Tag: thoughts

Posted on

music

As most of you faithful or long-term readers know, I am a big fan of music. In the beginning the blog was all about music and I shared a weekly Friday 5. Those were links to songs I listened to a lot that week. Most Friday 5 posts have since been deleted and the blog transitioned into something different, more personal. Even more personal than music. For me, the genre is not very important, but I tend to be drawn to rock, alternative, indie, and mostly prog-rock. There is something about guitar riffs, bass drums and bass lines, something I enjoy. I also love 80s music, so many great and/or cheesy songs were written in that decade – my birth decade . And, even though only few would expect it, I love piano music. It is calming, soothing. It can be very sad and emotive; and it sounds beautiful on vinyl or live.

I am a moody person, but I am also open and curious. In my experience there is a fitting song for very situation and for every emotion. Sometimes music also triggers certain emotions and those inspire my writing more often than not. I think it is a beautiful way to create art and to leave an impression on the listeners. Through the years, I made many memories that are pinned to a song. It created a soundtrack to my life. And that’s a comforting thought for me.

This is a link to my music collection. Eclectic at best. It’s the good, the bad, and the embarrassing, I’d say. But it is also the music that kept me company over the years.

http://discogs.page.link/zc83L6fneS7mu86z5

https://discogs.page.link/zc83L6fneS7mu86z5

And here is a link to many hours of music on Spotify. I know, musicians don’t get paid and all. And I am torn about using the platform at all, but in the end, I listen daily and almost all day long. The easy way might be the lazy way, but it is what it is. To be fair though, I buy many records and CDs.

There is something about unwrapping and album from it’s cellophane wrap and holding it for the first time. I study the cover, the lyrics (if they are shared) and read the booklet from front to back. Like a little ritual.

Today, I had a beautiful album in my mailbox, and I did what I described before. I studied it from every side, enjoying this new arrival. It’s moody piano music with impressive vocals. The lyrics are poetic and the piano create a beautiful atmosphere. I am talking about a record by Martin Herzberg & Felix Räuber called “the art of dreaming”. It was released recently (October 20th) and only a limited number of vinyl was made. I was lucky enough to be in time to get a signed green copy. I listened to it a couple of times this afternoon and it is wonderful, just the right music for rainy and grey autumn days. It sets a fantastic mood.

Fun fact: I met Felix in 2013 and wrote about it here: https://micqu.org/2013/02/05/go-see-maximilian-hecker-felix-rauber-now/ I never forgot that night, even though it was quite embarrassing for me. You want to know more? Read the old post. It was a night to remember indeed. Do you have encounters that stayed with you through the years? I’d love to hear about it.

I am passionate about music, but I am very bad at describing it or reviewing it. I like most music I like because it triggers a kind of emotion in me. To me, that is like magic.

What’s the last song you listened to? Mine was “come around” by a British band called Corella. Corella were suggested by a playlist that focussed on Paolo Nutini’s music.

Do you still buy physical music or do you stream? (Which platforms do you use?)

In my life, music is very important. How about you? Do you have a favourite song or artist? I am curious to know about you. To be honest, right now I don’t have a favourite artist and somehow my favourite song was played so much lately that it is has lost it’s magic. I used to love Kate Bush’s running up that hill. It was the perfect mix of beautiful vocals, music to remember and poetic lyrics. Curiously, while I wrote this, another favourite came on: New Order’s 1963. I heard that song on the radio when I was a kid. I was one of those recording songs off the radio, and this one grabbed me right away. I had no idea who it was or what the song was called. Mind you, this was before the internet invaded our homes. It took many years before I found the song. There are two versions, but only one of them gets me in the feels.

I could ramble on and on about memories and meaning of this or that song. And I will, if you leave a comment for me. 🙂

Thank you for your continued support, and happy listening.

Posted on

it’s Thursday

throwback Thursday, as they call it. There were several random things on my mind for this throwback Thursday. Often, I just go back and share an old thought or post. But last night, I had many memories. And I want to share some with you.

Six years ago, I had just started a new job. Same as now. My hair was long and wavy, and I decided to cut it short. I cut my hair from waist-length to chin-length. For me, it was a huge change. I didn’t have short hair in years, but it felt right. And it felt good. I remember the hairdresser who asked several times if I really wanted to cut my hair and she even called a colleague to assist, saying that she was not used to doing this. But I was daring that way and I was experimental that day. After the haircut, I went to work and since it was October my colleagues first thought that my hair was tangled in my scarf; it wasn’t. Most people were amazed and positively surprised. Most people, Amalia cried when she saw me. She could not understand why someone would cut their hair. And to this day, there is no reason to that decision. I got up that morning and felt like changing my style. Ever since then, I cut my hair short a couple of times, the last time in December 2020. Since then it was growing back and I have almost waist-long hair again. With one change though, my wavy hair grew back as really curly. And I like it a lot that way. I also like my natural haircolour. It’s not red but not brown either. There are orange streaks in my chestnut hair and it is completely natural. Of course, there are more and more greys these days, but that too, I like.

