Sad happy songs?

Why are sad songs synonymous with happy memories? I haven't the slightest clue, but I am finding that Lara Fabian's Je Suis Malade, and Je t'aime make me feel better. They are sad songs, very good ones too, but they remind me of a summer which was so perfect. And I HATE summer with all my might. But it must have been a hell of a good summer for these songs to evoke something special and make me smile. I don't think that it was Fabian's intention for people to listen to her and smile. I think she wanted them to cry. But then maybe I've cried too many buckets already. It's not even a silly idiotic grin that I have on me right now (Yes with Lara Fabian in the background), it's a knowing smile. And a wealth of happy memories; memories of one breathtakingly (literally) beautiful love story.To the world it might seem all wrong; to me it looks like it's very close to perfect. Even Fabian's Adagio, stolen unashamedly from Albinoni himself makes me feel quite happy. And I always thought that Mr Tommaso's composition was meant to be sacred and he must have at least expected some reverence. It's making this girl here quite serene. So maybe I need more sad songs to make me happy? Perhaps it's the very word happy which I have misunderstood for all of my life. Happy doesn't necesserarily mean hysterical laughter, at least not for me. It means that I can take a deep breath and feel comfortable. And it works for me, probably the opposite way it was intended. Well... if it works, who am I to complain?

Portia

Allow me to introduce you to Portia, the youngest of my troop. It may be rather late in the day seeing Portia's now been around for nine months, but better late than never. I have been having different reactions to the fact that I named this kitten Portia, but the real explanation is that I'd always wanted a little girl to name Portia, and seeing no human girl came along then a feline one was close enough.

I'd like to say I nursed Portia from day one, but that's not very close to the truth. I bottled-fed her for one day and felt like a real mummy until my illness tore us apart. She was so tiny she could fit onto the palm of my hand, six weeks later, and many bottlefeedings by Mr. Boyfriend later, she had suddenly grown into a little tiger. I love cats, they are such perfect creatures and had been over the moon to be able to have one I could feed myself. In that way, I thought, both our needs would have been satisfied, mine to behave like a mummy, and hers to be nursed as a proper baby should. But time was limited so I missed out on her growing up such a lot. I'd daydream about her while I was in that ugly buildings which has blue doors opening and shutting and the same ugly building where lights are never switched off.Pity they don't allow four legged visitors in there, I really missed my little girl. But here is what really makes me guilty; out from the ugly building, I just couldn't bring myself to bond with this tiny creature. And bless her, she did try as hard as she could. I thought she was being a pest, I'm bad, I know, but I console myself with the fact that I was not behaving normally. I still feel guilty although she had a lot of her daddy's love. I wonder what she must have thought seeing that mummy had left her just after one day, and her daddy was constantly coming and going to and from the ugly building. Yes they do have feelings just as we do. Her daddy brought me plenty of Portia-videos to watch, it was just as far as he could go. Now when I look at her, I feel this surge of love and pester her to play. I just stare at her and wonder how one earth couldn't I bond with this very special cat with her very special name. I just hope she's forgiven all the bad feelings I had, but cats are better than human beings and they not just forgive but also completely forget.

Crocodiles

Everything in life takes it's own toll, but we become accustomed to the way it is now? Well I suppose a lot of people do, not I. I'm just plain scared. Not even holding a hand grenade would make me so scared. It's all to do with change, and I hate change of any sort. Move just one item out of my make up boxes and I'll flip. It's not because I keep anything need and tidy; it's just because since I left it there, then it's got to be left there. Do not even move a chair out of its place because I'll cry. Sounds like a control freak down to a T. Yet I don't consider myself one. I just need my own very basic comforts, and any sense, taste, smell, touch is related to some history which I have not ever grown out of yet. It's just like the smell of baby talc making me soft all inside, the touching of my leather sofa, and the taste of kid pink bubble gum. All of these go with something else. So that makes me think that everything should smell, taste as they should. And I so easily forget that it's not the case. Take crocodile. Eat crocodile. What should they smell like? What should they taste like? Well seeing that they spend their better half of their life in and out of water they should be something of an amphibian. But they have this fishy taste (which is ok) together with a beefy texture (which is not ok). To me crocodile is a paradox. To me it is also unsettling, because I can't really accept how two different things could go together like that. And yet life does that. And it picks up all the whiffs and scents of the world and puts them together just to make me know that it's really all right to be different. But is it really? Crocs are ugly creatures, I don't want to sound, smell, or feel like one.

Memories of an angel...

