Kiss-Kiss, Bye-Bye

I've been blogging since May. It's December now, the 31st. Last day of the year, last day of LM, last day of so many things. And I should look forward to 2008, new year, new Euro, new everything. But I never look forward to new things, unless they're designer jewellery, clothes, shoes and cosmetics. A New Year, that's a bit of too much, another twelve months stretching ahead of you, who knows what's going to happen. Maybe next year I'll tell Santa to get me a crystal ball.

Anyway, I'm having a Diet Coke and smoking.... which is what I have been doing for probably the last 10 years. I just marvel at how time has passed, I was 16 only yesterday, with raging hormones and plans for love in life. I still remember what I did on New Year's eve when I was 16 and later when I was 17, then when I was 27. The rest is all a blur. Oh yes I remember one more, when I was 29 and totally mad.... I spent New Year;s Eve cleaning, yes cleaning. But I don't do that anymore, I don't know how to clean anyway. I just wallow in perfect disinfected order when Bridget has come around. It's so much easier.

I also have enough party food in the house to feed a bunch of horses. And I'm not even hungry. Under all the expensive jewellery lies a girl whose idea of a perfect night is staying in and watching CSI, downing copious amounts of diet coke and nicotine and tar. Always thinking maybe the Diet Coke man would come knocking at my door. I've given up on him now.

I maybe should go over what's happened this last year, but I won't because this is the way it goes.... Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.
Till next year

Weather

My mind tells me I am in London; the dreary skies, the non stop rain, everything grey. It is London. My brain also hurts, that nudging knocking that I'll be having a headache when I won't, it'll just hurt a little persistently, but still hurt. But there's no carpets, no central heating, there's nowhere to go.. it's not London. It will be soon, very soon. But not right now.

I love my country, but this thing about people hibernating when it's raining gets under my skin. London... there's always something to do, somewhere to go, I'd be in Camden right now, no matter the rain. I'd get designer clothes for under ten quid there. Or I'd go to BrentCross, it'd be open till six tonight. Here it's so boring, how long am I going to stay under the duvet covers, I don't like staying in bed much, no, not even if there is the hunkiest man who gives you the time of your life.

Maybe I'll catch up on my reading, or try MSN, but this is no Sunday the way I like it... going around flea markets, maybe going to Baystreet where everybody will be closed. This sucks. Roll on evening please.

Looking for....

Ok so that's Boxing Day survived. I don't know which to hate the more, Christmas or Boxing Day, both very boring days when everybody stays inside. It's not that I'm a party goer or anything of the sort, but I like to think that there is somewhere I can go if I feel like it. Now is ok, tomorrow is ok too. I am right now looking for a watch I have misplaced somewhere, cute little swatch which I remember but which I cannot remember where I left it. I am so careless I am forever looking for things. Probably it'll turn up the day I am out of here, or maybe it won't turn out at all. The last time I moved I finally found the telephone!!! I wonder what it will be this time. Would like to keep blogging but my head hurts too much, I am hoping it's not some bug come just in time to ruin the rest of the holidays....

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas Day! Ok so let's see what I'd like to do, firstly wear light clothing and put my fur coat on but that isn't happening because it's warm. What else, go to some spa and taste the elixir of life... that isn't happening either because spas are closed. Go to Mass, could do.... churches are not closed. Go skiing, that's not happening either. Open a hundred presents.. I don't know a hundred people. That is why I love the run up to Xmas but then I don't like Xmas day. Come tomorrow it will be even worse. But what's a girl to do.....

Broken

Ok hurray I'm going round the shops like a maniac. I love this. I especially love jewellers, don't know why, maybe I was born in a diamond cave or something. I like all things sparkly, all things red, all things shiny. I love drama, I suppose so many years in music and theatre makes one lose contact with reality, it certainly has made me fond of tiaras.

But I am breaking things. My favourite sexy mug, loads of diet coke bottles, and maybe I am a little broken inside. I'm not sure yet. One day I will explain, but it is still too soon.... maybe later.

Xmas feelings

My house has been transformed into a Christmas hub where Santa would be please to work overtime. It's all red and gold and shimmering. It's all lights and stars and yes I'm pleased. My cats look pleased too, they think playing with gold and red balls is a lovely past-time. It can't be helped, cats are like kids, once you sign up for them, then it them who reign. Still missing Figaro, saw a woman this morning whose son I used to go to school with, whose son died at 19, that's about 15 years ago. And I sat in my car watching her walking and wondering what was going on in her mind. How one can celebrate the birth of a baby Jesus when your own baby is six feet under. Why these things happen, I do not know. Some of us are the chosen ones to deal with tragedy and it's not easy. But I too have loved Christmas again, I hope she has, she's a nice woman, always has been. Sometimes I think maybe it's the good people that bad things happen to. I don't know about this either.

Tomorrow, another Christmas concert. It'll be OK, but I feel like crying sometimes, crying in the middle of this forest where not even Little Red Riding Hood has been. Oh well, it'll pass.

RED

I think Christmas is about the colour red. Red for warmth, for love, for the candles lit next to the waxy Baby Jesuses or next to the porcelain ones from Spain, red for laughter and happiness, for celebration, for glam outfits and lips and nails of course. Sorry but I'm still a girl at heart. But then red is for danger.... what has that got to do with Christmas? Maybe it's the warning sign saying please be extra careful who you kiss underneath the mistletoe. Well these days, one probably doesn't just kiss underneath the simple mistletoe, ohhhh so maybe it's red for red lingerie. You never know. Red is definitely not for angels. So why put festive red bows everywhere if it's about hark the herald angels sing? Maybe angels have become sexy, so they're red now. Have yet to see a red angel anywhere although come to think of it they really should throw something decent on, as it is they're going to catch the cold of their lives in this chilly weather. Have always wondered, why do we have to go to Church covered from top to toe when there are scantily clad angels everywhere. Ok they are cute little cherubs, still covering a bit of butt wouldn't do any harm. Don't their mothers force heavy coats on mufflers on them the way my mother used to? I used to hate hate hate it. She'd say it was for preventing colds... but I'd still get sick anyway. I'd grumble about coats as a child... now I think Christmas is for fur coats... and I love them. I have 4, real fur (I'm ashamed of this but they were a present), longline ones to die for.

So still going red... beautiful.

What colour

I cannot decide what colour to paint my nails. I usually go for reds, but decided to go for blacks... when the job was done I took it all off again and went for dark blues, and took it off again, then deep purple and took that off again. Now it's au naturel, my mum would love it, I hate it. I don't like natural, I'm more vampiric than anything else. Strange to imagine if anybody saw me in a completely clean face, hair pulled back in a tracksuit and sneakers. I like drama, what the use of nail varnish if it's going to look like you didn't varnish anything, and what's the use of makeup if you're going to try and make it look natural. Some guys say they prefer the out of bed look, that means one hour of making up, useless when you can just roll out of bed and look the same. My kind of guy will like the dramatic look, smoky black eyes, siren red lippy, and nails to match. I've tried all colours, none do the job better than red. I have enough nail varnish to open shop, 2000+ and counting, but I still go for the reds. And here my mum would butt in again and say, there are so many children without food in the third world while I'm addicting to varnish, but it's not as if I can send the varnish over to Ethiopia. I love black dresses, black patent heels and red lips, nails to match. Somewhere in the course of my bloodline, someone just has to have been like me. I wonder who it was....

Missing

Someone, somewhere along the course of life, of my life, something is missing. But someone along that same course of life once told me time is not good excuse for making the something missing happen. It would involve the lives of many people, maybe destroy some of them's too, and maybe resurrect others'. Still there is a missing something. Maybe because it's Xmas time and I think of all the people who should still be here, the ones who took off too early. Or maybe because it's no fun being left out in the cold. But still this year something's missing deep down in my heart. Useless talking, we all make choices in life... and that is also sometimes untrue. Sometimes we go with what life throws at our feet. But maybe I'm doing something about it... and soon.

Happy Birthday Jesus

The best part of my job is discovering talent.... and beauty. Now I started the day feeling unwell, but then stumbled on a lovely song which I could not get out of my mind. Came here, looked it up on youtube, and got more than I bargained for....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=claKP84h9EE&feature=related
It has made me cry, cry, cry and I am not soft hearted, I do not go all cooey gooey when I am faced with kids... but not when it's someone like this little young lady. Oh if only I had a guarantee of another Avery, I'd made them by the dozen. But no guarantees in life. So I am just content with playing ad nauseum this you tube video. If this doesn't move you, then nothing will. Innocence, talent, beauty all rolled into a four year old. And if that doesn't convince you there really is a God... well then I just don't know what. Happy Birthday Jesus.

When Christmas comes to town

Sometimes, all amidst the usual carols and Christmas songs, you stumble on one with real potential, which then drives me totally mad and makes me qualify for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder as in listening 24/7. Polar Express, one movie which i have missed and sadly so, so I'm getting it off Amazon. I have also put in the link, here it goes again http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qqLvNrnTA5s I'm totally OCD'ed on it right now, it says so much, better still it makes you feel so much.... and then you're sure there is a God who created people through whom He can deliver such heaven on earth.