So, six years ago, I was working at a nursery. I worked with babies aged 2 months to 2 years. I loved that job. A lot. Then came the moment I injured my shoulder in late 2018. I remember it exactly, it was at work and I had a kid on my arm who was throwing a tantrum. Something snapped in my shoulder and I was in agony, but I kept working. I only really allowed myself to feel the pain after my shift, when I was unable to bend over to tie my shoes. I went to a doctor. She didn’t touch me, she only said you seem to have snapped the breasts muscle. Loose some weight and it will be okay. But I didn’t trust her. She never touched me or my shoulder. A couple of days later, I saw a different doc who conducted different tests. He let me move my arm this way and that way and on an échographie the damage was clearly visible. He was mad when I told him about his colleague’s diagnosis. And so a long journey began. I had several cortisone injections and was put on extensive sick leave in order to take things easy. I saw a physiotherapist several times per week who help with massages and needling. (Needling is simply put damaging the muscle with acupuncture needles to make them twitch and heal themselves). Nothing worked for more than one week. I only remember 1 painfree week from that time and it was in October 2020. After that my doc said he couldn’t do anything else for me anymore and referred me to a surgeon. Again, I had to take several tests and it resulted in surgery in March 2021. I was in official recovery until July 2021, when I was told that I could never go back to my old job because of unforseen circumstances and new issues with my arm. I was lost, very very lost. And I embarked on a new journey to find a job I liked. I worked with pregnant minors and teen moms. I liked the job, I loved the shifts I worked but I didn’t like the team. I left for a job with Family services. I became a social worker, a case worker. I supervised parents who were not allowed to see their kids on their own. It was an interesting job, but due to my own history, it was very hard on me, and after very few months, I quit. And then, I got back to the start. I went back to were I had worked at the nursery. Same site, different group of kids; I now worked with kids 7 to 12. I felt relieved to be back there, it was like coming home. I stated that it felt like moving backwards to be able to move forward, and I stand by those words. Because after exactly 1 year, I left that place again. This time, it was by choice and with a feeling of closure. Ever since I am working a teaching job with 3 – 4 year olds. In all, in six years, I had 5 jobs. And it is kind of embarrassing, but I also feel a bit proud. I learnt something everywhere I was and I left parts of my knowledge everywhere too. Mainly the last two years shaped my career in a way I never thought possible. But I am glad I dared to quit time and time again. My shoulder issues are still not resolved and most days I am still in pain. But it is okay. I am not sure if the pain is easier to manage these days or if I simply got used to it.

a completely different memory to share is the one about me and music. I used to be a singer in a band. We were two singers, one male, one female. It was a great time, until the men decided they didn’t want a girl in the band and they asked me to leave, because I couldn’t sing and stuff like that. Fast forward to a community called Do it Yourself Hard (DIY Hard) for a compilation, songs were gathered and as a hidden song on there compilation, you can hear me performing a spoken poetry piece. (On Bandcamp, the album is set to private or I would share a link here for you) This collaboration also got me involved in a project called Endling, where I can be heard reading poetry again. But, the highlight of my musical career must be when a band called Weather Systems put one of my poems (the best pessimist) in a song and when Daniel Cavanagh narrated one of my poems. This one is quite special for me and although I am not 100% satisfied with the outcome, I am quite proud that this happened at all. After all, I was a fan of the band Anathema for years. It felt like a great honour. Though I admit, it didn’t do anything to enhance my book sales.

I shared a lot, for now, I think. Next week, I will share more memories. Maybe. Probably.

Posted on

words and thoughts

I happened to browse older posts today and noticed that many people who used to engage and interact have vanished. Some went slowly, not showing up as often anymore until one day, they forgot about this place (or just had enough of this writer), other announced their departure weeks before they deleted or deactivated their blogs. I only know of two who passed away.

It is weird but also normal that we fade out of other lives. Lives change, circumstances change and what once felt important is not important anymore.

