Bitch on the Blog

September 22, 2012


Filed under: Despair — bitchontheblog @ 03:01
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That’s it. I shall never ever put my trust in the stars again. I shall only look at them from the gutter, as recommended by Oscar Wilde.

What a fine disappointment (apart from Wednesday late evening) this week has been. My horror scope told me last Sunday (remember?) that I should say ‘yes’ to everything coming my way for the next seven days. This minute it’s Saturday morning and time is running out. And nothing has come my way. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Please do not suggest that this might have something to do with my having put myself under house arrest. Human contact thus limited. There are other ways to communicate in the ether. Any moment now I’ll expect ET landing on the window sill. Peering in. Asking me what I am doing at 0355 BST at my desk and could he please have some scrambled eggs. Of course. Yes. Or an omelet.

The hot water situation (in the kitchen) has now reached critical mass. The plumber took the boiler away. When he asked me whether he could come back today (Saturday) to replace it I was so happy to be given one of my last opportunities to say: “Yes”. I even said ‘please’. Plumber promised to add cost of new toilet seat and fixing it to the fab Fabrizio’s (that’s my landlord) bill for having let the boiler slide into disrepair. “Compensation for your inconvenience”, Handy Andy said. You can’t beat it. Can you? Why did Handy Andy not become a lawyer?

What will the next 48 hours bring (other than a new horror scope)?

Hugs and kisses, please do make up for the deficit of questions I might be able to say ‘yes’ to. Or maybe I should take up growing mushrooms in the dark.



November 14, 2011

Anaphylactic Shock

Filed under: Despair,Errors — bitchontheblog @ 12:08
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With no one else to hand: Why not throw myself onto my blog? Anonymity such a cloak of comfort.

I have a peculiar, physical reaction when I find out that I have been lied to big time: My heart starts racing like crazy. Always has. Most unpleasant sensation. And that’s just the body. Never mind the mind.

This will be closely followed by my throwing up. My body is good that way. It translates – literally.

Some of you may remember that I have a peculiar relationship with lying. I don’t like it. Trouble is that – like a pig trained to find the truffle – I will, unintentionally, find out when someone deceives on a level where it pulls the rug from under my feet.

Don’t get me wrong: White lies. Sure, I do them too. Mainly on behalf of others. What is it to me when someone needs an alibi to save their marriage, stop them being expelled from school or whatever? Being a story teller I come across so convincing I will stand up in court and the accused will go free.

But when I find out someone lies, big time, to ME, I go stone cold. Apart from my heart racing and throwing up (see above). And no, dear readers, do not jump to conclusions: What I have just found out  has nothing to do with “romance”. This has to do with such a mega shit that the person who has caused an INNOCENT to lie to ME will pay the price. Big time. One day this will out. Not today. Not tomorrow.  But when it does there will be tears. Probably mostly mine because everyone is always so good at justifying their actions. Naturally, I will have brought it all onto myself. Sure. Whatever you say. In the meantime go on and destroy my life. Why not? As spectator sports go I am sure it’s entertaining.

How did I say the other day: The unimaginable is slowly but steadily happening: Like a weed in my heart: Hatred, or what I imagine hate to be, is growing.

And no one, no one give me “drama queen”. You know what: Life is drama. On the very stage you are standing on. Unless it’s a flop.

To think the innocent I once was. The good in people. Oh, I find it. There are those. Unbelievably so. And then there is foam.

If I weren’t me (made of steel) I’d probably kill myself within the next few hours or so; after having cleaned the house top to bottom – mustn’t leave a mess, must we? Oh no. Everything just so. Ship shape. Good old Ursula. Always to be relied upon to deliver. Well, let me tell those of you who do not know about this blog (which is family and some friends): Fuck off. You have done enough damage. Find yourself another soap opera. And don’t you even think about attending my funeral. Or I will rise from my grave in most unbecoming fashion.

Hugs and kisses,


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