I'm not sure what I remember, or if remember anything at all. It's been too long now, so sometimes the memory is hazy and can play the dirtiest trick on the mind. But I do remember that I was in a place so clean and sterilized; one which I wanted to go out of. That wasn't going happening in a hurry. How can a person who is so close to death be oblivious of that fact? And yet here was I having a chin wag with death without really knowing it. Either that, or if by any remote chance I knew that death was so close, I have no recollection of fear. Illness is an ugly thing. But I do not know about the fear of death. I have been spared that. And yes of course people who have had near death experiences speak about the tunnel and the light. All of that is true. The thing is I saw the tunnel, and although it was not pitch dark, there was no glorious deity bathed in gold. It was a nice cosy atmosphere in there, but not enough to want to stay there. I don't know, it wasn't a place called home, but then neither was it too uncomfortable. For once in my life I knew that I didn't have to take a decision, someone else was going to make one for me. I'm not very sure I wanted to go back to the clinical sterile environments with blue doors and where the lights are never switched off. But that is exactly what happened. And extraordinarily, seven months later I type my story here. And that for me is a milestone, I couldn't even sit and watch a monitor for more that a couple of minutes. Now I can, and I can also write.And I will always keep asking for someone to fill me in on the details which till now I can remember. What I really remember is a very kind man who came to sit and stay with me for as long as it took. And no, I didn't imagine that and even if that isn't true, the fact there is some guardian angel looking out for you when you're just about to land elsewhere is kind of comforting. And of course it was a good looking angel, with such kind eyes, and more importantly with Strong gentle hands. And as I write this I am off meds s...

Back again?

Back again. I need to be here again. After all this time, I need to tell my story. So much has happened, I've been to hell and back, I've been at death's door and back. I've been to so many places it seems, yet I've bounced back. I do not know for what reason, maybe life will give me an answer. It hasn't been rosy, nor flowery. It's been a hard painstaking journey. But I'm back. And I keep looking for the whys and the whats and the hows. I don't remember much, I remember enough to know I've been through an ordeal. That's it. And I need to write, but I don't even have the words to do so.

One week and one day...

It's been one week and a day, and no Lady. And it sucks. No, worse than that, it's so sad. I've lost my baby girl and there will be no replacement. Funny how people react to this. Some people who swear they care so much and have my phone ringing for just about anything choose not to say a word. It's as if it hasn't happened. Then again, other people who have been just another face have suddenly come round, sympathised and empathised and gone out of their way. It's so strange. But then maybe it's not strange and I am just a very bad judge of character. Either way, nothing's bringing my girl back, but it's been interesting to find out that my Lady was actually an alpha female!!!! I never knew that, Lady, with her classy walk yet so playful, who didn't realise her own weight could be a painful issue when she decided to clobber me with her big paws.. an alpha? And her companion, the ever so fierce Fluke, even bigger and with a temperament to match Dom Mintoff's... a follower. Crazy, but true. And it makes me smile. Fluke who scares the living daylights even out of very experienced veterinarians had to go by Lady's rules. She was my girl all right, I taught her well, I taught her to be a feminist... yeay yeay that's my girl. One thing though, dogs are beautiful. Fluke might scare and be mad at everybody else, but not at us. He's just our little boy, well a very big and now old little boy at that, but he's just a pup at heart... with us. With Fluke it's a don't mess with me attitude. I pity the vets who have to see him, they too are shit scared, and it makes me laugh. Experienced vets... Fluke pins them to the wall. Not Lady, Lady was always a good patient poor soul. And I am here smiling, not because I don't have a heavy heart, but because I will not let myself remember the end. I choose to remember her life, and sit here and remember some more antics and smile some more. Perhaps it's denial. But then that's the first stage of grief.... I can't blame myself for that.

Lady

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. One reason for that would be my being bone idle I guess, another being so many happy things happening. And yet it’s not a happy reason which brings me here. It’s a very sad one. Lady. My Lady, the little girl I never had which came in the shape of a ball of fur. She didn’t stay that way for much, my girl grew and grew, which is natural in this house, and also natural for her. My very own Alaskan Malamute, although I could have cared less if she was a mongrel. Happy Lady who walked just like a Lady, head held high, with her wriggling butt which was so cute. I’d never had a dog before, so this was my first time… I spoilt her rotten. I loved her sleeping next to me just like a human, I loved covering her up with a blanket just like a human, and oh God I loved the way she would put her paw on my shoulder and sleep as if to say, hey I’m here and I love you. I loved her too. With her priceless facial expression, she chewed on my shoes… and yet I never scolded her. I guess it doesn’t say much for my parenting skills, but as long as she was happy; I was. I’m writing in the past because of course this happened over six years ago. I wish I could now write in the present and give details of what Lady is up to now. But I can’t. I’d give anything for it. But it still wouldn’t change anything. Lady is gone, she’s crossed over to Rainbow Bridge or so I want to think. I don’t care if there is no Rainbow Bridge; I want to believe that there is. I need to think that one day when my time is up, I will find my Lady again and meet her again. She is free from pain now. I’m the one who is in pain, and it’ll be quite some time till acceptance settles in. Six years really isn’t a lot, but that was all the time I had with my little girl. Then she got sick, so sick she was at death’s door overnight. It’s useless beating myself about it. I couldn’t have known, but I tried to make her stay. Still, after a major op, when things started looking up, it was all too much for my poor girl and she grew cold. That was the worst feeling of all, watching my girl, now cold. The same girl who really could be such a lovely pest, full of energy…lifeless. And I prayed to God because I thought God knew I couldn’t take this. Very selfish I know, but then I am a human being and not a dog. Dogs are selfless, well Lady was. I wonder why God never listens to me when I am on the verge of losing someone, I might as well get used to the idea that He just doesn’t. I don’t care if, in His opinion, there are plenty more things to do than to listen to me begging Him to save my Lady. He’s let me down one other time. But I hope he hasn’t let Lady down and that she is now roaming the best gardens and meadows of Heaven. Till we meet again sweetheart, you will forever be etched in my heart.

