Bitch on the Blog

December 18, 2017

Dream on

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

 

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December 17, 2017

Dashed hope

The notion doesn’t just belong to Christmas. Though I did come across the subject in the context of it. Presents. Or should that read “expectations”?

What would you have liked to be given at any time, at any occasion, at any stage of your life – but didn’t? Worse, what were you given though you didn’t want it? Whilst you mull over both those questions so will I.

U

December 14, 2017

Que?

Don’t say my dreams aren’t amusing if draining.

Last night I fought two battles. The second vaguely baffling. As I was passing some restaurant on my way home I was offered a job to serve food at table. To start this instant. Typical. Ask me a favour, I’ll comply. Not that I was dressed for the job. My first customer’s order wasn’t for a meal, but some sort of whiskey on ice. It took me half an hour to fulfill the order, not least because it took me ages to open the bottle and then I had to find the ice. Meanwhile the clock, in my vision, was ticking. Then, somewhat belatedly, the actual bartender came to little rescue and it got worse from there. This is why I prefer daytime and wakening hours to slumber. Dreaming is stressful and you have no control over what the hell is going on.

My first [dream] however, did set me thinking. You know the third eye? Well, I had one. Right bang in the middle of, and between, my two “normal” eyes, slightly elevated on my foreheard. So far so good. However, I had to fight forces (in the dark) who told me all sorts of nonsense why I needed to give up my third eye, and what terrible things would befall me if I didn’t. I willed myself to wake up.

U

December 9, 2017

Ambition

Filed under: Family,Future,History — bitchontheblog @ 21:46
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Here is one to set a carnivore among the pigeons. You may weep.

What were your parents’ and other relatives’ plans for you?

U

November 26, 2017

In search of answers

Filed under: Communication,Formalities,Human condition,Integrity,Psychology — bitchontheblog @ 20:37
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I was just about to throw myself onto my blog’s page when I realized something. Not for the first time.

Is a blog the devil’s temptation to be mistaken (by the blogger) as a confessional? Readers and commentators being the blogger’s agony aunts and uncles?

Other than that, everything is fine.

U

November 24, 2017

Health and Safety

Filed under: Amusement,Environment,Future,shortcut — bitchontheblog @ 21:03
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Do you ever feel you live on borrowed time? I mean other than when you do (by virtue of age) live on borrowed time.

The last few days mistrust has grown. Mistrust in the sturdiness of my hot water bottle. Yes, I know hot water bottles are quaint and belong to mid of last century. However, they are marvellous at keeping you warm. So, what I do, when I sit at my desk, is wedge a hot water bottle between the cushion on my chair and my lower to middle back. It’s mainly, and it is rather freaky, because I often feel the cold wind of futility between my shoulder blades. Quite something considering how warm I am otherwise. A right little oven.

Yes, suspicion. I think that hot water bottle  (red) is on its last rubber. It feels somewhat brittle and, therefore, it’s only a question of a few more uses before it bursts and I’ll burn my backside. Don’t say I didn’t warn myself BEFORE the event. I can see it now – having a cold shower in the middle of winter in the name of damage limitation.

Have you ever experienced or gone for the “burn” (not necessarily Jane Fonda in the Eighties)? If so, how big was your blister and do you still bear the scars?

U

November 23, 2017

Appreciation

Question: If most people were blind where would that leave the visual artist and the spaces they exhibit in?

U

November 21, 2017

Lost

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 17:17
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To those of you, and there are many, who keep coming over here since my last post’s promise, let me be frank: I don’t know where to go from here.

It’s a first for me, and funny it ain’t. The blogger in question frightens me. Her continued outpourings in response to one benevolent if, admittedly, questioning comment of mine verge on the hysterical. Neither do any of her faithfuls, so called friends, put a lid on it; quite the opposite, they stoke her fire.

Advice welcome.

U

November 20, 2017

Apropos of little

Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 19:13
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For those readers of a certain  blogger, you coming over here to check me out, once I have cooked dinner I will publish the exchange taken down by her in full. Patience is yours.

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

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