Today

Good day today. Can't complain, sometimes kids can be sweethearts. But I don't feel well, a little bit of fever, maybe the flu coming on, I have missed the flu jab this year. We'll see. I am counting the days to the holidays, not because I'm bored at work or anything, these last three weeks before the holidays are just one mad rush for Xmas concerts, Prize Days.... I love the madness anyway. But nothing beats holidays. And I think I'm somehow happy. It's nice meeting children every day, they are surprisingly nice, even the naughty ones, although I class control with threatening is beyond me. I still remember when I was a child myself, so I act accordingly. It's also nice being welcomed every morning, instead of seeing glum faces which if looks could kill you'd just drop dead. I like kids being so enthusiastic about their music lesson, it's nice being appreciated by children, they are tomorrow's future. Sometimes I miss them in the weekends!!!!!!

Now, will just try and rest early. This hasn't been an interesting blog, but then they don't have to be all interesting. Just daily life. Tomorrow, more children, more concert rehearsals. Love it.

The truth.... fairness?

I haven't been here in quite a while. Busy, I suppose. Lots of things have gone on. Some sad, some indifferent, some happy. Mostly indifferent. I am also trying to log on to second life, which my friend Valerie made me so excited about, but either I need a brain overhaul or there is something which I'm not quite doing right. I'll ask her on Tuesday. I've also upgraded my pc and boy it is nice having such a fast machine at your hands now. It is Sunday and I've woken up at 7am grrrrrrr, then come tomorrow I won't be able to get out of bed until 8 and I start work at half 8 so then it's one mad rush. The paradoxes of life I suppose.

I want to write so much but I cannot because this is going onto the www. What I can write though is why do people get upset when you point out the truth, then they say you are lashing out and they are offended. Offended because I am saying the truth, lashing out because I am tired of people whining of situations they have brought upon themselves. In sickness.... I will rush to help, even financially, but I wish it took more than privates to make other humans. Maybe brains. And not instinct. Or one can follow the instinct no problem, as long as it's just them in the equation. And guilt then haunts us of course, but it's no use crying over it. Accepting where you went wrong is better than feeling sorry for yourself. There are situations where my heart goes out, there are others which make me angry, angry that my salary is depleted of 200 pounds in tax every month... because of other peoples' instinct. And then they expect help from the government, which they incredibly get. Me... I never got anything for free, maybe because I didn't do the instinct part. What I'd like for free, a Bvlgari ring for starters, but no government is going to give that to me, a subsidised home... I don't qualify for that either. It's just so not fair.

Patience

The one thing I learned from life, from one person in particular is patience. I don't see this person anymore, not that it matters at all. But through his clean good man looks, I learned that patience was one thing I didn't have. I wanted everything yesterday, still do sometimes, but much less. It doesn't pay to be rash, although I have been so rash, so jumping to things. But this man knew the value of patience, and at least I learned that. Injustice never goes far. So I am done an injustice, some years down the line, the arm of the law comes down on them. Or maybe the bad doers get so brash with their behaviour that they are careless. Whatever, they are bad doers and have to be brought to justice. I do not however harbour hatred, hatred is making a bad doer become important. Hatred makes you sick, letting go and leaving life to take it's own course is better. And while I'd like to say that I forgive... well in extreme cases, in cases when someone has wanted to eliminate you from the face of the earth... well revenge is sweet... just it will not be me taking revenge but life itself.

The wheel of fortune, destiny, and the circle of life... they move in a circle, an interconnected line of eternity. So I look back and have a choice - either being angry, or just calling a spade a spade. Anger, another monster. Sometimes it pays to be angry, most times it doesn't. People do not change and neither will I. People develop. So nowadays I can sit down and channel anger into something else... patience.

I like to think there is another life after this because I still miss some who have passed on. Some I will kick their butts for their wrong decisions, then hug them because the ones who are not loved are the ones who deserve being loved the most. And although some people shy away from me because of life's experiences... they really needn't. The pain of the past is what makes me me today, as do the joys of the past. And I have had plenty of joys. I just wish for one more, but time is not an excuse to make rash decisions... which makes me go back to point one. Think, think, think, laterally, horizontally, perpendicularly, vertically if you may, but think... and of course be patient. Every dog has it's day.... big sigh.

Sometimes.....

Sometimes people say hurtful words on the pretext that they are saying the truth and that it is for our own good. What rubbish. The way I perceive things might not be the same as another would perceive it. Oh if only I had a magic wand. It is so easy in fairytales when the real truth reigns and others are turned to toads or are cursed for a hundred years. At least I do some under the breath cursing sometimes too, but I suck at being a witch. I like witches, they are powerful and mysterious and nobody dares mess around with them. I like fairies too, but they are just that tiny bit naive for today's world.

So I am staring at wooden panelling, oak furniture, in a place where silence is put on the highest volume. It is almost the middle of the night, I love this time. It is when the people who think they can give uninvited advice behave best because they are asleep with their mouth shut. Duct tape was created for more reasons than one.

Everything seems to be becoming a big deal. Making a passport, writing a letter, what is the big deal about that? Sometimes the outside world feels alien. And inside heavily locked gates, and thick walls everything feels so free. Free because there is no judgement, because you can go about unobtrusively like tiny ants. Tiny, another word which features in unwanted advice. Why is tiny so nice? I, for one, would not like a tiny house, a tiny salary, a tiny bank account, a tiny whatever. Tiny is for kids. Not for grownups, well a lot of grownups have tiny brains that's for sure.

So one more cigarette, and relishing the comfortable silence.

Silly Spy

Spies. so the score's not settled yet. So spies are on my blog.. perfect I'll give you plenty to read. You want to open the saga up again... be my guest. Anonymous..... coward. You really have nothing to do except think about me? I never ever think about you, except when you but in. But you don't feature in my thoughts or dreams the way I feature in yours. Poor little man. A man with such repressed self-ego. Oh how powerful you think you are. And you think I am taking you up on a fight... no, because you are not important. Yes it's true I must be hitting you below the belt, I am not apologising, I hope it hurts your balls. I am off to take a nap, spy you keep thinking about me... you're making me famous.

Just difficult people

Strange day today. Or maybe one of those days. Maybe I should start having an aversion to short people. They think that the inches they lack in height they can gain by behaving like crap. And crap we treat by flushing it away. So we teach our kids that diversity is beautiful, thing is, kids already know this. Then the grownups behave otherwise. Perhaps we have a lot to learn from kids. At least I learn a lot. They greet me with such enthusiasm, it is so heartwarming. Adults too but with reservations. No I am not friendly, I keep myself to myself, that is me. If anybody has a problem with that, they can just go f*(&.

The big issue, so what, just get over it. Kids do that very easily. But not adults. Or at least some adults. But I have changed, I am no more the one who loses her temper fast, I keep watching. And maybe the watching gets under people's skin. Good, that's the way I like it. Scared of my eyes???? My eyes are hazel, normal eyes. But you get all sorts of people, some are nice. Sometimes certain people clash with everyone... so maybe it's their fault. And for all those who think I am spooky.... well just watch it, you never know. Period.

S + T = E = P + L + S

Worrying. It is an normal reaction to emotion... mostly fear of the unknown. Or of fear of what could happen. And human nature being what it is we expect the worst possible scenario. Or is that human nature? I have learned that human nature is the total of inheritance and upbringing and individuality. By nature I am a worrier. But I have learned that worrying does not stop things from happening.... worry or not they still happen. And worry or not they still do not happen. We worry about an exam test which we complete, then we worry about the result.... no amount of worrying will change the result, be it good or bad. Worry takes up so much of our energy, reduces us to negative people who will cry at the drop of a hat. Is it really worth it? No, but it took a lot to get me thinking like that. So I have a choice, do I worry myself sick that something bad is going to happen, or do I postpone the worry when the something bad actually happens? And what if something good happens, then the worry will have been useless. Useless... worry is useless either way. Sometimes worry is because we have lost faith in the Higher Power, although even that sometimes is powerless. So we have faith in ourselves, human beings, the splitting image of God.

So the equation goes... Stimuli + Thought = Emotion = P + L + S.... it needn't be worry, try and put that on hold.... difficult, but worth a million tries. Know that, been there already. And in my heart I pray for a friend, for Peace, Love and Serenity.

Gladstones and foundation

I think accessories are a girl's best friend. They really are, as long as you wake up in time to put them on. I don't. So I have so many accessories just waiting to be flaunted, but resting dormant until the day when I wake up in time for them comes. I like gladstones right now.... a lot. I saw one which is absolutely perfect, but it will have to wait. Hopefully, nobody is intent on buying expensive gladstones right now. Nigel could have got me one for 25 stg, but surprise surprise the gladstone went up to a 40 stg which I would have been willing to pay anyway. But I log on to the site and find they are 25stg..... humbug!!!!!!!! He could have texted me, maybe a 15 cent text is too much, and they certainly have not gone up in price. I would get one over the web but they do not do international delivery. I am seething it's true. But what can I do, nothing, except that I am going to push Nigel's face into his lie. I suspect there are quite a lot of them, I think I need a squabble. But I suspect that all the squabbling in the world will get me nowhere, because you need brains to squabble. Maybe he thinks he has brains, but he's getting found out every time. He is still Midas with hair, but it stops there.

