Bitch on the Blog

March 16, 2018

The Alternative Comment Box, Short Term – Consideration

John left me a comment to my last post yesterday and it reads “You are upsetting me Ursula, I don’t need this”.

I took note of it, did not – as promised – release the awfully long, and rather awful, post I had penned yesterday morning and referred to, left pending to ponder on. Just as, late in the day, I was returning to my desk, John’s comment stopped me in my tracks. I like to think things over when other people are hurting. So I slept on it.

Yes, when other people are hurting. Look at John’s sentiment again: I am upsetting HIM. HE doesn’t need IT.

What I find staggering that John does not address the fact that I too, maybe, made abundantly clear, am upset by his/the trio’s (in)action. For Pete’s sake, is everything just about you John, Joy and the Sculptor? Do you actually ever fucking (falling into Rachel speak) care about anyone else but you?

Last night, in wake of your plea, I nearly softened. Poor John, I thought to myself. Mustn’t upset him. Luckily, sleep tends to act like a windscreen wiper. All becomes clear in the morning – what has become clear that you don’t give a shit about me. Nothing of what I have said over the last two or so weeks (and before) has sunk in. All you see, all that counts, is that YOU are upset. That YOU don’t need “it”, whatever IT is.

Sorry, John, you should have thought about that before. Before you edited me even the Angel wouldn’t recognize his mother by the way the three of you have managed to depict me.

Actions do have consequences, John: You can’t spit at someone as the three of you did and then demand that I don’t wipe your spit off my face. 

U

 

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March 14, 2018

The Alternative Comment Box, 12 – Feedback

Filed under: Communication,Errors,Ethics — bitchontheblog @ 13:11
Tags: , ,

The Alternative Comment Box is coming to an end – not quite there yet. Nearly.

Let me express my regret at my role in that which largely didn’t so much unfold as was allowed to avalanche.

That I am combative, sometimes even antagonistic, that I like to provoke, tease the substance out of people, is hardly a secret. It’s what I do. It’s what some people in my life appreciate, it’s what some people in my life are amused by, it’s what keeps me on some payrolls, it’s what some people in my life tolerate with a shrug of their shoulder and accept for what I am; and then there are the exceptions – certain bloggers and their sycophantic readers.

Remember, only repeating myself as I feel that so much social media encourages that scourge of our time, namely a short attention span – I do take and accept responsibility for my role in what went wrong in my communication within the circle to which John, Joy and the Sculptor belong.

Do any of you take responsibility for your own role in our communication gone so terribly wrong? You don’t truly believe it’s all my “fault”, do you?

What is so sad so sad so sad so sad that I gave and give you every chance to let rip. To tell me what angered you so much about me. What made you foul mouth me without giving me any chance of recourse (remember your delete button shutting me up?). Why can’t you stand up for yourselves and stand up to me by actually telling me how YOU see it? Instead you do the worst, and by golly haven’t you found my Achilles Heel, you just keep shtumm. Giving me the silent treatment.

Yeah. Giving me the silent treatment. If you or anyone else wants to reduce me to shreds give me the silent treatment. Nothing else is as effective in terms of attempts at breaking my spirit. So, full marks there for having found my Achilles Heel.

I ask you, and this is not an exercise in justifying yourself as I do not justify myself; I ask you, for pity’s sake, do tell me how you see it/me.  No barrels held. Just say it. No criticism you can lay at my door will be harsher than criticism that, over a lifetime, has been laid at my door already. Courage, Joy; Courage, Sculptor; Courage, John – no need to hide under cover of Mr Nice Guy.

I will take whatever you have to say with grace. My main mission in life is to learn; we can look in the mirror as much as we like, no one holds a mirror up to us more effectively than those who see us as we can’t see ourselves. That goes for me, that goes for you, it goes for all of us.

I’d be grateful if the three of you, each in their own way, would meet me in my quest somewhere on the way.

And, last but not least, those of you other than the addressed above, those who know me with few or none swords crossed, maybe just quiet observers, please do tell me what YOU think of my conduct in blogland.

Communication, open channels, they are everything to me.

U

December 18, 2017

Dream on

Filed under: Accuracy,Errors,Questions — bitchontheblog @ 22:19
Tags: , , ,

Now what?