I used to write novel-length stories, I know there must be some left in me, but the truth is, I haven’t taken the time to focus on developing a fictional story since I started work in 2016. Between 2012 and 2016 I wrote so much and I had fun doing it too. I had no expectations and just did it for fun and for me. I was more careless in that I didn’t care too much about grammar or plotholes or typing mistakes. (if you read a post I wrote without a typo, mark your calendars, because it is an absolute rarity). I just wrote. I kind of lost that and I think one reason is because I am overthinking too much. You see, back then I didn’t need to be anywhere and my life only revolved about motherhood. I didn’t need to keep an eye on the clock or anything like that; yes, I was freer and my world was a lot smaller back then too. I got up and wrote, then my kids woke up and I spent my undivided time with them and when they took their naps, I went back to writing or engaging with other writers. It’s all that I did. My social life was non-existent. And as I said, my world was very small. I never want to go back to that time. I like where I am now. I like the things I learned along the way and the memories I made. I simply miss how easy it was to be creative and to simply sit down to write.

There were times when I wrote several poems daily, that too has lessened considerably. Did my muse leave my mind? Is my mind not troubled enough anymore? Did I stop dreaming? Did I forget how to put myself in someone else’s shoes? I have no answers to those questions. I didn’t spend enough time with those thoughts to overthink them. They are silent questions, not tormenting ones.

And yet… I try to write something daily, even if it is stupid stuff about me or very short scenes like “Lost in you” was. I challenge myself to find something to say. I want to share words and thoughts. It’s what I do, right? These short scenes are often inspired by music or movies; a sentence I read or heard. I never know what will come out of my fingers when I decide that it is time for a post. I am as surprised as you. The only thing that is always true is that there is music. There is always music in my ears when I write. Sometimes with words, sometimes only melodies, but always music. Inspired by music.

I still write this blog for myself mostly, but it seems as if I am not sharing as much anymore. Is all said about me? Am I boring myself and you?

As I am getting older, I notice that I am fading out of lives too. I don’t engage as much because I keep thinking that most things don’t need my commentary – but comments is a way to be seen, being seen is a way of drawing attention, drawing attention brings followers, and followers bring pressure to give them something interesting to see. And here, my old friend self-doubt shows up: is there even anything interesting about me, and why should I allow myself to take up more space than I already do, and why should I allow anyone to “waste” their time by reading my words? (this word is too strong, but the right one escapes me at the moment)

I am loyal, but I am not constant. I still read blogs I read years ago, but less often. Instead of visiting daily, I visit weekly and catch up on everything I missed. (while I wrote weekly, I noticed that it might also be bi-monthly) and I am sorry that I am not as supportive as I used to be anymore. I could surly find some shallow excuses for this, but the truth is, I don’t spend as much time online as I used to and simply forget to check what others do. I sound so full of myself and self-absorbed. I hate this and I am very sorry.

I miss the old carefree days. I was naive back then and had no idea about anything much. I even thought that I knew a lot about music. I definitely don’t. I know what I like and what pulls at my heart-strings, but I don’t know anything else and I don’t pretend to know good music. Not anymore.

There are people who think that I am still the same. They try to manipulate and get what they want with sweet words and heart emojis. And some times; I allow it. Other times, I don’t. I see their lies. Anyway… they are not worth the words or the thoughts.

Words and thoughts. They remind me of a person I met on a site called Wattpad. I used to share all my writing there, but deleted my accounts (I had one for my poetry and one for my novel-length stories) a while ago. I met many people there, but only stayed in touch with one of them over the years. I think it must be around 10 years now, but I am not sure. I just know that they are in my thoughts daily and every time their name pops up in my inbox, it makes me smile. Who knows what the future brings, but I am very happy they are still around. ❤ I remember that I received messages warning me about them and that they were playing games and all that. I still have to laugh about it because I never met anyone who is more real and true to themselves as they are. And I like. It’s grounding.

As for the rest, maybe there is a time for everything. And maybe some times come back again and again, while others just fizzle out.

This blog has been a part of me since 2012. I had the chance to read many beautiful comments and reactions to my posts, and am I grateful to the people who come by daily to see what went on in my head in that particular moment. Because let’s be honest: everything I write is impulsive and thoughts I have now may be forgotten in an hour. What you read on your screen is a reflection of who and how I was during that precise moment.

Right now, I have a headache and a sore throat, I am tired, but I am also at peace and content. I am in love with my husband, who had a birthday yesterday, and I feel loved by my awesome kids and my friends. My job is a lot of fun, but I am grateful that it is weekend and that I can relax some. I am in a good mental state. And that’s all I can ask for.

Thank you for your presence in my life. Maybe you think that I don’t see you, but I do. I see you.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=96V7olylxyM%3Fsi%3DQXuz9LODeJPMYoBe
in this life there is no quick fix or easy answers

Remember that your unique perspective and experiences are valuable, so continue sharing them authentically.

Posted on

musing

They say, you need to speak up and voice your thoughts to be heard. But I think, you also need someone who listens and understands what you are saying.

The loudest scream stays silent if no one hears it.