Surprise, my brother did all my shopping. Incredible. He bought everything, got stopped because he put everything in hand luggage, and bought everything again. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.

Quo Vadiz?

So I'm better off, or am I? I am certain about nothing, or let me rephrase, I am uncertain about everything, but not about one thing I know I am supposed to be doing. Why, when conditions are bad, when it's a constant struggle to get on, and it's still missed. And why do I think it is so difficult when I have weathered some tough conditions of life. I do not care for school protocols, I have no idea what they are anyway. I do it my way. The only protocol in my life is the do as you would be done by one. Ok sometimes I am in default there, too much passion. High flying adored... that is what I adore too. I know this blog sounds like mambo jambo, but then I know it is spied on (Teresa that is not meant for you), so I have to write in code, because once it's out on the world wide web, then God knows in whose hands it will end up. Key signatures, tempo, dynamics... they are all I breathe... and all I will breathe. Because God and Life have their ways, I am also sure of that.

Back again

Nothing special to write about these days. How I hate routine. How I wish i could understand kitty talk. Bagheera right now is staring at me in the face and miaowing hard. I have no idea why. He wasn't too well today, had some stomach upset poor thing. The Ding and Dong family are still not accepting him, and it's been two weeks already, they just hiss at him all the time, he then decides to give them the run of their life by going after them. Cat fights, now I know why they are called that way. Not pretty.

Tomorrow it's the end of week, that's something to cheer myself up. I know, I know I should get a life. But since I'm still working on it, I'm content with how the days of the year change. I realise I am still learning to be lonely. I say that, but I like it, honestly. Nobody to interfere with whatever you want to do. But I keep waiting for life to start, then I realise it's already started and I haven't a clue. I want a major change in my life, but I know deep down that wanting is not a good enough excuse to start suddenly changing things which I am not ready for. The psyche... mine seems to have gone on holiday.

Crossroads

I think I need a miniature Nigel. The type I could just put on my wallunit, tape his mouth (for sanity's sake) and get him out whenever needed. This weather is terrible for my hair. Or else I'll just do away with Nigel for good and go back to my au naturel hair... that's super curly, wild as a lion's mane. I just don't know, maybe I'll wait for cooler weather and not a standby Nigel. The lad yesterday really worked me up to a frenzy... not a hair one.

I feel I am at crossroads in life. It's as if the dynamics of life are changing. I am teaching kids who could be my own... because of their age ONLY. And they ask me if I have any to whic I proudly say NO, then they ask why, and I cannot come up with the reason that children interfere with your night sleep, with your siesta, with your nail extensions, with so many more things. So I tell them I have yet to find the daddy who can make this possible... then they look me in the eye and they know it's a big lie. But it says in the bible, Mary was 15, I wonder how old Joseph was, I am under the impression he must have been twenty something.... good old wise kind Joseph... a cradle snatcher? No no I cannot bring myself to think in this direction. I met an old schoolmate of mine... she is a grandmother. Now that made me feel so old, should I take to a rocking chair (I'd do that gladly) and knit booties (I cannot hold knitting needles to save my life)? And for what, for who? I will never be an auntie, so it's going to have to be some DIY I suppose. But not now, maybe later. Maybe I'll get neutered before that happens anyway... Bagheera's been neutered, he seems fine. Ding has been neutered, she looks ok. And there will be a time when we could all bin the OC and concentrate more on our OCD's. Maybe I have it the other way round. Because when you are fully aware of your hereditary pros and cons, it's selfish to do this and that. So much easier to play dumb.

Nigel?

So Nigel came and worked his magic as usual. The boy's good, terribly terribly good. But it is an effort to get on with him. We do not see eye to eye... that is an understatement. He seems to think that evading tax and fooling the government is a laugh. He thinks that having a baby, knowing very well who the father is and writing the the baby off as unknown father is something to giggle about. This is nuts. He thinks that having a child with an egg donor is a blast. He actually thinks having a child is not something to first think seriously about. It's like a Nike advert.. just do it. He makes me feel either mad or old. Now I have had my mad episodes in life, but creating human life is not a laugh, I tried explaining but he giggled all the way through. I so wanted to hit him hard with his magic brush. Maybe then his brain would have opened up. Human life is not a giggly thing, having an affair maybe, but actually conceiving is not. It may be a beautiful thing, but not something which teenage girls giggle about. They giggle because a boy has looked at them twice, and that's all very well, it's so natural. The would never giggle on seeing a pregnancy test turn positive I can guarantee that.

So have I become so old? Why does it seem such a big deal for me? Perhaps it is all based on perceptions and doubts. Nobody can guarantee anything in life. And while life has it's highs, I have also experienced it's lows. And do I want to pass that on.... according to Nigel he wants to leave something behind him... yeah right that is such a good reason for creating human life. Better stop here, I think the lad's going to drive me mad. But... he's still magic when it comes to hair.

The morning after....

And so I prayed and God maybe thought it was a just enough prayer. And Bagheera is doing well. Thank you God, I'm so pleased. Maybe He knows that the ones who are cast away deserve more just because they have been abandoned. Now maybe God has already enough on His hands, and cats might seem frivolous to Him, but I don't think so. God created animals, I am certain for humans to care for them. Love, care, compassion and empathy are still the same whether they are directed to the President or to an abandoned cat. God doesn't work with titles surely. Love is love whatever form that may take and I also doubt whether God sees love institutionalised the way we human beings see it. But I am not going down that road, it's not necessary anyway.

So it's a Saturday and I wake up long before the time I would on a schoolday. I wake up with menstrual cramps, shit this time it's bad, it is so painful. But at least I have black and white butterflies on my nails so that sort of helps a bit. The pain is still awful, I know I sound like a complaining hag, but it really is. Maybe neutering would solve it..... now that's food for thought.

Praying

Ok so there's a lot of famine going round in the world. There is a lot of HIV too and people suffering from full blown AIDS. And we should pray for them. We cannot forget the people who somehow have found themselves all alone.... they too are in pain. But cannot I make a simple prayer to God... please look after my Bagheera, he has had surgery, please watch over him. Figaro, James, Claude and Ray.... you will understand. You know that those who are close to my hear are held steadfastly so. And so my simple prayer... help me in this, there are things in life where medicine draws the line. So we turn to you, to God and to the ones who were once here but who are now in His dimension. Please

Charmed

So now I have my own slinky black cat. That probably makes me a witch. Good. I won't be a cruel witch, but for all those who cross my path on a very wrong foot, beware, because the night skies dumped a black cat on me. And I am so thankful. I think I needed (selfishly) another four feet in the house. It's difficult to explain, but cats are so much love in feline persona. So now I need a broom, potions, and a crystal ball. I'll get around to that, and it's almost Halloween. Come to it, maybe Bagheera is a sign from the heavens. Whatever, I'm going to make sure he has five star accomodation food and service. I am just thinking who on my hit list is going to be turned into a toad. Hmmmm I am spoilt for choice really, Malta doesn't need many toads. But maybe one here and there......

learn to be lonely

Sometimes, when pain is strong you are all alone. Sometimes when pain is at its strongest, you actually want to be alone. And sometimes something happens and makes you realise that you are so submerged in pain that you have learnt to be streetwise enough to hide it. And other times you tend to look at other people and ask, what star was I born under? Why not a magic star? And you see your life from yonder and wonder where the yonder star found itself. And you realise that you may have been born with a sentiment de vide which is difficult to shake off. And then.. you also realise that you have learned to be lonely, and for you it is a way of life. And the human brain is a wonderful thing, it adapts itself to the situation... you learn to laugh and cry in your loneliness...and you learn to love to be lonely.

Silas Marner

Embittered by false accusation and imposters, disappointed in friendship and love, the weaver Silas Marner retreats into a long twilight life alone with his loom and his gold. Silas hoards a treasure that kills his spirit until fate steals it from him and replaces it with a golden-haired foundling child. Where she came from, who her parents were, and who really stole the gold are secrets that permeate this moving tale of guilt and innocence. A moral allegory of the redemptive power of love, it is also a finely drawn picture of nineteenth century England "in the days when spinning wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses" and of a simple way of life that was fast disappearing...... George Eliot's tale where love transforms the hardest of hearts, where love replaces bitterness. Enough said.

36 feet .......

I have woken up to find Bagheera sleeping on my bed. There must have been something like 5 or 6 cats on my bed. No wonder I have not slept properly. But Bagheera is settling in, the other cats may hiss at him, he just doesn't care. He's also wickedly intent on seeing whoever it is once the doorbell rings. I have to neuter him and fast, it's not long before the cat season comes. At least he's male, male cats do not suffer as much when neutered.

So I am doing some Maths here. I have 36 feet in the house, including mine. Not bad. So much pitter pattering going on. But I like the sound, it means nobody's sick, it means everyone is running around and happy. I'm glad I took this cat in, it's so tame and loving. Not even my other cats behaved like him at first. It took them more than a month to start trusting me. This cat already does. I keep trying to think of a reason why the moron threw him out. I find none. Maybe poor Bagheera misses his other family, but I cannot do anything except shower him with love. He'll be fine here, it's a big house, good food, and plenty of love. Tomorrow I'll just have to call the vet, maybe neutering him will stop the others hissing..... a bientot.

