You can’t help but feel for a guy whose mother was dying on Wednesday, her still hanging on on Friday, reflecting on his blog about his dietary aberrations in the meantime. I dearly hope she left him some chicken soup in the freezer to heat up when she has finally snuffed it. They say chicken soup is good for the soul.
U
Where no etiquette exists you have to make it up as you go along. Blogland will, eventually, write its own rule book.
I am not being facetious here. I am in a quandry. Seriously.
A blogger has finally, against all odds, managed to throw me for six. Our blogging relationship died some time ago, briefly resurrected in the last few days.
Why am I floored? I left him a brief message acknowledging my own role in what went wrong within a particular circle of bloggers, at the same time questioning whether he felt any responsibility [for his own role] too.
I received an answer back to the effect that his (very old) mother was dying in hospital (location specified) and for me to “fuck off”.
I am sorry for his imminent loss. However, despite my sympathy, I fail to see how anyone can wallop you with a fact I wasn’t aware off, neither does it make any difference to the rationale of our exchange. I find it vaguely distasteful (and this is not a criticism, it’s just how I feel) to “use” his mother’s possible demise to tell me where the door is.
Am I missing something? Obviously I’ll leave well alone though my first instinct was to impart my good wishes. But having been told to fuck off under the pretext of your parent dying, to me not quite congruent, it’s probably best to do just that [eff off].
Well, who’d have thought it: He finally managed to shut me up and leave me with a bad taste into the bargain.
And for those I need to spell it out for: This is not about point scoring. I am genuinely bewildered.
U
Unlike most of you and other squeamish, sanitized and contemporaries, there will be no fire for me. Brimstone more like it.
Yes, I shall be buried. Come maggot and worm. OH MY GOD. I can see it now. Particularly my eye sockets. Never mind. Whilst aesthetically not pleasing I shall stick with earth to earth. Ashes go with the wind. Earth is solid.
In one of the more wonderous moments of my life, a few days ago I found the cemetery cum graveyard I would like to be buried in. If push comes to shove I’ll move into its vicinity to ensure a place. It’s pure magic. Absolute magic. Acres and acres, largely not yet populated. Proper graves. Can’t wait.
Urns (and their ashes), by comparison, measly. Measly. Meagre. Mean. Cheek by jowl. Reminds me of some two years ago when the Angel and I visited Minstead’s graveyard where Arthur Canon Doyle (think Sherlock Holmes) and his wife are buried. The Angel remarked that it’s so much nicer to be able to visit a grave (and, naturally, to the Angel’s horror, I managed to stand on it) rather than being restricted to, well, a measly, teensy, weensy spot with an urn of which there are quite a few on Minstead’s cemetery too, even if blessed with a “view” over rolling country side.
I am not particularly tall though some people think me so. There is something to be said to be buried stretched to your full length rather than reduced to your volume in ashes. I am sure that’s what Archimedes thought when displacing water, resulting in his joyous “Eureka”.
U
This post is not pleasant. I am going to make an observation and don’t expect any of you to answer, if at all, truthfully.
Do you wish/have you ever wished anyone would just die? Not because you bear them ill will, just because you’d like to tick a box (make that a coffin), breathe a sigh of relief and be done with that person?
Can’t believe I am writing this but there it is.
U
On the whole I do find my dreams entertaining. My dreams are stories, often riddles, mostly pointers as to where I need to find my feet in waking life.
However, there is one type of what I call a “half” dream which I find disconcerting. This usually involves other people (mainly the Angel) and their wellbeing. And – please don’t laugh – the phone will ring (in my dream). The phone will ring so convincingly in my dream that I wake and reach for it. During that moment of reaching for it I wake and realize it was “just” a dream.
Bear with me. It’s not remotely amusing. It’s frightening. And I am not easily frightened, if at all.
Tonight, and I write this with my heart as heavy as only a heart can be heavy in the middle of the night, my father “phoned”. It is the call I dread. The call I will not know what to say to my father. He said my name, and then he fell silent. So we stayed silent – it’s not easy to say nothing when on the phone.
And then I woke, the phone wasn’t ringing – and I trust my mother is still alive.
U
In response to the question of someone contemplating motherhood one commentator left the following:
“Don’t bother, it’s a waste of time. All that effort and then one day they will just die anyway. Pointless.”
Seriously, not even Sartre can beat this for a laugh.
Take it from this mother: The joy outweighs the certainty.
U
Bitch on the Blog 
The Alternative Comment Box, 2
Tags: blog, blogging, Cling Eastwood, comments, death penality, hanging, justice, mercy
Before I proceed to address the incomparable Rachel once more, note to myself: Why am I spending time on someone who is so full of the disposable? Never mind, we all make our own amusement.
Sunday, 25 Feb 2018 – 0505 hrs GMT – not sent, to spare her deleting me.
“Dearest Rachel, following your recent and most admirable call to “compromise” on the political stage, my reply to which you, naturally (what a predictable creature you are), deleted, I note with interest that you are now calling for hanging.
In my mind’s eye I have no difficulty to imagine you right there, in the front line of the lynch mob. Think old, think film, think black and white, think law and own hands. How romantic. Trees come to mind. And you, being a farmer’s daughter, will have some rope (to take the cows up to the alm) always at the ready. That’s the props in place.
No one on a mission is without their supporters. Which you have found, so ably and so articulate, in the Anonymous Deb,xx. Your exchange so exhilarating, so intellectually stimulating – and I quote in Italics to put some mileage between you and me:
“Anonyomous 24 February 2018 at 20:29
Oh I so agree with you Rachel and I also think that bringing back hanging would cure alot of it instead of them spending chushy time in jail.There is no cure for these evil bastards so just get rid and dispose of them.The streets would be alot safer then for all of us,Debi,xx
Rachel 24 February 2018 at 21:12
It would do this country a favour if we hanged Levi Bellfield and Ian Huntley that’s for sure. What good are they to anybody. Murderers, liars, scum of the earth.
Anonymous24 February 2018 at 22:12
I could add a load more to that list as well Rachel!,Why keep them in prison…Just get rid..Oh,do we have to worry about their human rights??.As far as Im concerned,they dont have any.Debi,xx”
I particularly like those kisses. Signs of affection.
Yes, Debi,xx, ” … bringing back hanging would cure a lot of it instead of them spending chushy time in jail”. Your innocence is touching. It would “cure”? “A lot”? We are not talking ham. “Chushy time in jail”? I think you mean “cushy”. Sure, very cushy. Particularly child molesters/murderers. They have one hell of a “cushy” number among their inmates. Honour among thieves and all that. If they are young, pert in bottom, they might have an even cushier time by being given a taster straight up the arse.
Anyway, Rachel, let me not disturb your and the adorable Debixx’s reveries. Don’t count on winning Clint Eastwood’s favour. I can see the look of disgust and utter disdain for you two harpies in his, oh so squinting in the sun, blue eyes now.
U”