Posted on

Friday Afternoon Musings

I believe that things happen for a reason and that people are in our life for a reason too. I thought about this a lot recently. Why do friendships fade out, and why do new people enter slowly, and suddenly, you realise you are in touch daily? Why do lovers need to leave, and why do they come back on occasion too? Why was that perfect job given to someone else? We will never know. And overanalysing doesn’t help us to move on.

I used to write a lot. And when I say that, I mean that I wrote novels (60k words and more each) back to back between 2012 and 2016—18 full stories, and countless ideas that never made it past chapter 5. In 2017, I didn’t write all that much. I stuck with poetry and short stories, and I kept writing one or more poems daily until early 2020. I find it hard to write this year. As if the words are not there, or the emotions that fueled those words. And I can’t blame it on the pandemic. It is the change inside of me. Am I growing up?

All this reflection came after listening to an episode of the Podcast “What Do You Say?”. I mentioned it a couple of days ago, and this episode with Noah Kagan had some highlights for me. Fodder for thought, as they say.

What Do You Say?

Up until 2016, I was a housewife and stay-at-home mom. I had three small kids, a house, and a husband. And lots of time. I had routines and was able to set aside time to sit down and write. I was inspired to write, and the inspiration came from nowhere really. My life was so small, and I was living in a tiny bubble with almost no social life whatsoever. There weren’t many distractions. I dove head-first into my love for music and live concerts and discovered that I had some talent for writing good fiction. No, by far, not everything is worth reading, but I am proud of my writing voice.

We grow all the time, and life changes all the time. We adapt without really noticing. In 2016, I found a job at a nursery. I didn’t stay at that nursery but switched a couple of months later – and that’s where I am still today. I love my job. It’s not only an occupation, but it is also like a calling. And once in a while, I am fed up with the team or with my boss or with the decisions of our minister in charge of education, but ultimately, I love what I am doing.

If I had a choice, though, I would make writing my top priority. I was wondering if I could set aside time again, to make new routines and maybe set daily word count goals. But my schedule at work is inconsistent. Sometimes, I need to get up at 5.30am, other times I can lie in. And I love to sleep in. Sometimes I am done at noon, other times it is 7pm before I am home. It is exhausting. And then the chores are waiting and the kids deserve their time too.

How are those different thoughts linked? I have been chatting a bit with Gavin Simpson – Sourfish. And I listen to his weekly podcast, which was insightful and inspiring this week. Truth be told, we were following each other for years on Twitter and IG, but we were never in touch until last May (?). His enthusiasm and passion are contagious, I am learning a lot. And as I mentioned before, this episode 006 of his podcast was what I needed to hear.

Things happen for a reason. People are in our life for a reason. Life is a string of lessons, and we never stop growing and learning. Maybe I am at a time in my life where I want to take over more control again. I want to stop lamenting. And be happy. There is light inside of me. Somewhere.

I had a hard childhood and youth. But as much as I believe it shaped me into the woman I am today, I cannot allow it to keep me hostage. I cannot change the past, and I am tired of using it as an excuse. And I do—all the time. I want to stop that behaviour. It is the right moment to change for the better. I don’t want to be this version of myself anymore.

On top of all this, I still have my shoulder to deal with, and I decided that I will have a second opinion about it because I am in a lot of pain again. (I was diagnosed with bursitis in February and had a Cortisone shot that didn’t help at all.) There will most probably be surgery. And to be honest, I am scared. I was never at a hospital (apart from having my babies), I never had surgery, not even stitches. I never had to be treated at an ER. I am all original Cathy. I know the pain I am in now. It is familiar. The pain after surgery is unknown. But again, I want to face that fear. Maybe.

Furthermore, I don’t want to use the word “try” as much anymore. Either I do, or I don’t.

My mind is philosophical right now.

Everything happens for a reason—no need for any regrets.

And… if you like Podcasts and aren’t afraid of a Scottish accent, then, by all means, listen to the link I shared above and then go back and listen to the other episodes too. What do you say?

Posted on

Memory lane

Today, I saw that an old post from November 2017 was read a couple of times – today. I am not one who looks at the stats all day long, but I noticed this because it is a special post to me. (That said, I usually take a moment in June to reflect on the first half of the year on the blog… Expect a post about that soon)

I remember that particular post from November very well. I remember exactly when I wrote it and why. I know what happened before and what happened after.

music that pulls at the right strings

It’s quite painful to read all of these words again. They were at the beginning of a dark and depressive phase in my life and I am not completely out of the woods yet. I have been fighting and struggling for three years.

Recently, I discovered that I am actually a mediocre writer at best. I keep repeating the same words and phrases; I keep replaying the same scenes and moments. And my writing became dull. Unimportant. Irrelevant.

There are many many amazing writers out there. There are musicians who write lyrics so powerful that they make the listener tear up.