Bagheera

Ok after a lot of soul searching, I have finally come up with a name for my new addition, he's black, purring smoothly most of the time, he's slinky like a Panther, so I tune in to Jungle Book, one book which has had me fascinated for my 34 years. And that's Bagheera. In Disney's adaptation, in my opinion one of the best movies ever, he Panther was portrayed as a clever, serious and responsible character, quite similar to the Bagheera in the novel, except that in the novel Bagheera spoiled Mowgli more. In the movie, it is Bagheera and not the wolves who first finds Mowgli in a wrecked boat, and he is the one who takes him back to the village. During the movie, Bagheera often argues with Baloo, for he knows that as long as Shere Khan is in the jungle, the jungle is not safe for Mowgli despite all attempts of the bear to protect him. Bagheera is also the narrator of the movie's story. Bagheera is one of Mowgli's mentors. He shares in many of Mowgli's adventures as he grows, but eventually the time comes when the man-cub becomes a man and has to return to human society. Bagheera frees Mowgli, and Mowgli returns to his adopted human mother Messua. In the movie, Bagheera also has this sleek sexy voice.... big sigh, ok I know it's a human being doing th talking, but it still makes Bagheera sound sexy.

So... now I have my own Bagheera, he's just downed a whole tin of fish mackarel, which I doubt the real Bagheera would have been interested int. But what the heck, he's mine, original to a fault. Figaro... you watch over please.

All in black

Some moron has given me a bundle of joy. There are still heartless people who throw furry little beauties out of their car window in the middle of the night. And people who have not know the joy of cats and kittens have never know happiness. So.... I have a new recruit. A black cat, with fur like velvet. My bunch has shot up to 6 again. And I think of Figaro, who will know it is not a replacement for him. Cats like Figaro cannot be replaced, but I think he would have agreed that leaving the innocent cat bewildered, as black as the night, all alone would not have been a very good decision. I like to think he approves, Figaro was the blonde handsome one, this cat is the blackest black anybody can imagine. My bunch are still keeping their distance. There is also some hissing going around... but the new cat doesn't care an inch. He gets Ding hissing at him at close range and all he does is roll over on the floor. He's actually taught me a lesson... let them hiss, shout, and try everything to scare you.... and you just roll over in the sun and live your life.

Now I am toying with cat names. Finally I know it's a boy. So my Nerissa is not a Nerissa anymore. Which leaves me with..... Phantom, Midnight, Spooky, Jellicle, Wynton, Joplin.. all with a black theme. But I am amazed at how loving this cat is, which made me think it was female initially. It has been an indoor cat that's for certain, why it got thrown out I have no idea. It does not scratch furniture, it knows the uses of cat litter, it is in fact a very polite cat who loves being cuddled.

So I'm still thinking...... please anybody who has any ideas speak out.

Asking God

Sometimes I have so many questions. And a lot of them lead to God. Now do not think for a minute that I am a pure, churchgoing being. I'm not. But sometimes I wish I could chat to God on msn, or maybe email Him, or at the very least sms Him.

Let's give a "word picture" ... I use them a lot because it is a very effective way to communicate with kids at school. It always has positive results and the message goes across smoothly even to the less gifted. Let's say we tell a 7 year old child not to play with matches because they could get burnt. And they tune us out. They think they can handle it and they have no need to listen to us. The excitement of fire is in itself too much not to give in to. Then they get burnt playing with the matches. Is that in some way their fault for tuning out the voice of wisdom that the adult gave them? Yes, it sure is. But I was once a 7 year old myself and can vividly remember the enchantment of looking into fire.

So now, translating it into God terms, perhaps we're too fast to blame God for things when it's actually our bad choices that gets us in the places that are so painful or difficult. Even when we really do it with the best of intentions. Well, the way to hell is paved with good intentions. When we tune in and listen to God, He leads us in a better way, just as He promised in the Bible. He never goes back on His word, although it sometimes gets rocky. But we don't spend enough time praying and listening to His voice, so we find ourself in those difficult places.

One last thing I want to add ... If you read about Paul on the road to Damascus... his prayer of salvation was one word... "HELP!" And we all know that Saul became Paul. He went from killing Christians to writing a large portion of the Bible, albeit his chauvinistic streaks. Now I have never killed anyone, Christian or not, so maybe if I give God the HELP sign He'll gladly come to the rescue.

So many things qualify as sins. Sometimes tragedy looks like the unpardonable sin. Sometimes sheer bliss, happiness and fulfillment also look like unpardonable sins. Big paradox. But maybe the only sin which is hell is the one of rejecting God. Just my impression.

Smile because it happened?

Today I close a chapter of my life, to join the rest of the past. I can see the chapters of life categorised chronologically in my mind, some dusty, some old, wrinkled and faded, others quite new. This one is the latest though to look at it would not seem so, it's been opened and closed too often, some pages are dog-eared, other pages yellowed by time and nicotine. So I get a brand new chapter now.

I suppose I should write neatly, it's the first page after all. I'll try. I have so much to write, but I am still staring wondering how to put everything in order, trying my best to write unbiased fact. Today I learned how to remove myself from situations of verbal abuse. I also get another blow in love, not as in romantic love, other love. I realise that nobody likes the plain truth, so they say it's untrue. Great coping skills, it's like me saying I'm a blonde. How's that for delusional? I can also say I have a life, I party hard.... yeah pull the other one. I am sorry sometimes it takes drastic action to stop abuse, but in the same way I see battered people who keep on taking it, for me this is where it stops. It is painful, it is also painful because of the change it brings about. And I am not used to change. But this has got to be positive change.

So should I smile?? I'm not sure. Painful issues don't really evoke smiles. It's over, it stops here, no more the victim. Now I have to rise above all this and soar.

The Brain and other matters

So I am once again looking for answers. Scientific answers as to why and how I act the way I do. My Limbic System is in need of a big overhaul. I think my Hypothalamus is dead. The Frontal Lobe of my Cerebral cortex probably got lost along the way of adult development. My reticular formation is in hibernation. My Occipital Lobe may be working overtime, sometimes it works in the opposite direction it is supposed to. My Cerebellum needs a facilitator, and my Temporal Lobe... perhaps that;s the only one in check.

And with all this information I still don't have any answers. I wonder why the brain is called grey matter, I don't think it's grey, I really think it's very colourful, it's got red, green, blue and of course it must have pink in it because I am female. Maybe now I understand that the brain has a direct connection to the heart too. They are not separate organs. If you cry it's not just because you are heart broken but also because the Hypothalamus and the Cerebral Cortex are working overtime too.

So now let's put all this medical jargon in lay man's terms, the way I understand it. It is all about perceptions, all about how messages somehow get processed in the brain, whichever part that may be. I perceive a cat to be a fluffy ball of love, and I perceive a roach to be disgusting. I perceive that my sadness is as intense as my joy. I also perceive that somewhere along the line of self perception some things have to change. And I thank my brain for that. And God.

In the middle of the day

I don't feel well today. Too many issues. I try to explain, it's useless. So I just remove myself from the situation. I'm so sleepy and maybe it's a good idea to sleep things off. I want to wake up in a world where I don't have a mortgage, where I don't have to work, where I can just be.Fat chance of that happening. I think I'd even trade what I do to be a stay at home mum, although I'm not sure I could do that properly. Sometimes it feels like Freddie Mercury's, I'm going slightly mad. But at leas slightly. But it's the world I see as mad and not myself. I really don't know but it's just not a good day today. Apologies

In the middle of the night

It's in the middle of the night (reminiscent of some Tweenie song of the monster who comes in the middle of the night) and of course I'm awake. The rest of the world may sleep but I still have to come here to feng shui myself first.

Normal day spent so much many on normal things, pet food, detergents, perishables, boring things which have to be done once in a while. Slept the afternoon away, woke up, showered and went to my friend Teresa. And dad had to wreck it for me. I feel like a tiny child with him checking constantly on me. If he keeps checking cars like he does, one day he'll get arrested then maybe he'll think twice about it. Anyway went back to my mum, blazing row, walked out, could not believe it dad was back to check and demanded I open for him to check indoors. Yeah right, dream on. As if I am having an open house at midnight. My house is the only place where I find normality restored, nobody's going to get used to the habit of checking things out in here. If I decide I want nail polish strewn all over the kitchen table, well it's my life, my house. my table and my nail varnish. And allowing parents to check things out once will be just the beginning of another and another. No, not good, no way it's happening.

Heard quite a few hurtful things today. Seems that I have been ruining my parents lives for the last 18 years. Thing is my opinion is they have been ruining my life for the last 18 years too. But I had no say in being born. They on the other hand, had a say, did their say so now they have to live with their say. So sorry mum and dad but maybe you should have waited a day or two, then you'd have been blessed with a daughter of different genetic marking.

Love... I have to face the truth. Sometimes you love someone until it hurts only to find out that the other someone loves you for all the times you fill him in in his times of distress. Blood thicker than water, maybe, but not thicker than Nigel it seems. His loss not mine.

My friend Teresa seems to think my biological clock is ticking. Why I don't know. I do not want marriage, kids and companionship. I'm so much better off on my own doing whatever I want. And I'm not all as lonely as it seems either. I have my other half to talk to, argue with, share jokes with, agree and disagree with. After all isn't marriage the coming together of two souls, where two souls, two hearts, two brains and two human beings become one... so I have my own marriage no problem. The only thing is should one of us want to opt out, we will not be needing lawyers, so Dr. Joseph Chetcuti is not getting any richer there.