Older now

Here I am again, it's been so long up until I realised that there is no way I am spending my Euro for hours on the couch. I might as well spend them on jewellery and therapy myself here. I'm a year older but feel younger. I'm supposed to be a year wiser but feel really stupid. Stupid in the fact that I keep yearning for the acceptance of my rights. Rights and AnnMaries do not go together, at least not with this one. There's been no birthday bash this year. Just a very sorry excuse for an 'outing' which actually involved having to forfeit my birthday to do a favour for someone who is my brother's friend. Oh, and he's also an eye surgeon, or ophthalmic something, whatever they're called' I was going to do it quite gladly actually, a small recital for a good man. Until I was written off the programme, and until the good man ignored me completely... then I wasn't too glad. I admit I am not the man of 'Arani Issa' fame, with a well cut body and sexy butt, but the thing is I am the woman behind the 'Arani Issa' man, and that speaks volumes. And that man cannot perform through a whole recital without me. That's the truth. But then of course, with doctors come nurses, and nurses will always be the wanna-be docs. They thrive on power, and power they have. Why is another mystery. That means no more corrective laser eye surgery for me because I don't talk to my own twin with puppy eyes, behind my forever specs and neither do I grind my groin against his groin. I'm almost, just almost sorry for the nurse because I know that no amount of eyelash batting or grinding will take her anywhere. Perhaps a sex change...
As for me... I'm disappointed, I feel cheated and lost. And they say I need help. Yeah right, I just need to kick a couple of people's heads in and dump them like a bad habit. Then... I'll be just fine.

Silicone

Xmas is over, but not the end of year festivities. Fine. I'm not a fan of new beginnings, because new beginnings mean change and I hate change. If I even switch something as insignificant as a chair to another place I get apprehensive. Had I to change house, I'd be hit scared. I like things the way I want them. Yet I have been toying with the idea of changing the shape of my lips. I suddenly discovered silicone and have been thinking that it must have been man's best invention ever. Until I got a very rude wake-up call, a woman's lips so disfigured by silicone that I immediately felt so sad. And I asked... done by the same surgeon I was planning to give my lips to. Now I think that same surgeon should be given to the hounds of the Baskervilles and ripped to pieces. He's made this woman's face look wickedly sick. Not even Jessica Rabbit at her worst would have looked like that. And there is no reversing it. Lesson learned, just in time. No silicone, I prefer my own lips thank you. And it seems it was a lesson of learning today. I also saw a young woman, otherwise so beautiful, unable to walk straight. And that too made her look kind of warped. So of course since I had no clue as to a surgeon I might blame, I asked the why-God? question. I still don't have an answer, and never will have. But it sure made me feel like crap. Here was I worrying about silicone, and here was this young lady having lots more to worry about. Again, here was I worrying about my extra kilos, and this young lady having to worry with something so much more real. I'm 36 and have been tested by life to the limit, and I still haven't learned anything at all. When will I learn? Tomorrow perhaps? I really don't know. But I know that silicone is out for good.

My little man

I'm not quite sure how to go about tackling this Christmas. It's going to mark an anniversary, and anniversaries are sometimes very hard to deal with. Or perhaps I am way too sentimental and that makes it hard for me. Some people seem to be able to manage it with the minimal of damage. I wish I could. And it's at times like these when the tough bitch aura suddenly dissolves into the soft woman who fell in love with a little man one year ago. I wonder what that little man is doing now. I hope he's safe, and sound asleep in a cosy bedroom. If hopes were anything to go by then I'd be ok and could go to sleep in a snap. But hopes and wishes do not always come true. That's where my dad went wrong, he made me think that all good things are possible. It was an untruth I would discover on my own, for my very self and find that it tasted very bitter in the process. Fact 1 - I love men. Fact 2 - I love older men. Fact 3 - I love little men. Fact 4 - I love one little man with a love so fierce that it hurts. And I don't mind that hurting me as long as he's safe. But is he? I don't know, I don't have a clue. And the not knowing is hard to deal with. But he promised me he'd grow up to be a good man and come and find me ... that's four more years to go. Oh God I so love my little man!