I am not one of them. Not anymore.

Not anymore.

I am sorry.

I lost my most important muse and stopped listening to the music that makes me feel. It is as if I am overwhelmed all the time, yet numb too. It is as if I am censoring myself and hiding behind the mask of the person I am expected to be.

I am exhausted. I haven’t slept properly in four days. And I can’t do it anymore.

Posted on

imho

Classic books or movies or music is imho often overrated. Maybe I am not clever (smart) enough, maybe I am too young, maybe I am too numb and saturated with books and movies and music.

But I too can appreciate some classics. Tonight, The Graduate was on TV. Not overrated or dull at all. Yesterday, there was a documentary about Joan Baez – the verdict is still out. Her lyrics are good, and I like the political edge and her engagement, but her voice – not my cup of tea.

Then again, I am not a critic. Never was. Even when I post music, I am biased. I will only share music that I like. I gave no knowledge other than knowing what I like and appreciating this or that technique or genre more than an other.

I scheduled a post that will be published in about two hours… 🙂

Until then, goodnight.

xx

Posted on

Thoughts of the day while enduring the Hobbit on TV

I miss work. Not the colleagues, but the kids and the work itself. Right now, I am on leave because of my own kids. They have a two week spring break, but after that, they will need to be homeschooled again until May 4th. (At the earliest.) My boss sent out emails to every employee this morning to plan ahead and organise out next weeks; To think about projects and write down activities. As I am working part-time (20hours/week) at a nursery, I was required to write 20 new activities. I did it all in 4 hours, and thinking about it and the development of each child made me miss them even more. Later this morning, I received an email stating that everyone being on leave to be with their kids did not have to do this. Well, I was too fast, it was too late. 20 activities had been written down.

And while I am missing the nursery, the toddlers and babies, I am also happy to be home. I am developing some kind of phobia. I don’t want to see anyone; it makes me uncomfortable. And I can’t do video chats. It makes me even more uncomfortable. Once every week, I need to make a video conference with my two co-workers. It makes me nervous, and I hate seeing myself on the screen. I was offered an opportunity to video chat with Nate Maingard (musician and modern troubadour), I had to decline – with a heavy heart. But at this time, I can’t step out of my comfort zone for a stranger when I can’t even video chat with my sisters.

Before our confinement, I flat out refused to do these video chats. Now, I have to make concessions too. Ah, I am rambling again.

All to say… I want everything to go back to normal, but the thought of leaving the house scares me shitless.

How about you?

PS: since March 13th, I had three calls from my mom; before that, I didn’t have any news in 6 months…

PPS: the title of this post was promising, and it was followed by nothingness. Sorry.

Posted on

Old wounds weigh heavier than newer ones.

This Corona thing is different for all of us. I admit I am coping well enough. I feel lonely but also relieved that I don’t have to deal with as many people daily. I am most happy at home or in my garden. I am not trying to improve or learn something new. I am just being a mom and taking care of the house. I neglected that a bit in the past, but now that we are at home all the time, I want our home to be clean and tidy.

I am lonely, however. I am online a lot, more than I already was before the lockdown. And at one point, I became obsessed with news about the progression of COVID-19 in Luxembourg.

I noticed something with my husband yesterday: we kiss when one of us leaves the house or comes home. Now that we are both home, the physical contact is reduced to a bare minimum. I mentioned it, and as so often, it was countered with a joke. You see, we laugh a lot, a big part of us is banter and calling the other out on their bullshit. We never fight, and it is all in good nature, but the intimacy, the physicality is missing.

But I also need to admit that I have many times when I don’t want to be touched when I don’t like the feel of skin against mine. I flinch away. From my kids too. I try to apologise, and lately, I began telling my kids when it is okay to touch and hug and when it is not. It makes it harder for everyone around me to know and understand that I need those hugs. They keep me together some times.

When I was a child, I was not hugged, not touched, and I was never told that someone was proud of me or that I did something right. I was ignored, insulted, and ridiculed. I remember a big hug from my grandmother when I was seven, and she told me that a girl from my class had died in a car crash. She had been run over by a drunk driver. I remember a couple of slaps, but what I remember most is the cold shoulder—not being heard or looked at. Not having a voice or being allowed to use that voice.

I was a timid and taciturn child. I was not really bullied but singled out for being the only kid with Italian roots and divorced parents. Add to that that the kids from school didn’t understand why my mom was in a wheelchair. I didn’t understand it myself, but since it was my normal; I didn’t know it any other way.

My childhood and the emotional abuse I endured left deeper wounds and scars than anything else ever will. It is the reason for all these self-esteem issues. For the depression too. In my head is this voice that tells me that I am not loveable and that I don’t deserve anything good happening to me. I don’t trust people and don’t confide in them. My mind is constantly working, but no one even knows the half of it.