It's still in the middle of the night and when I look up from my keyboard I see Freud, Jung, Bleuler, old medicinal chronicles, enough medical samples to feed Christ's 5000, and best of all I see my beloved Goya's Naked Maya. I am told I am of big resemblance to this Maya.... I suppose it's just a polite compliment, but still I think Maya is a sexy babe so I won't argue. It of course all depends from the perception one sees it. Perceptions perceptions, it's all about that nowadays.

Anyway finally getting sleepy. Tomorrow is another day, I have an idea of what's in store but it can't be helped. I'll survive anyway.

I need/have a life

For once I'm not tired. And I can safely say it's almost the weekend. But maybe I need to disconnect with this blog addiction. No matter what, I just have to log in. Now I understand Anne Frank. And she was just 13. So maybe I understand 13 year olds, or maybe I have a 13 year old brain. Maybe I should also get a life. Blogs are interesting, but for me they're like a haven. Even if sometimes I have to write in code because I know it's there for all the world to see. But then what kind of blog it would be if it were just lonesome writing.

I bought more make up today. As if I needed more. I have enough to last me for my entire life. I could even open shop. But make up is nice (hate this nice word but very convenient when in a silly mood). I am challenging myself to write a really short blog... because I am trying to convince myself I have a life. Fullstop.

Best shrink in the world.....

I am exhausted and there are two full days left till the weekend. The skies have been gray all day and the rain hasn't stopped. Finally everyone has left, eager to go home after lessons and I have the house to myself. It should be lonely I suppose, but it isn't. I hear the pitter patter of tiny feet all over the place, oh jeeze I'm talking like a new mum. Well babies have two feet, it's not cats' fault if they got blessed with four. So four times five that makes twenty tiny feet. I still remember four more, gone but not forgotten, Figaro who looks over from Rainbow Bridge. My dear blonde first grandson. It's strange how cats don't talk yet purr their way into your heart. Whoever said cats are selfish.... bugger off. They're like kids, maybe better, they love you always. Probably cats are also the best shrinks in the world. They are so content to lie with you on the couch and listen... for free too. Ben Williams had it right, There is no psychiatrist better than a puppy licking your face. Bravo, he's right. But even our feline friends, there's nothing to perk you up better than finding all your cats waiting for you in single file, all vying to get your attention. Little darlings. God is really good I suppose because He created cats. Lots of them. Good work God. Now please work a little harder in finding them decent loving homes where they can be comfortable and loved as they should be. I wonder what God had in mind when he created cats, maybe he thought they are good companions for the stressed out, and on a day like today, God I am really stressed. Or maybe humans are to God as cats as to humans? I'm risking sounding heretic here, but these soft little creatures teach us a lot.

So it's raining cats and dogs outside... and inside. The best therapy in the world.

Black humour and art and literature and music and... MEN

My mum says I am blogging black humour. Why... I haven't a clue. Because I told her I'm not scared of death, because I told her I'm not quite sure I'd fit in a coffin and maybe I'd be better off cremated and in a pretty jar on someone's coffee table. She cried, but I cannot understand why. I am only speaking the truth.

So what can I talk about. Men. And she wouldn't understand either then. I'd tell her I love men who age like wine, brainy men who can hold a conversation on everything, men who can be moved by their sense of sight as in Van Gogh, the Naked Maya, Botticelli's Birth of Venus, La Pieta`, Bernini's Ecstacy of St. Theresa. Men who can be moved by Thomas Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles, or by Shakespeare's Othello, by Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory and by Edmondo de Amicis' Cuore. And most importantly by men who can be moved by Beethoven's second movement of his seventh symphony, and men who think Traviata's Addio del Passato is actually worth sitting still and shedding silent tears in their seat instead of fidgeting with their programmes wondering how long it'll be for the next interval. Men who will hold their breath during Mascagni's Cavalleria Rusticana, Massenet's Intermezzo from Thais, and who think that listening to A.Lloyd Webber's Learn to be Lonely for fifteen million times is normal.

But there are so few men like that. What I get is one excelling in one field, and me having to do the teaching of the others. That is, when they are responsive men. Not gay men please, I love gay men for shopping, for having a cosy natter, for exposing other women's dark unattended to roots. But straight men. Maybe I want it all, but I cannot lower expectations. I hate hate hate hate men who think opera is soppy, art exhibitions a waste of time and medical journals the highlight of their life. But they slowly change too, as long as they are under my care.... oh they have to change, because I won't be reduced to the girl they take for functions on their arm, the type who just bat their eyelids and nod. And I will not be a guinea pig, as a medical study for sublimation. Forget it. I will not be someone's study of temperamental artist.

Men.... there's no just one who fits the bill completely. But...sometimes the brain may cease to work when the man vs woman instinct is involved. But emotions, perceptions and feelings go into overdrive. So maybe, maybe the prognosis looks good and I just might get there.

Nella Fantasia

I am still hooked on Sarah Brightman. I just thank God he made her. He voice, so limpid, so without a prima donna's conceit, yet so powerful in it's simplicity. Don't know quite how to explain this, but nobody should go through life without listening to Brightman's interpretation of Ennio Morricone's The Mission. It was on Xmas day, and my brother and I were home for Xmas lunch. Now my mum is a really good cook, but the TV was on, there was a Concert from the Vatican and up popped this gorgeous woman. We just stared as the rest of everything went into oblivion. And the words.... oh God. I know this may sound rude, but this is orgasmic material for the ears...... I wonder who wrote the lyrics, but whoever it was did a great job in conveying the actual soundtrack....

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto,
Li tutti vivono in pace e in onestà.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano,
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima.

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo chiaro,
Li anche la notte è meno oscura.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano.

Nella fantasia esiste un vento caldo,
Che soffia sulle città, come amico.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano,
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima.

PLEASE I BEG OF YOU, LISTEN TO THE LINK AND MAYBE YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHY EVERY TIME THIS MAKES MY HEART SOAR. HAPPY LISTENING
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBZJuf82wmE&mode=related&search=

Of opera, music, love, emotion, life.....

It's Sunday night. And I'm not too happy. Not sad or anything like that. Just a bit pissed off, at how am I going to drag myself up at 7.30 in the morning tomorrow. I just cannot come to terms with this waking up routine. And I try everything, a million alarms, getting people to call to wake me up. And still it's a struggle. A struggle to fall asleep, an even worse struggle to snap out of sleep. By the looks of my colleagues, they must be very early risers to have time to put so much war paint on. Some must be up at the crack of dawn, it's no joke. 7.30 is fine for me, if I can be awake at 7.30 that is. Enough time to prettify myself, choose what to wear and get to work in plenty of time. If you don't have to cross the Marsa traffic then you're ok. But with me it's just five more minutes, then five more, then ten more... and before I know it it's an hour more. Really bad. It's as if I am walking in a living dream right now, I cannot get enough of Handel's Rinaldo. I just love opera, and no I cannot sing to save my life. I am a musician not a singer. Opera is beautiful when you don't have to catch the Gozo ferry at something like 3 in the afternoon to be able to be there before the audience. That's not very beautiful, even worse is catching the 1 or 2 am ferry back, then having to cross the island to come to home sweet home. Otherwise, opera is truly a unforgettable experience every time. Opera is so much like diamonds. It sparkles, it's a symbol of love and life, and intense emotions..... or maybe this girl's just a teeny weeny bit possessed by the spirit of music, the one which makes the hairs on your arm stand on end, the one which sends shivers down your spine. That's music, diamonds, love, and life. Intensity. Which is something very few people seem to have nowadays. Intensity which in turn transforms you into a temperamental beast (not your fault), but which also allows you to experience the extreme highs and lows of life. The kind of which when experienced you know you've been to heaven and back again.

I must admit it is difficult to admit to my peers my absolute love for opera. They think opera is out. I am certain opera is in. Is there really a need fo people to buy years on the couch.... no. Not if they can connect with music and opera. And definitely not if their therapist has no clue about music and opera. Because if therapy has to do with emotion and healing, how the hell can music and art not be a part of it? Cognitive beavioural, Gestalt, they're all very well.... Music, it beats them all. I have yet to find someone who is moved by what I am moved by. I actually do have a therapist friend who is moved in the same way I am. But he is a friend, and close friends do not make the best therapists. But when I do find a stranger who can connect, it'll be on my blog, fastest than the speed of light. I promise.

Lascia Ch'Io Pianga

I love this music. It's Handel, it's about this mother who tells her child to leave the crying to her because he'll be doing enough crying once he's grown up, once cruel fate steps in. Oh God this is music coming straight down from the Gods, it is so beautiful. I got to know about this music when a childhood friend of mine, Monica, was getting married and wanted this to be played during her wedding mass. And I was so confused.... a tale of crying about how cruel fate can be... during a celebration of love???? But I listened to it once, and was hooked. It's so beautiful. I am right now totally into this, it explains life and love, and the music, oh the music... big sigh..... please take a look here.......

