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.
How many years and onions does it take of cutting them (sliced, cubed) before you stop crying in the process?
What is the difference between a routine and a habit?
Actually forget ‘habit’. Just looked up its current meaning in the dictionary and there appears to be an unhealthy emphasis on habit as an “addiction”. Which is not what I meant. Though, of course, one might reasonably argue that habit as an addiction doesn’t necessarily need to involve mind and body altering fluids and other substances – it might just be you being addicted (here we go again) to a habit. And why do people think only “bad” habits need to be broken? After all, if a bad habit makes you happy and doesn’t involve cruelty to anything living, then why break it?
Routine has its own problems. Are you even aware of having one? And if you do – does it unsettle you if your routine is upset by unforeseen circumstances?
And how do you change either routine or habit with least discomfort (to yourself)?
Please do let me know what you think before I tie myself into knots.
Forget “beginnings” in my last aborted post. Ends is where it’s at. It speaks volumes for my mind’s capacity that I can’t remember what I wrote. I therefore take great comfort from my mother’s words “If you can’t remember, it wasn’t important.” No doubt she was/is right – however, whilst I don’t take myself THAT seriously, I do hate to deprive mankind of all those pearls of mine – some of which are lost on swine.
As of this morning all is well, all is good. Unless technology throws another spanner into my workings trying to shut me up and down I’ll be throwing myself onto the page with customary abandon. If that sounds like a promise – it is.
Sweethearts, despite various spanners in recent years’ works I lead a charmed life. Unlike those [bloggers] who can’t help themselves moaning and groaning over, say – and I truly love this – that they have bloggers’ block. How much more entertaining can it get? You have nothing to say and tell the world all about it. Take a leaf out of a mouse’s book. And keep quiet.
Anyway, lets unite in our assorted self afflicted boats and use WD40.
WD40 is a miracle. If I could WD40 all of you I would. After having WD fortified myself.
And I quote from the can
- Stops Squeaks
- Drives Out Moisture
- Cleans and Protects
- Loosens Rusted Parts
- Frees Sticky Mechanisms
At the bottom, and in my experience important, “See Cautions on Reverse”
200 ml. Silicone Free.
Hugs and kisses,
You know what this whole mouse saga has confirmed to me once more?
I have the patience of a fucking saint. The extent of my patience is so extraordinary I am in awe of myself. If I were someone else I wouldn’t stand for some of the shit coming my way. But there you go. By way of example, and I had only asked a stranger a perfectly innocent question, I was told this morning “You ARE taking the piss.” This was not improved on by him repeating it. I wasn’t taking anything, most certainly not piss. I remained that what I so admire in the heroines of Jane Austen novels: Calm DESPITE of it. Even charming. Even smiling. I came away from that encounter distinctly feeling that he wasn’t mothered properly.
Yes, so the mouse in the house. My nights are those of intermittent sleep – what with all the scratching. No, not scratching – mice need, emphasis on need, to chew hard stuff to keep their teeth growing too long. Yes, live and let live. I just wish it would die without my intervention.
If it were more than one mouse I’d call pest control (my landlord) but it’s only one. A lost soul. If this is going to go on much longer we’ll be friends. However, how can you be friends with the elusive? And elusive a mouse is. You never see it, you only hear it. At night. And yes, it’s still in the lounge. Where? I don’t know. I have turned the place over. Hoovered in unlikely places and generally gone ship shape. Tonight, I am sorry to say, is that little creature’s last chance. If that bloody – intermittent – scratching starts again, tomorrow I shall fork out real money for the dreaded trap (Rentokil – their website leaving you perplexed and grateful how many pests I have escaped in my life, also giving you a bewildering choice as to methods to kill).
Yes, so greetings from the soft touch,