About me, day 2

One of the “things” about getting older is that you’re meant to know yourself a little better. You’re meant to know your character and what type of a person you are. Anyway, somebody said to me today….. you’re really good with people. I snorted something unintelligible because really (or so I thought), deep in my psyche, I’m not a people person at all – the quintessential cat that walk alone. People are complicated and full of twists and turns – straight lines and no bumps are not common .

I suppose, therefore, it’s an eye-opener or a reason to press pause when my black and white has a smidge of grey. I am, on closer examination, a keeper of secrets. People tell me things, a great many things – the good, the bad and the ugly. Apparently I’m a good listener, empathetic and I don’t judge – who knew. The thing is though, does one have a limit? How much stuff can you take on board before you’re full and more importantly how do you get rid of the stuff? Spring cleaning the mind – now there’s a title for a self-help series!

Advertisements

About me, today

Do you think a lot, or maybe it’s just me? I like to think and ponder and ruminate about this and that and everything in between. My favourite place is usually the shower (must be the whole calming effect of the water thing blah, blah, blah) but otherwise anywhere really that is removed from the constant noise of living. Anyway I was thinking today …

What do you think you see when you look at me?
Tough and mouthy,
Oozing confidence with a clearly defined life path.
Wrong, wrong, wrong
It’s all for show
I don’t really know and I’m not really sure but I’m learning every day
I’m finding my way
Setting my boundaries
Pushing my limits
Finding my joy
Realising that taking care of me first is the only way to be the best me I can be.

Lonely – a contrast

Sorting through some photos for printing (DH is an old fashioned kind of guy and likes to look through a “proper” album), I came across these two taken in the mountains July last year. Same image, one very early in the morning as the sun came up with a mug of tea in hand and the other late afternoon after a slog up one of the surrounding mountains.

They strike me as “lonely” images for some or other reason. Perhaps because of the absence of people or maybe because the windmill was on its own – whatever, I like the light as well. I’m sure there should be a fancy technical desription for it but I just like it.

mon13

mon10

What happened ……

When DH and I go to visit my mum and dad we often drive past a hobo sitting forlornly on the side of the road with a mismatched, ragtag bundle of meager possessions. He’s a big man, long hair and a full beard – filthy dirty with a puce colured coat and head down, never looking at the passing cars. I always wonder how he ended up in such a dire state?

“I used to be somebody you know
People used to look me in the eye, shake my hand and call me sir
That was before
That was before that night – I signed the deal and they told me I was the best
Everybody wanted to buy me a drink and I didn’t say no
Dave wanted to drive me home but I told him to piss off, I was no girly that couldn’t hold my drink
I got in the car

I killed him you know
They say I hit him so hard that he ended up in the ditch across the way
Just 16 he was, on his way home from football practice
They put me away for a while but I got parole for “good behaviour”
Bloody joke, no booze inside.

And now, sleeping rough,
My family moved away, no forwarding address
They deserted me – the bastards
I’m afraid, especially at night
I hide behind the station
Under the boxes
They hurt me when they can find me
They take my stuff,
I’m all alone.”

Postscript – I wrote this a few weeks ago and didn’t get around to posting it. The irony of the situation is, when we went to fetch my parents for Christmas lunch at my brother’s today, there was a plain wooden cross in the spot where he used to be. Willie, that was his name, died on 17 December 2012.

Five Days – Day Four

I was watching a documentary on the evil scourge that is domestic abuse…

She fell to her knees, her arms clasped over her head

He was shouting

She could feel the rage, coming in waves

She daren’t look up,

He would kick her, he always kicked her and that last broken rib had taken its own sweet time to heal.

She could hear him swigging from the bottle,

The ugly sound as the rotgut flowed down his throat to ignite the physical onslaught that would surely follow

He was bad tonight, she had seen it as soon as the door burst open and he’d come staggering in, his eyes burning with malice

He’d been laid off, again.

Three jobs this year, come and gone like the few cents she made from doing the washing for Number 24 on Nob Hill,

She closed her eyes and prayed.

Five Days – Day Three

My best friends daughter is in love for the first time and brim full of romance and all the angst that goes hand in hand with it! A little twist …

She could feel his hand on the small of her back.

It felt right in a way, like it belonged

Overhead the day was quiet, the sun warm and two silent birds riding the wind as it scampered over the valley

“Em”, he said, “don’t be afraid, I love you”

His voice was low but she felt the words seared on her heart and for a moment there was nothing else

“Em”, he squeezed her hand and she was comforted by the sensuous fingers intertwined with hers, “don’t you see, this way we can be together forever.”

She felt his gaze on her face and glanced up from the ground where a wandering ant had caught her eye as it struggled over the parched earth.

She nodded in assent, her delicate mouth curved in a soft smile

And they stepped off the edge into the void.

Five Days – Day One

I’ve a lifelong passion for military history and military graveyards (which might sound morbid I guess but its the story behind those thousands of gravestones that fascinates me). From Arlington to Gallipoli, Montecasino to Dunkirk millions of men and women and their families have been affected by the endless grind that is the machinery of war. With this is the ever present spectre of death ……………..

The sky is grey and wet

I’m sitting staring at the nothingness,

I’m searching for you

My hands are restless

I can feel the warmth of your skin but you’re not here.

The silence is so very loud,

I’m screaming your name,

Where are  you, why don’t you hear me?

They keep asking me if I’m alright

Keep bringing me a blanket,

Keep wanting me to eat.

I want to laugh, alright?

What is alright?

My soul is empty,

My head is full

A whirlpool of angry thoughts, you promised you’d come back.

And now all I have left is a handful of photographs,

You, so full of life

In a barren wasteland obliterated by war.

A white cross on a distant hill,

Come home

Please come home.

(photo courtesy of 123RF)