When I was a teenager, I craves affection and attention. And so I began flirting with many boys and men. I just wanted to be loved and appreciated. And I was never short of boys who were willing to flirt. I had boyfriends and received love letters. My first time having sex was me being abused. After that, I took my distance from men and boys. It took a couple of years before I let anyone physically close again – he became my husband.

I am a sexual woman. I like flirting, and I love writing my more smuttier one-shots. Heck, People are checking this blog for those posts alone.

I am starving for affection more days than not. And I want to be good enough, loveable enough. I want to be funny enough. Interesting enough. Clever enough. Sexy enough. I want to be enough. But there is this barrier in my head. I don’t know when I will attain this “enough”. Enough is never enough. I need to feel love from other people to feel love for myself—a vicious circle, bound to leave me with a couple of new bruises. But I can take it. I can channel that kind of pain and pour it into my poetry and writing. I may not be the most amazing person, but my writing is often decent.

I am thinking a lot tonight. I was watching Gone with the Wind (1939) tonight and after that, I can’t quite seem to find sleep. It is 1:30am.

And with my thoughts going in circles and me thinking about my grandmother tonight, I realised that my emotional wounds, the one’s from my childhood and teenage years are heavier on my mind and soul than physical wounds ever were.

Writing this reminded me of Robert’s blog post. Pain is relative. Pain is not relative. Emotional pain is relative. Physical pain is not.

Cathy: April 7th, 2020

On that pic, you see me with no make-up and my favourite t-shirt. (Pink Floyd). There is a beer mix in the back, and – get your head out of the gutter – that phallic shaped thing with the colourful bubbles is a Galileo thermometer.

I often wish that I was a normal 37-year-old woman. But how does a normal woman my age behave? I am a bit crazy around my kids too. Often, I am dancing or singing or wearing a plastic crown. I write about music – a new review is in the making. I ramble about unimportant things. But if these things and themes and subjects matter to me, then they aren’t unimportant, right?

I just hope that my kids will be less damaged than I am. They know my moods. They don’t fully understand them yet, but they are tuned in to my manic moments and to my depressive episodes too. I try keeping them out of it all. Not to wear a mask or to lie to them, but to stop them from worrying.

In this Corona times, I am less alone, yet lonelier than ever. I am coping quite well for now, and I hope I will manage these next three weeks of lockdown too.

I hope you are okay and safe.

Cathy

Posted on

After the night comes a new morning.

It’s close to midnight. I just took out the trash from the kitchen to put it in the bins outside. I intended to get ready for bed soon. But I got held up.

It is quiet outside, and cold. Freezing. The air smells like snow, and the wind is picking up. There were storm warnings on the news, but everything was calm until now. The trees are waving in the wind; it is the only sound I can make out—just the wind jostling the trees.

These days, I don’t like going outside during the day. I go for walks at night, when I am sure not to cross anyone. When I am in the garden, I go inside when I hear the neighbour’s voices. And, honestly, I am content in my bubble. I wonder if I am slowly turning into an agoraphobic person.

I don’t miss people. I don’t miss socialising because I get my fix of people online, without having to face them or having to speak to them – and let’s not forget, I (37) have three kids (15, 11, 9) and a husband (42) at home.

What gets to me most is that I am never alone. There is not a moment when I can be completely alone without anyone around. We are living in a house, with three floors. But it is quite open, and some walls are still bare. If you are watching a movie on floor 3, you can hear the dialogue on floor 1. (Same with phone calls and all that).***

Always having someone close, that’s draining for me. And I am living with people who I actually like. Still, it gets suffocating.

So here I am, leaning against the front door’s frame, feeling the cold wind on my face, breathing. Breathing in. Breathing out. Smiling. Breathing in. Breathing out.

For now, I am okay—ups and downs; the usual. I am busy writing; for work, for me, for others… I am listening to lots of music, old and new. I am even discovering new skills in the kitchen – and I was already quite talented there…

Another three weeks of lockdown are ahead of us in Luxembourg. Covid-19 cases are still on the rise, and people are dying every day from complications associated with the virus. Three more weeks of homeschooling and being mindful and grateful. I am a lucky woman. Nothing will ever be the same.

It’s after midnight, and I close the front door. Rain is beginning to fall. The trees are still dancing in the wind, casting shadows under orange streetlights.

Tomorrow is a new day, and we are still here, still sane and safe and healthy.

Goodnight.