I have come across fraud. Small fry. But nevertheless fraud. Executed in a devious almost imperceptible manner. I have called the outfit’s bluff several times.  In a discreet way. Just dropping the odd hint. Naturally,  I now find myself persona non grata. You can’t fault their logic. It’s all my fault that it’s their fault.

Never mind. In many ways it’s neither here nor there. Yet, what bugs me that many people (we are talking retail) are actually, and literally, short changed without them noticing.

Having recently binged on a few films, subtitled and so very noir, my imagination runs rampant.  The last thing I need is my legs broken. Or worse. So what do you reckon I should do? Take it to a “higher” authority on risk (see earlier) or keep it to myself? One of those occasions when I wish I were a Mafiosa with just about the right amount of leverage to dish out justice for the “little” man.

U

 

November 9, 2017

By Association

Apparently there are many ways of keeping less desirable thoughts and memories at arm’s length. What are they?

Memories triggered by the mention of a date or a place? If you know of how to keep those at bay please do let me know.

Today is the 9th of November 2017. Which, in an earlier missive, I put as 9/11. Nine Eleven. For Europeans, and I don’t know which other countries,  9/11 means 9th November, November being the eleventh month of the year. I am painfully aware that this is not so for Americans. Nine Eleven has taken on such a life of its own that even as a European when I hear Nine Eleven I do NOT think of today’s date. Oh, no. I think of the eleventh of September. The American way.

Places: Dallas, Texas, to me means one thing only (leaving J R Ewing, oil and barons aside). Yes, 22 November 1963. The only time I’d seen adults walking around with grave faces like that, not their usual cheerful selves, was not long before (cue Cuba Crisis). On a personal note, and I have mentioned it before: November, the month, does have a lot to answer for. At least in my life.

How does your brain work?

U

November 2, 2017

Consistent

Brief annotation to my observations on bloggers.

There is a blogger. He doesn’t read my blog (literally and figuratively so his feelings are being spared, his dignity intact). He is interesting in many ways. Interesting in the way you put something under a microscope and marvel at its intricacies once they are visible through being magnified.

I have “known” and read him long enough to be able to predict which posts of his he will take down. Eventually. Consistently. That he takes them down is understandable. I wouldn’t have published them in the first place. What is less understandable that a man of a certain age and undoubted intelligence shows so little self restraint. Throw yourself on the page, only to retreat? Consistently?

When someone consistently takes themselves back, doesn’t stand by what they said earlier (lacking conviction?), I question their integrity. To put it another way: If that guy were a bridge I wouldn’t set foot on it. Too wobbly.

U

 

May 25, 2017

Spoilt for choice

There is a regular program on Radio Four (BBC, Sunday morning) called Desert Island Disks. Someone of relative public interest is invited to talk about their life and, intermittently, ten pieces of music of their choice are played.  They’ll then be asked to choose one of them to take with them – don’t say the BBC isn’t generous – before being shipped away and with little hope to return. You are given the Bible. You may choose one other book and one (in numbers 1) luxury item. No, not me. I am not a luxury item. I am cheap.

It’s amazing what people will choose as their luxury item. For heaven’s sake – who needs silk sheets in the middle of nowhere? Take a Swiss Army Pen Knife instead. What would I take? I don’t know. It’s not likely to be allowed within in the parameters of the programme but most likely a never ending supply of my favourite fruit/vegetable. Which is … What? Trying to come to a decision will take some time – a most welcome interval to delay the evil departure.

So, what about you? What’s your luxury item, food or otherwise, to take to the desert island? Please don’t say a harpoon. Life doesn’t work like that.

Tom Hanks greetings, and don’t forget to squirrel away some matches and don’t let them get wet during your voyage,

U

May 6, 2017

Sea Change

Have you ever got lost? I don’t mean in the metaphorical sense but its literal meaning.

Were you frightened when you did? How old were you?

I got lost twice in my life. Once age six or so. In Berlin which we had just moved to. My mother asked me to go to the bakers to get some fresh rolls. Not only was I honoured to be trusted with such a task I found a bakery. Bought the rolls. A bag full to bursting point. With a smell to match. Came out of the shop and stood in wonderment. There were all these high rise buildings caving in on me. Which sort of gave me something to look up to whilst trying to work out whether to turn right, left or walk straight ahead. After the first minute of confusion had worn off I was perfectly happy. I had visions of never finding my family again, being adopted by a kind fairy and living a life of bliss. Alas, it was not to be. Once I had realized I couldn’t ask anyone to give me directions since I didn’t even know the name of the street we lived on I just relied on my innate sense of direction. High rise or not. Never told my mother. “What took you so long?”, she said. Some things best kept to oneself.