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjG6NaMKQo0&mode=related&search=

Blogging endlessly

I discover that more and more people are logging onto my blog. I am becoming famous yipppeee yeah!!! Yeah right, I wonder what makes them read my blogs anyway. Sometimes I think they're a jumbled up hodge podge placed as disordered as they are. But if you out there want to read, I can write plenty. It's difficult to stop. My blog has become somewhat of a fix. But it's not nicotine, drugs, alcohol, so I suppose it's ok.

I think I'm getting older and older. My memory is failing me sometimes. Or maybe I'm on my own planet for so long that things go by me and I don't even realise. Went to a funeral today, and the same old thoughts creep up. I am not afraid to die, I don't mean I am waiting for death in the post. But death is just another state of being, and we are brought up to believe that it's the beginning of eternal life. So why do we cry? I just live for the moment, and that's it. I have this recurring thought though, it's gory so stop here if you're death sensitive. I saw the coffin, observed it really closely, and I don't think I'd fit in it. Maybe they do plus sized coffins, I wouldn't know. But for one, it was too narrow and too short. Well anyway when I'm done I won't have to worry about fitting myself, there will be others doing it. Or maybe they'll cremate me and do me the biggest favour. Then for once in my life I will be able to fit into a tiny jar hopefully revered in someone's living room. Then maybe I'll turn into a magic genie if you rub the jar hard enough. Oh man, I've read too much in my life.

I keep thinking of W.H.Auden and Freud. The connection... there isn't one. Auden's Funeral Blues....
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong....so that's a big sense of the dreaded sentiment de vide there.

But Freud, and his thought that we are all unconsciously and subconsciously wishing for death because that is a state of perfection. According to him, we don't need anything when we achieve that state. Freud with his oral stage, his anal retentive stage.... maybe he thought too much.

I go for Auden, I'm more romantic then philosopher. I feel more than I think.
At least for today.

The power of two

The weather's cooled down a bit. I'm thankful for that, maybe my makeup will have more staying power. I haven't bothered with makeup for quite some time, and I am a makeup junkie. Summer is nice because it spells out holidays, but no matter how many waterproof, perspiration-proof products I buy (and most turn out to be very expensive), summer still has the upper hand where my make up staying on is concerned. I have waterproof foundation, eyeliner, eyeshadow, lipstick, liner, everything in the book. Maybe now it will start staying on, I'll try my luck tonight.

My life in general, I'm like waiting for things to happen, real life to start. Or is this real life? I was TV zapping yesterday evening and I stumbled on this TV programme where men go to great lengths to propose to their girlfriends. And that made their girlfriends so happy. And I just stared and wondered how it really wouldn't make me so happy. Somewhere, I have read that mammals, including human beings want to couple by instinct. So where is my instinct, I think I've lost it along the way. Being on your own is seen as a disgrace, but I can never figure out why. I am more interested in cats than I am in men. Cats are beautiful, they purr their way into your heart. Men... well they're ok I suppose but they are just little boys. I just cannot help thinking of my biology classes, and remembering the good old amoeba, it just was reproducing on its own, so asexual. Now I don't even want to reproduce, but I do feel asexual. I could start thinking and coming up with a new philosophy, but I am just going to be for now.

As long as I'm happy, who cares. I'm not harming anyone, I just am maybe a little bit odd, but I've always been that bit strange even as a child. Constantly hiding behind your dad when he meets someone he knows probably isn't very normal child behaviour. But it's normal enough for me. As it was so normal for my twin to start pestering whoever it was non stop. People thought that was cute, they still think that talking non stop like he does is cute. But people do not know the real inside of my flamboyant twin. I have been so blessed in life, having a twin makes life so much nicer. You see the admiration on people's face because your own twin is a public figure, and you are bursting with pride because he's a part of you, we're two halves. And you know your twin loves you the most in the whole world, he will go to great lengths to see you happy, he will hug you with a hug that is so special, he will help you out in times of distress, cry with you and laugh with you. And you know you are a musical pair, you know just what he's going to do and say before he himself knows it. That is the power of twins. It's double power, as good as Algida's double chocolate, and double caramel icecream. It's having the instinct of sticking up for one another, for sharing everything. For we may look as different as night and day, but the bond is too stead fast to break. Mum had it so right from the beginning. She used to say that God chose us to be together for a reason, to look out for each other, to love each other the most. And she had no twin experience. But she was so right. Nobody messed with my twin at school as long as I was around. Now the tables have turned, he does most of the looking after. But it's still a, don't mess with my twin, for he's the one I love most in my life. Funny how siblings tend to drift apart in adulthood, we've just grown closer. Maybe it's healthy, maybe it isn't , but it's just the way it is.

But...... she's brilliant!

I've changed. A lot. A friend of a friend of a friend relayed an old time favourite remark about me. Now whoever said this is not my friend, not even my enemy, the person is a beast, one of those who is steadily winning a place in hell. His problem of course, but he made it mine for a long time. Now... I could kiss him, I got the best deal, he knows it, probably that's what makes him hate me harder. I can never explain this sheer hate. I can only say it was like what happens when it's love at first sight, when there's explosive chemistry between two people. Only this was hate at first sight and explosive chemistry as in negative chemistry. Which made me so sad at first, until I realised that I was haunting him and not the reverse. And it's not finished yet. I know it's not, he knows it's not, it's like suspended in air. He is also a man of the lie, and people like that finally get caught up in the circle of life - what goes around really comes around. The hate game, it makes you sick. The forgetting game, it restores your health and beauty. Take it from me. I know, I really really know. I hated him, he made me so angry, lies make you angry, because you know they're so not true, and you have to keep proving it. And it takes up a lot of tears at first, then energy as the anger comes out. And after all this, he still has to say, she is brilliant, but beware she is fiery and will take a fight. Which is true.... true of the me I knew. I love the bit... she is brilliant, I can safely call him incompetent, he, through all his hate... he cannot, he says I am brilliant. Oh I'm loving the guy now ain't I?!!! Someone tries to fire you and says you're brilliant. And because he has to hate me says I'm mad. But I took him on, he thought he'd win.... I almost feel sorry for him now, I got the better deal.

But I've still changed. I'm not angry anymore now. I don't have to fight my way anymore. I don't have to prove anymore that tragedy doesn't make you mad. Sad perhaps, very sad, but not mad. Before I thought I needed to buy so many years on the couch... not anymore. I still love the couch don't get me wrong, it's safe, comfortable, and a nice sleeping zone. But that's all it is now. Now it's time to take stock of things and look forward. And Mr. Who Hated Me..... seems you still do, but you have to pocket your pride and say with a deadly sigh... she's brilliant. Thank You, that is a standing ovation. Pity I can never say the same thing about you. But you taught me a lot about life, about lies, about anger, hatred. I hope you learned that yes nobody messes about with me like you tried to, because as you yourself say.... she's brilliant! And that's soooooooooo nice!

Stradivarius and James Grech

It's just dawned on me suddenly, like something in my system has remembered James. Now I know why. It will be two years since he's passed on on the 11th. I still feel numb writing this. So many memories, some good, some bad, but still steadfast friendship memories. And no I don't think that James suddenly turned a saint because he died. But I think he was an awesome friend, just too lonely, hence him being at my kitchen table a lot and a lot of times. I didn't mind, we would talk, I would cook something up. Our talk... it would be mainly things which are probably censored on blogs, but at the end of it all it was just him asking so many questions about life, then suddenly going to the facts of life with a vengeance. James , oh God we go a long way back, so long. And now I feel allowed to say it, I remember James so tenderly, but am so angry at his native 'fellows'. Ok so James was not easy, although he could be as meek as a lamb, he just needed attention and tried to get it some way. He was also a brilliant musician, one who we Maltese suddenly started revering after he'd gone. All his life in Malta, it was filled with arguments and people giving him the end of the stick. Three months in Brisbane, and the guy, riddled with cancer, was performing non stop. Good for you my friend. So many people stood open mouthed and so envious. If only you could have seen those faces, you naughty bugger would have had a ball just like I did. We were naughty, because we were made to be. When everyone else was inside our business, so we made it a point to gossip and be into theirs. And I watch my kitchen table were you used to sit and pine for just a brief moment with you. You were one of the few who were never scared away by my suffering, maybe because you'd gone through suffering enough. You knew just how dirty things here could get. I know you said you never wanted a funeral, but you got one just the same. Maybe now you realise that funerals are not for people who have passed onto another dimension like you, but for our closure, if there ever will be a closure. Maybe you were born in Malta, but you made sure you were going to pass on away from all 'those' people. You know exactly what I mean.

But I miss you my friend, even if we laughed through so many mad times, and cried through the hurtful ones. Gave people so much hassle with our antics and we were so proud of it! I am still battling James, yours is over. If only, no, please give me a sign. You loved me here, a dear dear friend, so you should care for me still. You asked me so much about my fears, my traumatic events, and how I managed to cope. Well I did, but you're not here now to ask anymore. You have all the answers. We were obsessed with music weren't we, I guess you're still that way wherever you are. Sarasate must be a piece of cake for you now my friend, fingerings- a way of life.

So missing you like hell here, please remember me, watch over me. You know the battle first handedly. I ask you to help me across this journey, and with your cheeky dimples, I know you'll never say no ... not to me!

