am forgotten, isn’t it more important that the love I gave isn’t? Isn’t it more important that I touched three or four souls instead of hundreds or thousands? And will I ever know how many people truly read my words, my poems, my letters; how many are touched and changed? The answer is No. Because I will be forgotten and all that will be left of me are words on paper or screens. A thought. A touch. A shared moment. A memory. Maybe even a name. Most importantly, a feeling. An emotion that was stirred.
I’m just too proud about this one not to share.
I remember this story very well. I saw the movie ‘Once’ with Glen Hansard and felt inspired. It took me only two hours to write. From the start, I was drawn to that character and when the readers had nothing but praise for the Busker, I knew that I wrote a gem. What touches me about this comment here is that it feels as if I have made an impact. With my words and my imagination. It’s just an amazing feeling.
Link (of an unedited version – there are a couple of typos left in this one):
I am not taking myself too seriously here. I was sitting across my son, who was doing his homework in French and he began whistling. As you can see on this list, I can’t whistle and I began to write down things I can’t do. There are many more things I can’t do, this is just a start.
Maybe, someday, a list will follow with things I can do very well.
Until then, have fun deciphering my scribble and enjoy the rest of the weekend.
I do believe in this saying. Maybe it’s just a way to cope with things that are happening and we don’t have an explanation, or maybe it’s just a huge pile of bullshit. (I apologise for my language, I seem to swear a lot lately.)
I mentioned the new job? Well, it’s already over again. Too many things weren’t right and I decided to leave the daycare centre for children after not even a week. The kids were great, the house was really nice. It were the people and the way they chose to work with the children that was so far removed from my own work-ethics, there was no way of finding common ground. I am a fan of children’s laughter. I like to see them jump and run and play and sing. I am not a fan of having everything strictly timed and organised. I don’t like to be used because of my language skills or diploma either and I refuse to work only 1/3 of the hours that were advertised. Working with children isn’t always just fun, it can be dangerous too and an insurance is needed. For yourself and the boss. The insurance usually is made by the boss and is effective from the moment you sign your employment contract. I was asked to wait to sign said contract for another 2 or 3 weeks. During that time, I wouldn’t have been cover by the insurance, I wouldn’t have been paid either, but I would have done the work and they would have had someone to teach the children the things they advertise on their web site and their Facebook page.
3 days and I gave up. This afternoon I was in tears about it. It just got to me that much. I have doubts, of course I have. Did I give up too quickly. Should I have sucked it up and try to change things. But how am I supposed to change things when I only work 3 hours a day?!
And since I believe that everything happens for a reason, I am convinced that these last days, I was reminded of how awesome it is to get up in the morning, get in the car and drive to work. I want to do that. I want to work and maybe my own kids will have to spent some more time in day care facilities too, but it will be good. If I find something I love and I am sure that I will, then it will be worth it.
I am good in my job. Maybe I am not as creative as others when it comes to crafting and stuff, but I can do other things really well. And my calm nature is something the children and kids like too.
I am not giving up, even if I gave up on that place.
First day of work. I am nervous. A bit scared too. And if I keep stalling, I will be late!
Things are gonna get worse before they get better ~Matthew Ryan – Heartache Weather (from the album East Autumn Grim, 2000)~
Now isn’t that the truth. My last post spoke about how I was sinking and slipping and basically that I feel like a loser in every aspect of my life.
In the evening I had a spontaneous invitation to go to the cinema. And I accepted. No big deal. And the movie was so funny. If you have the chance, go see Eddie the Eagle. I enjoyed it a lot. It was exactly what I needed to get my head to stop tormenting me with all those inferiority and inadequacy thoughts.
I came home and felt better. It didn’t last though. A fight and being called a disappointment dulled that moment.
Back to square one tonight for me.
I wish I could breathe. But I can’t. Not when I am locked in. Not when I am molded into someone I am not. Because that brings out the fighter in me. I do have a submissive streak. But not in every aspect of my life.
Sometimes I hate people. And the addict keeps trying to get back in. Fuvk!!
Bush – Prizefighter
(From their best album: The Science of Things, 1999)
I saw Bush once in 2013 (or was it 2012?! can’t remember the year). It was a spontaneous thing to go to their gig when I heard that it wasn’t sold-out. It was early July and so hot. One of the best shows I have ever seen!
Catherine Micqu xx
I am fighting a war today. With me and myself. I am tired. And a woman. (sorry, TMI. I know). But my thoughts suck tonight. And there is only one person I would like to call. But my head tells me to let him be. And it makes me even more miserable. I feel as if I am sinking. And then the addict inside wakes up. Come on! Just once. You’ll feel better afterwards. Trust me. But as I said; I am fighting. And running in a circle. I try to escape myself, but – a circle. There is no escape. And I would talk to a friend. But in this kind of mood, my mind tells me that I don’t deserve to bother someone else with my ridiculous self-made problems.
Sometimes, I feel like I am running out of words and out of sound and all that comes out of my mouth are trivialities, because I simply can’t find a voice to tell the people around me how I really feel. (From this ancient post moods… )
The Cure -Plainsong
SO I sit here and keep fighting. I am alone. No kids around. The music is loud. “Disintegration” by the Cure. I might need a cure for my own disintegration soon too.
A week or so ago, a friend told me that one of my qualities is that I never lose my humour. It just gets darker.
And I wonder, if I really fill his holes, why doesn’t he send a life sign. Nothing in weeks. Maybe he doesn’t want his holes to be filled. Maybe he likes to stand in the rain and the way it soaks his soul. And the creative in him can use the feelings of hurt he inflicts on himself to write. And I will be the reason for the rain and the pain. But I am not. I can’t be. Please don’t make me into someone I am not.
drowning internally One of those poems I have written a long time ago. From time to time, the emotions in it become true again.
It’s quite weird. I love this song so much and the lyrics are the best part. They are so true. For me. For many people I know too. (Song from the album “Some Great Reward”, 1984)
Another Depeche Mode song. This one from the album “Black Celebration”, 1986. Another one with truer lyrics than I can ever write. I’m listening to this band a lot right now. But I have always been a fan. More or less.
(You see, I don’t really call myself a fan of this or that band or musician. I am not at all interested in the people who create the music that makes me feel. I don’t care about their birthdays, martial status or this or that. It’s the music. Always just the music.)
When I was 8 years old, my mother gave me a really old radio. It was red and quite battered with a couple of shipped corners. I wasn’t allowed to go out to play with other children. And that radio became my most precious possession. It became the roots to my music addiction.On my 9th birthday, I got a more modern radio. With tape deck and CD player. I had a couple of CDs. (Bonnie Tyler, East 17 and a couple of compilations). And I was one of those who recorded songs from the radio on tape to play on my walkman. Oh the memories. And then I heard “I feel you” by Depeche Mode for the first time in 1993. 10 year old me begged my mom to buy me the album “Songs of Faith and Devotion”, but she refused, saying that I was too young for that kind of music. I was not happy. Not at all. I began to save every money I received and after a couple of weeks, I was able to buy it for myself. I recall the day. I was ten years old and I was allowed to take the bus to the city (with my older sister). We had only one place where we wanted to go: the record shop. She wanted to buy some Bon Jovi, and all I could think about was that Depeche Mode album. Long story short – I bought it and never ever regretted it. I still listen to it a lot. There was a time when I listened to Depeche Mode excessively and one after one, I bought all of their albums.
As I said, the memories…