Bitch on the Blog

September 10, 2015

Woosh

Filed under: ahead,forward,no return — bitchontheblog @ 18:28
Tags: ,

As time slowly creeps up to the day I fear I am grateful I am still alive to see it [the day that is – unless I die within the next 36 hours].

Honestly, you can’t make up this shit unless you try really hard.

I have never been dragged kicking and screaming to anything – but now I know how it feels.

Having lived most my life I am close to extinction. Though do take great comfort from some crap research that people who are bright [bright? like what? sunshine?} will outlive me.

Sweethearts, most of you older, how do you do it without despairing? And where is the rewind button?

U

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15 Comments »

  1. I won’t bother telling you how I do it, because I’m guessing you are an Artisan in Kiersey’s temperament terms. More specifically an Entertainer. I’m half Idealist and and half Rational. Idealists and Artisans are opposites, which I’m guessing is why I bother (bothered?) you so much. Interesting stuff.

    Hemingway was an Artisan too, but I wouldn’t go looking to him for advice. He hated birthdays because they just remind us we’re lurching towards the grave.

    And you’re right, I’m (probably) much closer to the grave than you are!

    Comment by cheerfulmonk — September 10, 2015 @ 22:24 | Reply

    • Don’t know how that happened, Jean. WordPress put this particular comment of yours into my “approve” folder. The one I never check. Only came across by way of (see earlier) sleeplessness.

      As you say, it is “interesting stuff”. Opposites? Indeed. Most likely. I am drawn, always have been, to my opposites, even myself, like a magnet to its steel. Makes for a good life. Sometimes friction. Nothing that can’t be resolved.

      Though will have to think about your assertion that “idealists” and “artisans” are opposites. At first glance you’d slam them into the same pot.

      Hemingway. Feel ambiguous about the man. Do have “Death in the Afternoon” (bull fighting) on my shelf. It is said about Hemingway that he had prose pared down. A writer’s writer. The same could be said, and is being said, of Orwell. He didn’t waste words where they weren’t needed.

      The grave? My dear Jean. in the midst of life we are in death and all that. Ever since my grandmother died (I was eight) and thus I lost my rock, the carpet underneath my feet, I feel death acutely. When the Angel was born – probably repeating myself here – I made a deal with the devil whilst praying to God to let me live as long as he needs me. In a couple of weeks the Angel will be 24.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 11, 2015 @ 00:15 | Reply

  2. Hmm. Maybe not an Entertainer. Hemingway was a Promoter. Does that seem to fit better?

    Comment by cheerfulmonk — September 10, 2015 @ 22:28 | Reply

    • Have to get back to you on this one, Jean. Did the test. More than once. With same result. I am I don’t know. Certainly not a Hemingway.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 10, 2015 @ 22:56 | Reply

  3. “Charming, confident, and popular, Promoters delight their friends and investors with their endless supply of stories and jokes. At the same time, these smooth operators are usually something of a mystery to others. While they live in the moment and lend excitement – and unpredictability – to all their relationships, they rarely let anyone get really close to them.” That’s what he says about Promoters. That would explain your air of mystery.

    Comment by cheerfulmonk — September 10, 2015 @ 22:34 | Reply

    • On the other hand, putting the Promoter like you do: Maybe. Actually, most likely.

      Humbled yours,

      Ursula

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 10, 2015 @ 23:00 | Reply

  4. I’m puzzling as to which day that would be…. Someone once told me that “Tomorrow never comes”. What that says for the day after tomorrow I do not know…. Today has arrived and is already more than half way to it’s close….
    Among the things I remember my father saying more than once was, “Today will be yesterday tomorrow”. Try that on a class of ten year olds and watch for the one face that doesn’t have blank look but smiles knowingly.

    So, memories of Buddy Holly… shows my age….

    Maybe that’s the answer… think on the past.

    Comment by magpie11 — September 11, 2015 @ 12:19 | Reply

    • Dearest Magpie, that child in class was me. Not the only one I hasten to add – just one of those in the know. Sunday will be Saturday’s tomorrow, and Saturday will be Sunday’s yesterday. And the rest is in the stars.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 11, 2015 @ 14:37 | Reply

  5. One day at a time. If that is difficult, one hour at a time. If even that is difficult, one minute at a time. And sorry, there is no rewind mechanism.

    Comment by rummuser — September 11, 2015 @ 14:03 | Reply

    • It’s ok, Ramana. I am not complaining. Just totally surprised. Though should have seen it coming.

      In reality I am fit, I am healthy, I walk fast when I have to, I am not particularly lined, even my hair refuses to go grey (now there is a disappointment). I don’t know what it is. I never used to take notice of the years passing. This time? It’s crunch time. Abhor the very idea. Pathetic, but there it is. Mind you, once I have taken that hurdle I’ll go back to where I was before. Which is shrugging my shoulders at the years piling on.

      So all of you interested in me will understand: I’ll be digging out a photo (easy) and try and connect scanner (not so easy) if it kills me. That photograph taken of my dear sweet grandparents and me (just a touch under two years old, in my pyjamas) says it all.

      In mourning, Ramana, though don’t even know for what, and pretty tearful,

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 11, 2015 @ 14:31 | Reply

  6. I have been too busy having a good time to worry about such things.

    Comment by Looney — September 12, 2015 @ 01:27 | Reply

    • My dear Looney, I left you congratulations somewhere else. Yes, who cares about 12th September when becoming a grandfather on the tenth?

      A name yet?

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 14, 2015 @ 10:38 | Reply

      • Indeed. His name is David Lucas. Starting life with lots of attention.

        Comment by Looney — September 14, 2015 @ 11:52 | Reply

  7. one foot in front of the other, daily if necessary… some days you might care to stay in bed, but if you are like me you suddenly need to have breakfast. And if you are like me, only you will be making it for you 🙂

    Comment by cedar51 — September 14, 2015 @ 05:56 | Reply

    • Dear Catherine, I am not Marcel Proust. I can’t stand the idea of spending a day in bed. Other, of course, than when I have a fever. I am rarely ill (maybe once a year) but when I am … my fevers are legendary. Death’s door. They make me not care about anything any longer – as far as I am concerned the world could crumble around and on top of me – I wouldn’t/couldn’t care. Last time this happened was about four years ago (on New Year’s Eve – what a way to see the new year in – three days I was delirious).

      You mention breakfast. It’s the one meal of the day that’s a mute point with me. I don’t do breakfast. Never have. No, that’s not true. The nine months the Angel was growing inside me I did have breakfast. A banana. Or a glass of milk. Or a bowl of berries.That’s what comes with the responsibility of being a parent. Now? Don’t laugh. Now the Angel – when he is around – will say: MAMA, YOU’VE GOT TO EAT!

      And he is right. Not least when my blood sugar level falls so low as to make me feel light headed and faint.

      Hope all is well your end.

      U

      Comment by bitchontheblog — September 14, 2015 @ 10:36 | Reply


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