Notte not so bianca

I am looking around me as if I were living in outer space. I always do this when I come out of some really heavy sleeping. I just stare and stare wanting to move but not being able to. Like some temporary paralysis. I hate this when it happens out of the norm's timetable. But I just cannot come to grabs with my sleeping habits. It's either no sleep at all, or some Sleeping Beauty sleep, the kind of you could sleep for a hundred years, and probably not even realise there's some prince kissing you awake. Well where are the princes anyway. Probably all at today's Notte Bianca. Perhaps if I were sure of this I would make the effort and go, but I'm not so sure of that either. My prince will be probably somewhere quiet, reading medical journals, dissertations and probably totally knackered after some really hard week's work. Or maybe he'd be watching CSI somewhere, he has to, I love CSI. Whatever and wherever he is, I will make sure he's no man in uniform. I hate uniforms, I never can understand why some women seem to have a penchant for white starched uniforms, So clinical, so not sexy. It's an old thing this, women swooning after the uniforms rather than the men wearing them. Well each to his own I suppose. It's good, they can have all the uniformed men they want, I'm just not interested. It leaves the rest of the man world for the taking. But I'm not sure I'm even interested in that either. I suppose I am a good candidate for on the couch therapy, but then even, I would keep my composure, never letting on to anyone as to how I really feel. And couches sometimes are uncomfortable, maybe they should be traded in for the Westin's Heavenly Beds. Now that would be really something, and I'd seriously consider it.

For in slavery lies total freedom

Now this might start out to be a total paradox, if you read the statement and think I'm really going nuts, please bear with me, and I'll prove it to you like a Math Forumla complete with the Q. (uod) E. (rat) D. (emonstrandum). Maybe I have been victim to reading too many John Normal novels in my youth, it was all the rage, or was it? Maybe it was just me, a nerd reading non stop, where the Land of Gor was such a lovely escape from the real world. Or should we really abide by the Gorean worlds and maybe find peace within?

Slavery, that sounds like total passe`. But is it? Because although a lot of harsh and cruel treatments come to mind, it really needn't be like that. Slavery.... it is giving oneself to one person or higher power, you are not your own self anymore, you gladly agree to be owned. And that means a big relief from having to make any decisions. Take Christian nuns, I used to wonder what on earth could ever possess a girl to make her sign in as a recluse nun, just living her life between the walls of a convent. It seemed so not normal, so as if giving up your life for nothing. God doesn't love you any less if you choose to live life in the open air He created. So why do these girls go for something like that? Forget the praying, one can pray and still go to the supermarket. They say it is because they want to be the brides of Christ, by the look of things, Christ probably has a harem. That's too silly. It is maybe because by giving themselves up in that manner, they no longer have to struggle. They do not have to work to earn a living, they do not have to cope with an ever-changing world, they have absolutely no responsibilities to shoulder. They are then owned, by Christ, by the Mother in chief or whatever it is. So they are also slaves, consenting slaves, it's by their own total consent that they give up everything. That's slavery enough. They just do not wear collars and shackles and handcuffs as the word slavery brings to mind. They don a habit, a cross, and a uniform. But they're still slaves, and yes they look happy enough while the rest of us in the outside world get depressed. Because they cannot get depressed over what they don't know, or what they don't see. They are owned slaves and this somehow brings some sort of ecstatic feeling with it. Of course they're happy, who wouldn't be all in their own bubble, not having to work, juggle housework, kids, finances, loans. You'd say why I never ever considered joining a monastery.... men, makeup, fashion, so many things a girl is lured by in today's world.

The first ever time a John Norman novel came into my hands I felt repulsed. That didn't stop me from reading all 26 of his novels. And now, years later, I have to give it to Mr. Norman, he is right. It's women who tend to gravitate towards being owned, not many, if any, recluse priests around. In Norman's Gorean world, the freest women are slaves because they don't have to think how they'll be managing housekeeping, or how they're going to earn a living. They have a Master who does all that for them. They don't even have to battle with their own thoughts, their Master tends to that too. In return, they consent to being owned to their Master's pleasure, which in turn is their own pleasure. That makes a slave a being who is being always pleasured, hence the ecstatic feeling about it. Knowing you are an object of pleasure, and thus addictive adds power. That makes you in control, but just as if this weren't tricky enough, you are a slave. And in control, and free because there is someone who is doing everything else for you.

For in slavery lies freedom, total freedom. Q.E.D.

Me and genetics

My young cousin Elizabeth who is one of the very few people on this Earth who can actually talk a lot of sense thinks she should get a life. My other cousin Miriam, delves into the art of rugged sophistication. Me.... I do both of what they do. Somewhere down the line of genetic coding, something frightening has happened. At first glance it is so obvious that they are sisters, beautiful, wanton sisters like the ones you read about in Sense and Sensibility. One look at me, my twin and I could pass as strangers to each other. We are so not alike, yet so alike. We are a generation apart, yet still so alike. I read their blogs and could almost faint at the similarities. And theirs, at least is all because of a very developed mind. An artistic mind too. But still, our head hurts. Because we all have gone out into the world thinking that the rest of the world is a replica, until we grimly come to a conclusion it isn't. Not at all. And we keep finding it difficult to lay still and sleep because we do not know if we should be waiting for the world to start. At 19 and 24, perhaps that's allowed at such an age. But at 34? So it must be that either I am being late on catching up or they are very early at doing it. Or maybe there must be the same little gene making its way through all three of our lives. One big difference... they think before they act, I do the reverse. They maybe know it's the best time of their lives, at the time I didn't. Maybe they have more sense than me, maybe having a sister does that, I am sisterless and really couldn't care for a sister anyway. That's the twin part talking, two is company, three is invasion. That's one thing my parents chose well. I dread to think what it would be like to have an identical twin sister at that, just the thought sort of gets on my already frail nerves.

I feel trapped. A sixteen year old mind in the body of a 34 year old woman. Not long till forty, and I used to think forty was very old indeed. In the stakes of Jane Austen's novels, I'd have been cast by and forgotten to the world. Or else I'd have been put up for bidding by old rich widowers. Well the latter doesn't seem too bad, as long as they're filthy rich, who cares?! I am past the age of going after good lookers, a million in the bank looks even better and it will have to do.

Perceptions

Not very well today, that time of the month and everything when your insides feel as if they're going to split. Funny we don't get a brain that time of the month, it would probably help, that would mean only a couple of days of thinking. But c'est la vie. La vie d'une femme.

Still thinking, and finally getting a lot of wake up answers. I know can conclude (it's the brain of a 34 year old talking so maybe it is quite old now), that perception is the key to everything. I get sad because my feet are swollen, then see another girl without feet. Big reality check. Or that I'm too big, then see someone who's a victim of dwarfism (I hate this title). Another reality check. So maybe it's all down to perception and suddenly all I hate about myself becomes a blessing. So sometimes things I perceive to be annoying are actually a blessing, or if you happen not to believe in any Higher Power, just plain lucky. Because of course I'd rather have swollen feet than none at all, of course I'd rather be bigger than so tiny. Maybe I've done too much thinking, too much reading in my life. Reading affects you in the same way life events do. At least if you go so much into what you're reading like I do. We teach children that a book is a best friend, true, what we don't tell them is that it's also a savagely possessive friend and things can get lonely. Still in favour of the book, nothing can surpass that. Reading opens minds, and possibilities, it also gives you an advantage in life. Or a disadvantage, depending on the way you look at it. Then you keep trying to simplify things, otherwise very few people are going to understand you. That is perception.

Now for the world's perception. I wonder why people like me are seen as easy targets for others to look down at us, because of extra weight. Being overweight does not mean you're stupid, silly, lazy, and totally ignorant. We have brains too. Just as a whopping top-model blonde is not always dumb, they have brains too. But it's not just about brains, or looks. It's also about hearts and kindness. It's about being unselfish and caring. But for the most part, perception is about all things visual. So we think overweight people are stupid and stunning blondes are dumb. And we console ourselves by thinking that what matters is not on the outside but on the inside. Not true. Everything matters, it's your own perception of yourself that matters. And with that comes self esteem, and fast. And outgoingness, and fast. As well as retreating into your own safe shell. Also all about perception.

Which boils down to that maybe we should catch them young, because perceptions are being warped. Young... very young.

Uninvited advice

Thinking cap is still on, stuck tightly on. This time I'm trying to figure out why the leave-me-alone attitude. And finally after many years of this thinking (positively and negatively) I come up with an answer. An ANSWER which is something I don't usually find. Why do I keep myself to myself, because I have boundaries. We all have boundaries, some have limited little ones, others have more stead fast bigger ones. I am of course of the latter species. Yes I do not want anybody to tell me my hairstyle is better than it was before. I do not want to here if I have gained or lost weight. I really don't care to know if I look my age or not. If I wanted to know, I'd have asked. I actually think I have the right not to be walked up to and be told such stuff. It's invasion of privacy, in simple words LEAVE ME ALONE. For while some may be terrified of being alone and constantly want to have company whether it be good or bad, I don't mind being alone, no I'll rephrase that, I actually like being alone. That also means I don't care for anybody's opinion unless I ask for their opinion. And I don't take opinions from strangers, however well meaning they insist they are. There are few people I can talk to about my fears, my unbalance, my thoughts and feelings. But again I decide who those people are. Never give me leaflets on the street about anything, unless it's to tell me I have won a thousand pounds. There unfortunately are such people who make themselves to look like good-doers, when they actually have a problem of not being able to hold their tongue. Non smokers can grumble of second hand smoke, because it affects them. They can politely ask you to smoke elsewhere but not give a lecture on the hazards of smoking... it is unwanted advice. And sometimes in this same way people feel they can tell you so many other things because you're in their way of what they perceive to be their perfect vision. They don't have that right, look elsewhere. And I'm not taking the if onlys, and the do you know how pretty you are if only you could this and that. I didn't ask for it so shut up.

