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.
Just listened to the news. The script said: ” … the shark responsible for the attack …”.
Surely, an animal can’t be held “responsible” since the concept implies a conscience?
As you know I am a soft touch. Don’t sneer. It’s true. I don’t like hurting people other than through reasoning. I’d give you my last band aid and fifty pence. In fact, if only it helped, I’d tie myself into knots for you and a stranger.
Which is why I don’t employ ‘blog rolls’ and “blogs I follow”. To illustrate: At school (PE – physical education) sometimes we were not allowed to hurt ourselves on some contraption in gymnastics but were required to form two teams. Give me physical over mental damage any time. And I say this as someone who was top dog – not least because I ran fast and kicked high. Popular by another name. Call me a coward but I dreaded our PE teacher calling the names of two ‘leaders’ to form a team by choosing their players alternately. Florence Nightingale, Mother Theresa and Nelson Mandela couldn’t have squirmed more than I did (already chosen by team leader A or B) facing that moment of diminishing returns for the team. There is something so blatantly humiliating to watch rejects – the last two or three no team leader wanted. To see the slow’s and fat’s anguish painted on their faces. Awful. Plain awful.
I (say, age 16) was given the dreaded task of team leader only once. I made choices. Boy oh boy oh girl did I make choices. My PE teacher (and she was fond of me) thought I was taking the piss. I was. Deliberately. I chose all those no-hopers – one by one – first. Seeing their faces light up. Seeing those first class sports women (girls), used to success, their smug faces fall in disbelief as I called one name after another. My teacher made a written note of this on my record. Let’s say her wording was ambiguous.
Yes, so. Blog rolls, blogs I follow. You may have noticed that I do not publish either on my page. I feel very much that who I read – always, occasionally, only once or obsessively – is private. It’s my affair. AND, this is the important part: Who appeals to me or not is in NO way any reflection on the blogger. Try and sell THAT notion. Good luck. It would be disingenuous if I didn’t admit to being ‘flattered’ when I find myself on someone’s blog roll, right there on the right. Of course I am. Which, and I hope you get it, makes my point entirely.
Since I always trust my readers to tell me what they think (even those silent ‘followers’ who have nothing to say) I look forward to hearing from you on this delicate subject.