Showing posts with label experience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label experience. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?


I was pondering this yesterday.
I mentioned my clear-out, did I not.

Well, I have this box, as in 'actual physical box' where I keep a stack of e-mail print-outs. In the olden days these would have been LETTERS, handwritten and all, I know, I KNOW.... (sigh). I also have a seperate file in my e-mail account named Correspondence... you get the point, right?
Wow, so she gets e-mails....
Those are the reminders of the past. Part of my past. Pleasant and not so pleasant. But that is just how it goes. Nothing extraordinary about it. There is nothing at all about it that could be called special or even extraordinary.
In fact they are so unremarkable and non-specific to my life right now that I have not bothered to look at them in almost 2 years.
I knew they were there.
I ignored both boxes as well as one can.
I could not bring myself to a) burn the contents of cardboard box and b) delete Correspondence folder.

After a friend told me she got wheepy when finding old postcards from "that bastard" (her soon-to-be ex-husband), after I told her I still have most of the e-mail conversations saved or printed out, (yeah, perhaps a touch obsessive.) she simply looked at me questioningly. Why?!
I don't know.
Because I thought some day I would get them out and re-read them and I don't know LEARN something...?

Well, you HAVE learned something already: he was a shit. he was not good for you. Not even close to good enough. You were not even in the same category. So there's your lesson for you.
MOVE!
ON!

Part of my inability to let go is vanity I think.
It's pathetic but I do believe I wrote some pretty witty and insightful stuff then. And so naturally I want to hold on to those musings, keep them.
Again with the posterity!
I am sure yesterday it was established that no one gives a shit. The world keeps on turning. With or without some idiotic e-mails written over 2 years ago.
NO ONE CARES!
Believe it, girl. What you are up to in your little head is so inconsequential, it is elaborate to even say/write that it is in fact inconsequential.
So why does the human mind obsess on occasion about the ickle things in one's life?
Perhaps they were not so ickle.
Perhaps - and I realise that not so much with shock (because I have guessed this) but rather with a certain tiredness - this chapter has not been closed, for the sole reason that it has not been dealt with in an appropriate manner.

Maybe this is the time and the place. When it comes to digesting, dealing, sorting, this is a good place as any. It does not matter really (see above).
But what does matter is moving on. Moving away from the past with all one's faculties still intact and, what is more, with one's head screwed back on.

Let me start then, at random.
This is after all just me rambling. About . . . stuff. That's happened. That's never been aired properly and thus has been left to fester and boil. It is about time it was set straight:


I thought revenge, I thought doom, I thought bunny-boiling. Which is a normal course I do believe.
Well, not the bunny-boiling - but I am making a point here.
The point of anger. Something I have only ever allowed myself for moments, for tiny alotments of time.
In order to be able to say that I am mature and I get it, it didn't work out.
In order to be able to be the strong one that moves on, I held on to this anger, in effect holding it back. For fear of totally falling apart.


WHAT A CROCK O' SHITE!

Things Fall Apart - as The Roots so wisely said - and people fall apart, too - as I am sure anyone has noted once or twice in their lives but just did not bother to make an album about it.

Void, I am sorry - I will have to stop here.
Whatever excuse you accept.... oh right, you don't give a shit... ha, I forgot for just a sec.

Anyway, be back soon.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Learning Curves Are Tricky Things

Ok, yesterday's rant may have been a little unfair.
To my fellow women in their not-so-sad late 30's.
And to Alex Turner, who after all is only a baby. And let's face it, when you're his age you do think the world owes you pretty girls, or handsome boys for that matter.Most of the time you stumble around not knowing what the fuck you want. That you occasionally still do at the ripe old age of 37.

Some people never grow old, that is to say - I have found out - they never learn. But no matter how old you are or pretend to be, if you belong to the non-learners, you will eventually run out of excuses for behaving like a brat (or prat, your choice). Hope is that non-learners forgive themselves at some point and stop thinking of themselves as failures. Rumour has it that, also eventually, you will stop to give a shit about what others may say or do or achieve or what they're better at.

I feel like a non-learner all the time. And I am still hoping for the point to come that I could give myself a break. Sometimes it works. In the Wallowing Hour. And I find myself letting go a little.
But as always, before you know it, the time's up and you put the gloves back on again and the visor goes down.