It took years for the Berlin wall to come crashing down and it was a good thing it did because it affected the lives of people for so many years. But beware of my wall. Because there is no other nice way of putting it, uninvited advice is a transgression of boundaries, and I'm not putting up with any of it.

Unsettlement

Back here to my safety zone. There should be a Nobel Prize for the one who thought of inventing blogs in the first place. Why is it called a blog, really it's a haven for me.

So yet more change, school changes. Which I should be happy about for it really is just a 5 minute walk away, more time to sleep in the morning. But it's yet another new place which will smell of disinfectant and starch coming from diligently pressed school uniforms. Ii love and hate smells, I love talcum powder smells, it is so comforting. I hate disinfectant smells, it's so clinical and hospital related. Same way as I love my Clinique Happy, it makes you happy the instant you wear it, even if it's a false sense of happiness. Now I have quite a collection of fragrances, really I could put Frank's Perfumery to shame, I also have a vast knowledge of them, what I like, what I dislike. Smells are so important. I love smelling my cats, they smell of sun. And touch is important. I dislike being touched, hugged, but then I like touching, not touching people, but touching different kinds of material, suede, leather, fur (I love fur), satin, I love touching the nice things, the comforting ones and the stimulating ones. I mean what fun is there in touching plain old cotton and plain old wood, although the smell of freshly cut wood is a nice one too. Oh and touching my cats, is so so so nice, especially when I see how much they trust me, these cats love me totally, and no it's not just because I feed them gourmet food. Cats are not selfish creatures, I have been very sick once and they didn't leave my bedside, all trying to purr me to good health. Maybe cats are like kids, it depends on how you raise them, and a lot of love normally seems to be vital in them growing up to be caring.

So come tomorrow I'll land out of nowhere at a new place. All this new, when I get irritated if somebody even moves a chair by a few millimetres. This is like a gypsy job going from one place to another. Of course it has it's pros, travelling takes some time, and that's time away to my own. I'm strange, I suppose I was born strange and haven't changed much. I am so thankful that there are not many mind reader around, they'd think I was looney or something. I'm not, it's just that thoughts have flooded my world since I could think, and yes I remember thinking and being a 4 year old.

So where does the settlement come in. Nowhere. I feel like a nomad, and at the same time, it suits me this way. No time to get close to anyone. I know I must look like a very ungrateful wrench, if people try befriending this girl, well they will be in for a hard time. Unknowingly I keep testing the waters, stretching them beyond limits, and the very nice ones still stay.... incredible stuff.

It's a Sunday, so my mum will be waiting for me for lunch. Mum and dad, another two people who love me and whom I probably could treat better. But I'm like mum, loving to a fault but not physically expressing all lovey-dovey emotions. Hugs make me cringe, kisses.... if I could I would straight away wash a kiss with soap and water, wherever the kiss has been placed, even if it's the innocent kiss from heaven.

I keep writing in this blog and watching what my cousins write. Madonna somewhere somehow the blood line is strong. I think they would understand. Miriam forever head up somewhere, Elizabeth, more grounded but still preoccupied with thinking. We all have the same bottom lines somehow, we all have grand pretty feminine names, talk about blood being thicker than water.

School

So school's in. The weather hasn't helped much, still blazing sun, but the kids have. All rushing saying hey Miss, we've missed you. They're probably the only ones who have missed me, but anyway, it's still nice. Back to doing up shoelaces, to seeing smiles of glee at them seeing something new. I suppose one could say it is rewarding. Really don't know how class teachers do it though, they're with the same kids day in day out, for six hours a day, five times a week. Have met some sassy people too, these two teachers who work as a couple, Jeez they are sooooo out, and then they think they are soooooo in. But whatever, it's an ok day today. One filled of sparkling new uniforms, new school bags, wonder how long it will be before the novelty wears off.

And I am so sleepy, when I usually can never get down to sleeping at all. I'm worried, my dad's getting just too good at The Times' crosswords, when I have always known a forever active dad. Maybe he'd love to trade places with me too, I don't know how I'd fare doing the crossword, but I'll have a go anyway.

Kids again. Sometimes I watch and think this is slavery. They sit at their desks for hours on end, and if breaktime exceeds one minute, all hell runs loose. I don't know how they feel, I'll ask them though, but I hated being a kid, hated every minute of it. Now, I wish I'd never grown up, or at least stuck around at age 16. It' s when your body is at it's best, but you don't know it. What a shame. School's started and I'm bored, I want bright lights and dark never ending nights. I am a night person, it takes till 11 am to get me fully awake, then I'm already sleepy by 1 pm. The only time I'm at my best is 10 am, just like bats, vultures and vampires. But for now, it'll have to stay this way. And all in all I cannot really complain... it'll be midterm soon.....

Figaro, mi niño, un año en el puente de arco iris, pero siempre en mi corazón

I cannot today but write about one thing which has made me slave to my thoughts and feelings. I's the 21st of September, it's a national holiday, but it also marks one year to a very sad event in my life. Figaro, my very loved kitten who actually was the first to make me a 'grandma' went into the deepest sleep one year ago today. Poor little thing, he was so sick. Now I stare at his three siblings who have survived him and wonder why was it him who had to go. So loving, used to sleep next to me all the time. Poor little one, he lived for two years, two happy years I suppose but I was always taking him to the vet for this and that. It's like life, some people are born unlucky, and it's the same with cats. My blonde baby who grew from a sweet little kitten to the most good-looking cat of the lot. Time doesn't heal, if we're lucky it makes acceptance that little bit easier. My brood went from six to five, and it will always be painful to anybody's innocent question, how many cats do you have? I was used to proudly saying six, but have had to say five all the times this question has been asked this year.

My only saving grace is that at least my baby passed away in loving hands, in warmth, God knows how much I willed him to stay but his pain was too big for that. So now he's in Rainbow Bridge, all healthy and happily running with the other cats. And I know that he won't forget me and he will forever be in my heart.

Te quiero Figaro
De mi corazón...hasta que encontremos otra vez...

Pourquoi me revellier?

Pity blogs do not carry music, or at least I don't know how to add it, because I would have added Luciano's version of this Pourquoi me revellier taken straight from Massenet's Werther. This is dramatic opera at it's best full of romance, love... and wait for it.... thoughts of suicide. Which reminds me, the first time I actually played Werther... totally wrong timing back then, but not now. It is so beautiful to see how people heal when they thought they would never heal. The human being is such a wonderfully made thing, the human heart being a really dark forest. And then you realise there really is a God, and you realise that through it all, when you thought you were at your weakest, you were actually at your strongest. You also realise that God does not lash out more than we can take, and that means you are a tower of strength. Ok maybe an emotional tower of strength, but then, if we didn't have hearts, wouldn't it be a cold damp place, a world full of robotic aliens?

Sometimes I sit and wonder and am thankful that God has given me the power to actually know music, to feel it, breathe it, live it, to the limit. Because there really is a God who actually watches me while I sleep, live and do everything. Sadness, sometimes a type of sadness hits you, a poignant sadness which almost doesn't let you breathe, but then if we didn't know this type of sadness how could we feel joy and happiness, the type of which also doesn't let you breathe?

So perhaps it's to do with the dynamics of life.... stil feeling this has to be one of the best things in life...Pourquoi me revellier?

What's happening

So I finally have my new school postings for the year and they are brilliant. I'm sad to leave Paola but it's a package thing and with Paola comes Valletta.... and that is dreadful. But I will still see Bridget and Jess and Yan so it makes it a little bit easier. I will also be able to wake up that bit later because I don't have to cross Marsa traffic anymore. Going to work will be like a breeze now, no traffic, nothing, splendid, I'll have time to put on some makeup, look decent at least. Somewhere somehow some angel was these when the postings were being distributed, I couldn't have had a better deal. No more getting up at six to find a parking space, no park and ride and walk, no parking meters, now let's see what staffs and kids are like. And I go to Tarxien again, that's nice, where kids are not just kids but my friends. It's where everyone is my friend, I could actually live there. I love that. Things are seriously looking up again. I guess I have had the best deal, maybe it's luck, well for once luck's been on my side.

I haven't decided yet where to go on what day to go but I'll figure that out soon hopefully. I'm so happy about this, it could have been so much worse. After such a bit stretch of holidays it will take some time getting used to waking up at half seven, but half seven isn't all that bad. This is going to be a year of change, hopefully for the better. My sixth sense tells me a whole lot of change is in, I am scared of change but it will be for the better, no, for the best. So... we'll see, things aren't at all bad right now.