Bitch on the Blog

March 14, 2018

The Alternative Comment Box, 11 – Regret

Filed under: Communication,Human condition,Intermittent despair — bitchontheblog @ 10:22
Tags: , ,

Let me give some satisfaction to John the Samaritan, miserable Joy and charmless Sculptor. The last thirty six hours of my life have not been good. You managed the unthinkable: Reducing me to tears.

I am NOT crying because of all the shit you offload at me NOT at MY doorstep but your own blogs and comment boxes. Heavily edited. Every which way.

I am crying at my failure. My failure being that I so misjudged all of you. Crying at the idiot (Cro’s idea not mine) I truly am that I thought you worthy of my attention. That I actually liked all three of you. Well, John is easy to like; neither did he ever claim to be an intellectual. Joy I liked because she is a lost soul; the Sculptor I liked I don’t know why … maybe because he reminded my of Sisyphus.

Crying that I was fool enough to try again and again and again and again to mend bridges. To no avail. If you want to define “failure” try “to no avail”.

I am crying having allowed to be abused to an extent I didn’t think possible. Who am I kidding? “Allowed”, as if I were in control? I just was [abused].

I am crying at the shameful fact that (apart from John’s feeble attempts) none of you will address me on my blog, stand by your slander. You were so vocal (on your own blogs, so trigger happy) – Now? Now nothing.

Who are you people? Do you actually have any feelings other than for yourselves (this question mainly addressed at Joy and Sculptor)? Do you actually ever consider the impact your (in)actions have on others? Does your world center on your navels, your navels only? Are other people just dummies to furnish your self centered habitat?

Anyway, be happy at having achieved nothing more than a grown woman cry at her own foolishness. Congrats. Rejoice.

U

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June 24, 2016

Shakespearean

You have to hand it to Britain: DIVIDED they stand.

This is personal, I make little claim on rhyme, reason or rationale. For that I am too upset. A snapshot in my time.

Having stocked up on an hour’s sleep before British voting closing at ten o’clock BST I turned on the TV (BBC1) at five minutes to ten.  Big Ben makes me quite emotional at the best of times. So when it chimed as voting booths closed I welled up a bit. Now? Now, my tears are rolling. Involuntarily. They just keep coming. They say there are five stages to grieving. Denial (in this case) was relatively short. Shock features majestically. Acceptance (the last stage)? I guess that will be a long time waiting.

After the future father of son proposed to me 26 March 1982 in Paris, I arrived in England 4 April 1982 for good. I have always been a foreigner – albeit a “well integrated” one. FOS saw to that. I couldn’t so much as open my mouth before he corrected any mistake my early shaky English made. And that includes apostrophes. Might sound harsh to some of you. It wasn’t. I am hugely grateful to him for his relentless pursuit of perfecting my English. Don’t laugh, and as an aside, it’s probably why I miss him most when – to this day – I have a question on where to insert a comma or what the plural of bonus is.

Where was I? Yes, a foreigner. Now? Now I am a true foreigner. An alien. For those of you musically inclined listen to Sting’s “An Englishman in New York”. A legal alien. The melody alone conveys all there is to know. And before any of you point this out to me: Yes, I am perfectly aware that here, in this post and in my heart, there is a soupcon of self pity. Not least because someone recommended to me (in a national newspaper), and as I don’t hold a British passport, to return to “whence you come from”. Sweet. Thirty four yours on.

Never mind. I will regain composure.

The result of this vote has opened a massive a can of worms too cramped to not spill. Whilst – to some extent – I do feel sorry for Cameron having to resign in such an undignified way, what he needs to ask himself why the hell he did authorize this referendum. So terribly terribly shortsighted.

Yes, I promised you a snapshot. And that why I’ll stop now. Otherwise this post will become an oversized oil painting. No, make that a bewildered Jackson Pollock. Not that I deaden any pain with whiskey.

U

September 24, 2012

Yes, it’s been a long three or four years

Filed under: Family — bitchontheblog @ 01:18
Tags: , ,

Never shall you learn more about people than when the shit hits the fan.

How you deal with a crisis is what divides the loin from the snout. Let’s rephrase this for the vegetarians among you, not least Lorna: What divides the potato from the peel. Please do remind me to buy a new peeler. My last one has bitten the dust.

One of the pig tails in my life has proven stupid. Not stupid as in the ‘village idiot’. Village idiots have an innate wisdom if only you take the time to sit next to them. Or walk with them. No, stupid as in ’emotional’ intelligence being at the lower end of the spectrum. Which, to my relief, has helped me to let go of someone.  Have come to conclusion that losing respect is the ultimate turn-off in any relationship. Even that with a sister.

U

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