Bitch on the Blog

May 30, 2018

Anything goes

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

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March 27, 2018

Alternative Comment Box – Health Warning

There are two types of pain; the inflicted and the self inflicted. Sometimes the two overlap. Band aids on request (I don’t do stitches unless you want me to knit you a scarf).

One cool cucumber of a commentator, on the blog of many as yet to be deleted expletives spewed in my direction, evoked the spectacular of Karma for sins I stand accused of having committed in John’s comment box; something along the lines of her ardent wish for Karma to bite my behind. Unfortunately, there is a fault in her thinking. A mistake easily made: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself.

I repeat: When you wish someone bad Karma what you are doing is wishing bad Karma onto yourself. As the Angel astutely observed the other day: “If one lived with the ‘eye for an eye’ maxim, when would it end? Never.” I dare say, lame and blind – that’s where it would end: Limp and in the dark. Fighting windmills. So, those lovely creatures out there so enchanted with your barely audible brain exhalations, be careful what you wish onto others.

If my above take on Karma is wrong I will stand corrected. Over to you.

U

September 30, 2017

Location, location, location

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

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 8, 2017

Forever

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

December 8, 2016

Weather

Filed under: Ethics,Exasperation,Fortune,Roadkill,The Reaper,Vicious — bitchontheblog @ 14:40
Tags: , , , ,

There is a blogger. Let’s rephrase that. There is someone, somewhere, who blogs.

He has surpassed himself. It’s not even him being selfish. It’s him being thoughtless. Inconsiderate.

Yes, so come early December – and now he has got his “overcoat” out – he laments that December’s temperature, so far, is way above “cold”. One may say “warm”. He wants “cold”. God damnit, and if he wants cold he wants cold. Till March. May Bambi’s April showers piss on him.

Why do I even note this? Insert derisory snort. Because people like him with his beer and his whisky on tap don’t give a monkey’s thought to all those homeless, sleeping in doorways, ignored by passers-by, kicked by drunkards around midnight, who might, just might, be truly grateful that December isn’t as cold as Mr Blogger and his overcoat wish it to be. Those who can’t afford to heat the place if indeed they have a roof over their heads. Those who don’t eat because maybe it’s better to starve than to freeze. Those who don’t have a winter coat.

Plumbers are hard to come by on Christmas Eve. May Mr Blogger’s overcoat stand him in good stead. And be moth eaten next December.

Disgusted yours,

U

November 7, 2016

Machinations

Filed under: ahead,Errors,Integrity,The Reaper — bitchontheblog @ 16:03
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For light relief I looked at a photo shoot of Trump’s “life in pictures”. If YOU are looking for comfort – don’t. In fact it’s pretty unsettling to see a young boy morph into the man we now know. Can’t help wondering what role his mother played in his upbringing. If any, and if she were still alive, she may care to retrace her steps and wonder where it all went wrong.

To top it all Trump is a Gemini. All the baddies populating my life (and I don’t even believe in astrology) were born, invariably, under that most duplicitous of star signs, namely the twin.

So, as the world is quaking in their boots with breath bated on the eve of the election (don’t I just hate the time divide)  reason is (unasked for) pressed on me. Hillary, so I am told, is bad news. On hearing this and my eyes clouding over in disbelief (considering the alternative) I am quickly reassured that – should Trump win – he’d only be the TRUE administration’s puppet anyway. Allow me to remain sceptical. Either you are the president or you aren’t. And if he/she isn’t more than a puppet then I am really worried.

Hugs and hisses, you Americans do have a lot to answer for. Not that you appear to know the question. And for that I do not blame you.

U

August 15, 2016

The land of shadows

Filed under: Atmosphere,Communication,death,Future,Human condition,Psychology,The Reaper — bitchontheblog @ 03:53
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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

May 11, 2016

Cost benefit analysis

Filed under: Amusement,Children,death,Human condition,The Reaper — bitchontheblog @ 09:04
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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

April 10, 2016

Beginnings

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