I heard someone say once, life hasn't got to be so hard.
Well, it's the way I know it.
What's hard is letting go of old habits.




Sunday, February 19, 2012

No Such Thing As Too Much

No, I have not yet had my first ice cream this year. But I have seen a few people with cones in their hands, indulging in the cool sweetness, despite the weather.
In my humble opinion, ice cream is an all-year-round thing. To be enjoyed at all times, in all season. 
Of course, there are those who believe, ice cream is a summer affair, something to look forward to, something that comes round once a year like Christmas or Easter. Fools, I say. Ice cream never goes out of fashion or taste and why in hell would I want to wait until Summer?! The pleasure of ice cream cannot be spoiled. It is always at least as great as the last time, even if the last time was just an hour ago.
And yes, we can add that to my list of sins. I am a glutton for ice cream. There were times when I would have ice cream for breakfast on Sundays. I forget the name but it was vanilla with a layer of home-made raspberry jam on top. Courtesy of Eis Christina, of course.

Why am I remembering this? Because it stems from a time when I was very foolish. Not so much where my eating-habits were concerned, but my taste in men. 
And the memory of that particular brand of bad taste does not seem to go away. No matter how many times I try to cleanse my palate, there is always this slight bitterness at the back of my mouth. Did I say slight? Nonchalant, but inaccurate. That whole sorry chapter of my life just lets me wonder again and again where the hell rational thought and sanity were hiding out during that time. 

I said last month I would like to cut out that part of my memory and basically make the whole thing undone. 
And I still feel that way. I regret not being stronger and walking away sooner from a coward of a man, a silly and selfish human being unable to share, unable to be honest, unable to speak their mind or even speak UP, a weak and sorry figure that I should never ever have allowed into my life in the first place. 

But I also wonder what I may have learned from that experience. Apart from hating that person's guts and being a little worse for wear, apart from the usual anger.

I have no idea. I am lost for words. And that is saying much coming from a verbose person. 

I refuse to believe that Eis Christina is spoiled for me now. That eating ice cream is spoiled for me now, too. 
Well, if it comes down to that then so would be A LOT of things. And then I might just as well just give up and die. 

Ah, but I can't. 
There is still so much more venom to be spread.


P.S. If I was ever made into a comic book heroine I want to go by the name of Bitter Almond and if I had a choice, my gal pals'd be Miho and Maya.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Like Totally

Young folks of today are too much for me. Really.
I cannot decipher their cryptic messages when they try to interact socially. Actual face-to-face talk.
Conversations with phrases and words, mumblings, utterings. Vocal-chord action, dude. Not so sure they have ever heard of that. And yeah, it's redundant to blame it on the whole social media fad. Though, one must wonder - is it really still a fad, was it ever? Is it here to stay, was it always? I don't know, maybe in a few years, some crazy kid will come up with something that requires keeping shtum, saying nothing about oneself or others and just being, getting on with one's life without making a big fuckin' to-do about it.
So both on- and off-line I am not sure I get them.
Perhaps that just means I am getting old and too lazy to learn anything more. But I sometimes catch myself being so bloody grateful for not having to be 17 again, and in this day and age at that. God, all that awkwardness, the insecurities.
Living at home!

Then again, apart from not living at home and having a few things sorted out - awkward moments and insecurities are like friends you never wanted, they stick around.
But despite the occasional moan and whine about the good old days and youth and looks, despite the occasional awkward moment and the doubts, I am more often than not relieved that I seem to have gained some experience, some calm and some strength which allow me to get on with it and let me be resigned, and contentedly so, that I am not 17 anymore. Or 21 or whatever, dude. (Clearly, some being the operative word here.)

More astounding than the young folks in general, mind-boggling even, are the younger members of the opposite sex. Not that I was ever any good at reading a man's mind, his thoughts, should he have any. Chances are that I get even worse the younger they are. But what is it with their inability to shut the heck up?! I don't mind friendly banter, even witty flirting. But "too much information", too much talking - not so much. Seriously, if I want to chat, I go online - they of all people should understand that.
Perhaps it's just age and having been there already and having heard it all before and having been impressed once but not anymore by their little sad stories and their antics and their adventures and how they are so misunderstood.