*** you enter the house on floor three. There is a small open space used as an office (by my husband, Patrick), a bathroom with a bathtub, and two bedrooms. The master bedroom and my son’s room. Going down to floor two. Here we have my daughters’ bedrooms, a bathroom with a shower, a technical room, and my book/CD shelves are here too. Going down to floor one. Here is an open space living room, dining area, and kitchen with access to the patio and the garden. There is also a half bath and something we call basement (with the washing machine, dryer, freezer, many tools…) Our house is rather small, even if it sounds big. It gets cramped to live here as a family of 5. We are living on 139m2 (which equals 1500 sq ft). There is no garage, no attic, no basement. I love our home, though. We had this house built for us and moved in December 2017. It’s the first house that feels like a real home. I will grow old here. And that’s a happy thought.

Posted on

Done

I am feeling… Weird. I finished the second draft and the 100th revision of my novel.

I should be happy, and I am. But I feel empty too. I spent a lot of time with the characters in this book. And what if I am not done? What if I should change this or that? What if I am driving myself crazy?

The very first draft of this story was written in 2014. I have been toying with these characters since then. I let them go for a while, and I picked them up again. I worked on the story, and I let it go again. But I always knew that the story is good and the characters are too. And now, after a week of intensive editing and rewriting, there is nothing left to do. I checked and revised, read the story, but there is nothing I could and would change right now.

I have an ISBN for a print version… All I need to do now is loading it up to Amazon. But I wonder… Is now the time to publish a romance novel about a same-sex couple? And before you ask, yes, there is a niche, and yes, stories like these are read.

I feel insecure about this book, to be honest. It is different than publishing poetry.

But overall, I am happy.

I did it. I finished my novel. 😁

Posted on

draft_20200318

And as I am lying in my bed, I am listening to the world. It is quiet outside. There’s a plane taking off. My neighbors are doing the opposite of social distancing (again). A dog is barking somewhere, and I can hear other animals and insects. Nature is waking up. Not only animals are back, but allergies are also beginning – I am sneezing a lot, but once I take antihistamines I am better.

What will happen to us? I am honest, I am afraid to catch the virus, yet I am not. I am not at risk right now; I was not in touch with other people in a week – apart from the ones I am living with, and yet. If statistics say that 70% of the Luxembourgish population will be infected with COVID-19, then I will surely have it too, sooner or later.

I believe that it is good that we are forced to slow down. It is good for me and my mental health. At the same time, I am not sure how I will cope if this goes on for longer. I am just not sure how it will affect my mind. And there is no way of knowing. I was in a good place for most of the past week, with today being an exception. I woke up in a bad mood, and it didn’t really improve during the day. Sure, I got a lot done, and I had fun chats with online friends, but something irked me. And I have a suspicion what it was: there is no room in my house where I can be alone and on my own – apart from the bathrooms. Our home is not large, but it is not small either, and yet, I cannot go somewhere and close the door to be alone. The constant presence, the usual noises, the chatter, it is exhausting. Even if it comes from people I love. And I love my kids with all my heart. They are amazing in this situation, and I am grateful that they are at an age where we can discuss things, and they understand.

With the weather being nice, the girls are in our garden a lot. But even when they are outside, they get in to get this or that (cardigans, shoes, toys…); I am never on my own. It’s hard for me. There is no moment during the day when I can stop thinking and rest. I need to be attentive and responsible at all times. And it gives me migraines. I wish I were kidding, but I am not.

In a typical week, when the girls aren’t homeschooled, when my son goes to high school, and my husband drives to work, I sleep a lot. I sleep in on Mondays and Thursdays because those are the days when I only start working at noon (or later). I take long baths, and I allow myself to be lazy. There is no harm done because I am alone at home, and no one sees me.

During this almost complete lockdown, the kids have schedules and homework – all three of them, my husband works from home, and I am partly supervising the kids, partly editing my novel (10 more pages to go on the second draft), and I promised to get things done for work. I get up every day at 7:30 (I know that it is late, but as I said, I have the luxury of sleeping in many days). I have breakfast with the girls every day, and I turn my laptop on by 9 am. I am trying to be focussed for an hour; the girls are supposed to do the same. At 10 am, we take a break and go outside. There, we do a bit of yoga and other exercises. I want the kids to move and take deep breaths on their 15minute break. After that, we go back inside, hydrate, and get back to work…

I am embarrassed to say this, but the muscles in my legs are so sore, I have trouble climbing stairs. Why? Because we did 20 squats yesterday. It seems I did them right. And we all know that I am really out of shape and overweight. But, I am working on it—little by little.

Times are filled with uncertainty. No one knows what will happen and how this pandemic will keep dictating our lives. Maybe that is the hardest part. We just don’t know.

