Bitch on the Blog

February 24, 2010

No slacking

Filed under: Despair,Fortune,Happiness,Literature,Philosophy — bitchontheblog @ 18:25
Tags: , ,

Doesn’t time fly when you are traipsing round the well like a dehydrated donkey in the desert. Apologies to my fan club leaving you high and dry with not even so much as a “puppy on the blog”. 

Life, once more, has me in one of its vice like grips, snapping at my heels, leaving little spare capacity  to take the bitch for a walk in her virtual park.

Am now convinced that scratching one’s head is an overrated activity in trying to come up with a solution to a problem. And then there is that ever present chasm between theory and practice. The theory might be perfection, putting it into practice often like trying to retrieve the cheese without the trap coming down on you.  The third in this unholy trinity being “if only”, also called daydreaming; it’s the joker in the pack – the one that keeps your view firmly on the horizon.

One of the advantages of being a character in a novel: You only suffer on the page.




  1. Thanks for checking in. I was starting to worry about you.

    Comment by Cheerful Monk — February 24, 2010 @ 19:18 | Reply

    • Jean, that is so sweet of you. It’s nice to be worried about; not, of course, that I want to worry anyone. With which statement the proverbial cat, unscientifically speaking, is beginning to chase its own tail.

      Bike Hike Babe kicked ass gently, reminding me of the existence of my blog. The ass bit, no doubt, what got me onto donkeys in the first place.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 25, 2010 @ 01:14 | Reply

  2. Back to the dehydrated donkey going around the well. Reminds me. In India we saw two donkey-sort-of-animals pushing yokes, which brought up pails of water from a deep well.

    I wanted to see down the well, a big hole in the ground, but my father died falling off a slippery rock to 40 feet below. So I asked Bruce to hold my hand while I looked. He did. He went to the edge, pulling me along. I meant for him to stand back, holding my hand. His way we’d both go over.

    The only way to keep time from flying by is to stare at the clock & do nothing.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — February 24, 2010 @ 19:25 | Reply

    • Bike Hike Babe, as fathers go yours most certainly left in style. My god, how horrible. That slow motion of falling when you know there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. How old were you? And why was he on a slippery slope in the first place? I hate heights – not least because they have that odd pull on you. Luckily I feel easily sick from the pit of my stomach which prevents me from going too near the edge. Anyway, who needs the real thing when heights feature in one’s nightmares instead?

      As to time and staring at clocks, I’ll let you into one of my worst guarded secrets: I do not wear a wrist watch. Haven’t done for years. Doesn’t stop me from being on time when I need to be somewhere. It’s also a marvellous conversation opener asking other people what the time is.

      Truly annoying is that currently my time is running through my fingers like water through a sieve. It’s always Friday, or Saturday or whatever. I sometimes wake totally disorientated only to find that it’s Sunday – blessed relief.


      Comment by bitchontheblog — February 25, 2010 @ 01:33 | Reply

  3. Why is it a “blessed relief” on Sunday. What’s wrong with Friday & Saturday?

    My Father fell in West Virginia (USA) a wet, slippery state. He was volunteering for Nature Conservancy. (Getting people to will their woods, so it wouldn’t be sold & cut for wood after death.) He was reaching for “a rare cone” for a botanist & fell. Wet, slippery rock. He broke both ankles. He died in hospital when a blood clot didn’t get through his heart. He was 65. His brother lived to 100.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — February 25, 2010 @ 15:25 | Reply

    • Bike Hike Babe, I have nothing but admiration for people who put themselves out for a “good” cause.

      However, my hair stands on end when it involves putting oneself at physical risk (other than when trying to save someone else’s life or breaking up a fight or whatever other true emergency). One of the reasons I do not, for the life of me, understand women who are mothers sailing the oceans, climbing some mountain or volunteering to report from a war zone – to satisfy some arbitrary ambition. I’d go as far as to say that I have nothing but contempt for those women. If I’d ever done that and not come back in one piece I’d fully expected my son to kick my coffin in anger at being so contemptuous of my life and the impact of my recklessness on his.

      I know a lot of women will disagree. So be it. It’s one of the few issues on which I am immovable. I also know that I am guilty of double standards in as much as I don’t apply the same rules to men. Men will go out there, fight, climb mountains, chase trophies, top up their adrenaline levels by whichever foolish means – even if it means orphaning their brood. And that’s fine – it’s biologically programmed. And few of their offspring will kick THEIR coffin.

      Question: Did your father actually manage to get hold of that “rare cone”?


      Comment by Ursula — February 25, 2010 @ 16:08 | Reply

  4. I didn’t hear anything about the cone. If he got it, he dropped it on the way down.
    And he wasn’t an adrenaline seeking guy. He was cautious. He said he drives like everyone on the road is a damn fool. I’d just got my license & he wanted me to drive safely, because I never heard swear words from him.

    What is stupid, he was being polite to a man he didn’t know, who wanted that “rare cone”.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — February 25, 2010 @ 17:58 | Reply

  5. P.S. I don’t wear a watch either, even tho’ I have one that I love. I only wear it if I don’t want to be late. However it doesn’t prevent me from being late. It raises my blood pressure, rushing so much.

    Comment by bikehikebabe — February 25, 2010 @ 20:59 | Reply

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at

%d bloggers like this: