The dread

Sometimes I get this feeling inside my stomach. If I could draw (which I cannot), I'd draw all my stomach contents (probably not a pretty sight) into one big knot. It's a feeling of dread which I cannot explain, because I never know the reason why. And it scares me. Because instead of looking to the future I look to the past. I have a nasty habit of doing this, always going to the past, trying to figure out my ancestry, where I came from, why I don't look like anybody else. And of course there's the nastier past. I have always been aware that somewhere sometime in my life something big would be happening. And it wasn't going to be a nice big kind of thing. And of course I cannot tell the future because I'm lacking a crystal ball, but it still was there. I remember listening to the news when young, and feeling so sorry about some tragedy or other. And in a selfish kind of way I never thought about the dead by tragedy person, but about the ones left behind. Always. And it filled me with dread, as young as 8 years old. The feeling stuck there, and I was driving at 18 when I again used to hear the news and think about the ones left behind, and ask the question... when is it going to be my time? It was my time soon enough, although I never ever banked on having such a cruel time. So that was that. And although statistically speaking I shouldn't have another one, I still keep asking, when do I have seconds? Too much is too big about me, and I'm so scared tragedy will be one of them. I don't want to have to make my way through the thorny entangled bush yet another time. It's way too soon. And way too cruel. Of course I won't die, I will live to tell the tale because that is what I seem to be good at. But I still don't want whatever it is to happen. Guess I should pray to the Gods. But I prayed to the Gods before, I was so certain nothing like that would ever happen, because God knew I couldn't possibly handle it, and God, who knows it all, also doesn't give us more than we can handle. Either God didn't know anything, or else He trusted me way too much. Yet, I emerged, not a stronger person, I am still moved by silly things. I emerged perhaps a battered person who didn't give up, nothing more. But, how much battering can a human being take? My fear is that it's a lot for the chosen ones. Of course I'd never get chosen for a lottery win. I'm not being pessimistic, it's how it is. Will I get chosen again? I hope not, but then why is there the same feeling of dread all over? Fat chance of getting any sleep. Because just to rub more coarse salt into the wound, this is one Leo who won't be sleeping tonight.

Prayer problems

This facebook. Pictures of sweet little people dressed up in what seems to be the latest fairy-looking gear are sprouting out of control on Facebook personal pictures. And they're sweet, very sweet, perhaps sometimes sickly sweet. But I don't have any. Perhaps because this morning was a wake up call, an all in white mass for the little people. And they prayed. And they moved me. Because I didn't know any of the prayers. One went, Hail holy Queen, another, Holy Mary Mother of God... that's all I know. Another was, Our Father who art in heaven... that's all I know of that too. Of course I could look them up in Wikipedia but that would be cheating. Now I'm 35, and these little people are 7. And they teach me a lesson. I was overawed. And try as I might, I cannot remember any of these prayers. I have tried my very best, and I don't get by the first line. Shameful I know, but it's the truth. And yet I was such an avid Muzew goer in my times. How has it come to this? I don't know, but it just felt so shameful that on meeting a childhood friend I just had to ask her. And lo and behold, I think she felt the same. Ok so I'm not on my own here. Two girls raised in convent schools, both not being able to recite prayers. Thank God my mum will never know. And I wonder what going to confession would be like? Confession being a little bit like consensual s and M. You say something and get the punishment or something like it. And since I will very probably not be able to carry out the punishment in its correct style because I'll have absolutely no knowledge, then I'll do just like my dear friend did and recite the National Anthem instead. After all, it's also a prayer. And it'll have to do.

This twin and the other

Loads of pretty little children dressed in white today, Holy Communion Mass. Of course the odd over the top dress in very bad taste, but otherwise school looked like a big field of angels. And it made me happy somehow. Happy to see them and happy to remember myself at that age all excited because I too had a crown and a veil. Such a happy time. It should have been, but of course it wasn't my day, I had to share that too. Luckily, at the time, my twin was nowhere near upstaging cute little me. Because I was the girl in curls with a pretty dimply face with freckles scattered in exactly the right place. My twin.. well he wore the boring suit, boring hairstyle, nothing to get very excited about. My dress was perfect and I could pirouette in it and make my skirt go round like a ballerina's. How things change. I don't think I could get away with the pirouetted now, or my skirt going up showing my undies in the process. I don't think I own a skirt at that. My face remains exactly the same, which is incredibly a very good act of God. I have those curls too if only I wouldn't go under the hairdryer every week. But, I wouldn't fit into that dress which is understandable, and which I like to find understandable even if it weren't. But things change. Let's start with the good ones. The other twin now has less hair (another beautiful act of God). I think that's just about it. The other changes. He can and still does wear a white suit and carries it off beautifully. Gone is the scared little boy always in my shadow. He now parades at Ghajn Tuffieha (or wherever) scantily clad in a piece of cloth called swimwear, apparently designer stuff and also expensive stuff which comes in less stuff than a handkerchief. Seriously, it puts a loin cloth to shame. And sometimes, just to carry on the white theme, they also come in white. Angelic, pure and innocent rolled into one very tiny ball which would fit on a two year old's palm. Big sigh. I am not about to divulge the type of my underwear, but let me safely say it's much more good value for money, and no, I'm not pure anymore, I don't go for it in white, but black. Again, things change. My chest has changed ever since I was a six year old. I have grown a cleavage, which when properly dressed is quite a good cleavage too. Other twin also has a cleavage, which isn't called a cleavage but a pumped up chest complete with biceps, triceps, abs... I'm not sure of the technical body words. Yet another good kind act of God... he gave me my crowning glory which isn't going anywhere, and yet he left me with almost no body hair. Good old God, knew the wax is painful. The other twin, aha, his hair is going somewhere extremely soon, and if it weren't for the wax, he'd be mistaken for a bush. And not the sexy kind of bush either. The fact that he goes dark brown in summer doesn't help him much. I stay white, white and pale.
Back to the innocent boys and girls. I like to think I was one of them. I wasn't, thanks to the other twin, who kept informing me that he was about to pee in his pants during the whole ceremony. As the good girl I was back then, I found him a loo to settle the business. If it were the bad girl I am now I'd encourage him to actually do his business in his pants no problem. So it's wasn't just my day, but on second thoughts, I never thought I'd grow up and remember the whole thing and find it so hilariously funny... thanks to the other twin. And God bless the twins... seeing that I think He cannot even bless me on my own.