The second was not that long after, and yes, we had moved again, when we visited the sea side. There we were, complete with beach hut and I went for a swim with one of those pesky blow up rings round my body. Don’t trust salt water. And don’t lose yourself in reverie. By the time I got back to the shore my parents, their friends and one sibling (tiny) had gone. I took it in my stride. Fairy tales are full of children, abandoned. Main thing in life is to keep your nerve. And let little surprise you. As I was trying to work out where to go from where I was my poor mother and one of our friends were running down the promenade shouting my name. “Sonny, Sonny”.

Apparently the current had taken me further and further and further sideways.

So? Did/do you ever get lost?

U

April 30, 2017

Breaking news

Ha, all is becoming clear.

In my last post’s reply to Ramana’s comment I say that I actually don’t mind people displaying a healthy dose of arrogance. According to an article I just read we like those who resemble us. Which, oh my poor dear Sweethearts and regular commentators, on the assumption that you give me the time of day because you quite like me and it’s worth your effort, makes all of you arrogant and antagonistic swines. And those who shall remain unnamed – the ones who in their quest to divest themselves of me – are little Bluebells swinging in the wind waiting to be picked. Cute.

Well, if that isn’t a damning indictment (fn the Bluebells) I don’t know what is. Don’t cry. Here is my handkerchief. Keep it.

U

 

March 31, 2017

Whimsy

One of the less palatable facts of life (apart from death, obviously) how, at times, to cope with the whole caboodle. I have found myself at points which didn’t bring me so much to breaking as having to take some deep breaths, thank my lucky stars that it’s too far and damp to walk to the next cliff, and then regroup. It pays to have shoulders. And brings to mind camels and backs, and straws that break the camel’s back, and taking water from the well till the vessel cracks, you name it there will be an image for it.

Which reminds me, apropos of nothing, and one Looney may have the patience to answer: What’s it with camels, wells and donkeys? And going through the eye of a needle? That camels feature large is, geographically speaking, not a surprise. Still. Wait till a Llama spits at you, not out of spite – just because that is what Llamas do, and you look at life, as only a five year old can, through a heightened lens.

That’s how animosity starts. One moment you are meandering through your own overgrown backyard, the next someone offers you to borrow their lawn mower. Obviously the latter never happens but as an idea it works.

So, what do you do? Accept that your neighbour lends you their lawn mower not because you don’t have one but because they don’t want to be seen living to someone who is perfectly happy to walk among daisies? Or do you mow that meadow of yours to keep the peace?

Let me know. Not that I do have any land, overgrown or mowed, at the moment.

U

March 21, 2017

Why, oh why, oh why

As I currently appear to be in questioning (if not questionable) mode here is another one to make you, my dear Readers, blush:

What do you remember as one of the more embarrassing moments of your life? Obviously, all of us are spoiled for choice, and some episodes best taken to the grave, never to see the light of day. Others? Other embarrassments may make (some time in a far away future) a passable anecdote.

And yes, before you scroll back, I DID say that ALL of us (no use denying it) are spoiled for choice – and I say this as someone who is NOT easily embarrassed. As they say “Shit happens”, so, and being conceited as I am, I am reconciled to the human condition. However, when I do embarrass myself, boy oh boy, no half measures taken, no hole to swallow me in the near vicinity, I do wonder why this mortal coil of a life is peppered with snares to get trapped in.

It also makes for a rather interesting exercise in time travel, not least when you learn that some people were elephants in a previous life; they never forget, and have amazing ability to cut you down shorter than to size by casually mentioning something that happened ages ago.

In the short space it took me to type the above, my life of embarrassing episodes has flashed past me and I feel a little hot under the collar. It’s why the prospect of someone writing your biography once you are dead and therefore unable to put the record straight is pretty daunting. OH MY GOD. Actually tempts me, rarely – but it does, to put it all down on paper myself. Except, of course, who wants to relive that which is best forgotten?

Please don’t be shy. As so often, I will reveal myself in reply to you. If that sounds like a trade off – it isn’t. It’s my ingenious way of hiding my tree among bushes, in the hope no one notices.

U

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