Stay home. Stay safe…

(This post should he called whining on a high level)

Posted on

8:02

Every day, for years, I take a look at my watch (or any other available clock) at 8:02. In the morning, in the evening. It is very weird. Even more so because I am born on February 8th, and we write dates in this format: 08.02.1983

If I only knew what this means… Is it coincidence or a sign? Every single day!

It’s 8:06 now. It took me 3 minutes to write this post. 😂🙈

Posted on

What if things were different? (stream of consciousness)

March 2017

In 2017, my exhaustion was already visible in my eyes. The depression that accompanied me for the last years was just beginning. I had no idea then how much worse it would be. I just knew something was very off, but I had no idea how to keep myself afloat.

Sometimes, I wonder if my mental struggles began because I had to start to work. The timing is uncanny. Don’t get me wrong; I love my job. I love working at a nursery and teaching the babies and toddlers new things. I love seeing their evolution and helping them to accomplish new milestones.

But

Since I started working in late 2016, I stopped writing fiction. Since I started working, I am sick more often. Since I started working, I had migraines more often (twice monthly until I started acupuncture). Since I started working, my mental health began to decline. Maybe it is just a coincidence. But what if it is not? What if I would be happier (and saner) being at home, taking care of the house and the kids, and spending my time writing?

I love getting up in the morning and going to work. I love how fast time flies, and I even love the “rush hour” when the kids eat (or we feed the little ones) and before they take their nap. I am working part-time. I could have the best of both worlds. But my work is exhausting. I am not only playing with kids. I am constantly observing them, writing reports, planning new activities to stimulate their mental and physical development. And of course, the planned activities need to be carried out too…

I have been home again (on paid sick leave) for the last week. I can almost feel how I am getting calmer and how my mood takes a boost. I am still in a lot of pain, and after my injection a week ago, I was ordered to rest and do nothing. Or not much. And it makes me feel good. Or better. I need this time-out to care for myself. I neglected myself for far too long.

And of course, my emotions are on a rollercoaster. I feel guilty for being happier at home alone (and in pain) than being at work. They manage well without me. Just like the last time, one colleague got in touch; I am not missed. And that bugs me; I have to say. My work is good, but clearly not as good that it makes people miss me. Maybe it’s because even at work, I keep to myself? I don’t know. With my injured shoulder, I am not much use at work anyway. (And due to varying pain-levels, I am not reliable right now either.)

Now, these last weeks, I started writing again. I am also working on changing our family diet: fewer carbohydrates, less sugar, no alcohol, but many more vegetables and protein, and lots of ginger-flavoured water and green tea. The kids are not happy, but the change is visible. Not on the scale, but we have more energy, and stupid as it may sound, our skins look better too. It’s the little things.

As you can see, I had a lot of time to think. Rest assured, I don’t regret anything. Everything happens for a reason. I needed to get a job because one income didn’t pay the bills of a family with three kids. Easy as that. Writing doesn’t pay the bills, working at a nursery does. At what cost, though? Is my physical decay (melodramatic Cathy) due to my mental struggles?

Did I recently explain that I don’t believe in regrets? Well, for me it is true.

Regrets make us live in the past, and the past often makes us miserable. Either because we were hurt or because we are longing for the happier times that we think we remember. Every choice I made, every decision I took brought me to the place where I am now. And even when I am depressed and melancholy, I believe that I am learning from this experience. I sound like a lunatic. I firmly believe this. I also think that people step into our life for a reason, and we are learning from all of them: the good and the bad. I don’t ever hate anyone. In fact, I am always trying my best to see every side of a story. The funny thing is, when we interact with someone, we exchange parts of ourself for parts of them, and like that, we will forever be a part of each other. (Obviously, I am alluding to people who are close to us for a part of the journey… Although strangers can change our lives too – I am dropping that train of thought for now. I am turning in circles, and my head hurts, lol)

Sometimes we have to let people go. And it is hard because selfishly, we want to keep them in our life. They make us feel good, and we choose to ignore how much they are suffering. And again, I could never be angry with someone who needs to protect themselves. I understand it. And I accept it. That doesn’t mean that it will not make me sad. After all, I am a very sensitive and emotional woman. Compassionate too. I struggle with people leaving my life, though. The more they mean to me, the harder it is to let them go. That’s the same for everyone, right? I can’t deal with rejection very well. It makes me feel wrong and unlikable. It unleashes a myriad of negative emotions inside of me. No matter what happens and why friendships end or evolve in different directions, I always blame myself. I am not good enough, not beautiful enough, not engaged enough, not intelligent enough, not funny enough, not serious enough, not sexy enough – I am simply not enough.

I would never change the past. Again: no regrets. I would not even change my childhood or adolescence, where I was emotionally abused and neglected. Because without it, I would not be who I am. And I am unique with all my flaws and shortcomings.

I am weird. Sorry. I am in a weird mood.