Sometimes though - rarely, admittedly - they surprise you. No matter what age.
They seem thoughtful. And pensive. Focused. In a good way. Surprisingly so. Ah, but there it is, that word seem. Alright, I am rambling. Could well be that I have gained less experience than I thought. Could be that I am still as inept at getting male signals right as I ever was. Maybe I am simply not seasoned and wise.

Only problem is, experience or no, when you get it all wrong at 36 you feel just like the fool you were at 17. Personally, I very much try to avoid that. Without much success evidently.

But I am not going to order my tombstone any time soon or take up knitting or some other such nonsense.
So, more silly antics of a silly lady.
I had to stop for a second and think whether I could get away with writing "young" lady. I am not sure. But "middle-aged" seems utterly wrong, too and out-dated and frankly like a spinster from a Jane Austen novel. Well, in her day and age I would have been.

Oh dear lord...

Friday, January 27, 2012

Wisdom

Wisdom does come in all sorts of shapes and sizes but I happen to know that it never comes tailor-made for just you. You have to make your own adjustments, take a bit off here, stitch in a little there. Make mistakes and bad choices, be a little happy, be a little sad, win some, lose some . . . All that will change your perception, it will enlighten you. The stitches and cuts you make are the path you take at the crossroads in life, they may be straight, they may meander and de-tour this way and that. They’re different with each and every one of us. Because we all are unique in our perception of life, in our wisdoms, in our experiences that shapes us.
In the end you will have your unique sageness, your very own savvy. It will be your wisdom in your shape and in your size. That is not something that comes ready-to-wear. It’s something that needs work, a lot of it and years of practice.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Reminiscing

March 2nd, 2007 I wrote the following in a little black notebook:

"Two deer in the garden this morning.
Dad found the troll ear again.

In terms of ickle things this certainly has been a good day. A very good day, indeed.

The tiny gestures of life.
Life holding out its hand, inviting one...

All could be so wonderful - is, I suppose. Yet, at times it becomes hard to recognise or see.

Focus gets blurry, the lense milky.
Tired pupils from all too much insanity and ugliness manmade.

If we could just leave all this behind and out and concentrate on the vital issue of things that truly matter.
And it certainly is not a matter of definition what vital or true may be!

I saw a young couple today; her left hand was bound and his right.
I wondered what might have happened to them.
Maybe they bumped into something while they were holding hands, looking into each other's eyes?"

P.S. as to the troll ear: 
It was Christmas 2006, my dad and I had gone out into the woods to gather branches, moss, and fallen leaves, holly and ivy, rosehip, all sorts of things.  It is a family tradition that every year under the Christmas tree or near by it one of us would created a landscape in which Mary and Joseph hold Baby Jesus, across which the shepherds guide their flocks and across which also - although in the far distance - the Three Kings can be seen making their way slowly towards the manger.
For the creation of such landscape - which could be rather elaborate - you needed "material" which we either found in our garden or if we had more time and bigger plans, in the woods outside of town.
That year, my dad and I took our time carefully testing whatever we found in nature for use-ability in our grand scheme.
We had several baskets already full and were now looking for moss to be cut at the very last moment so it would last longer. There was moss growing on the bark of trees. There was moss covering the ground. There was plenty to go around. My father had begun to collect tree bark that had fallen off while I was busy gathering moss when, I don't remember who saw them first, we discovered tiny mushrooms growing around the feet of the trees. Some of them had spread out like the moss and crept up along the bark. 
They had funny shapes and looked a little like Shitake mushrooms to be honest. There was one on a tree trunk that resembled a tiny tiny ear. Not a human ear but the ear of a magic creature... After all, we were deep in the woods. 
No sounds, just the dripping of raindrops and our breathing - clearly, magic was in the air.
We took the "ear" with us. We told no one. But it was understood that WAS a troll's ear.
My dad carefully put it in a little air-tight container, labelled it like some kind of science project which always made me laugh. But somehow he misplaced it after Christmas and it was only that second day in March that he found it again.
I had called that day to tell him of the deer and how their silent grace, their elegance moved me so much that morning. I knew only he could fully appreciate that. 
And we both laughed at the lost and found troll's ear.

Only now I fully realise how behind so many things we say daily, we jot down, we let out carelessly, there is always a little story. A little something that makes it right, that places it neatly into the fabric of our lives and maybe that of others', too.

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