Wednesday, January 21, 2015

A  terrible thing of the sort that only happens to Other People has happened to someone I know. To very dear friends of my very dear friends. It's the sort of thing that's impossible to quantify, and... I don't know. It seems impossible and unbearable. I forget about it while I'm focused on something - as I'm not in the immediate circle of this family, I have that luxury - but then it rushes up from the depths, the seemingly impossible reality of it, and it's torturous. I have no idea what to do with the grief and horror of an event like this. 

Something of this magnitude happened once before in my family, to my uncle's family. Exactly the sort of thing you think doesn't happen to people you know. People survive, they carry on, they grow up and have babies and seem to grow around their grief the way trees grow around iron hoops or bicycles chained to them. 

It's a terrifying thought to encompass, as we struggle through our daily grind - we never know how close each day comes to being so immeasurably worse. Perhaps we are a hair's breadth away from trauma all the time, and the miracle is that it doesn't happen more often? 

We are too fragile. Our bodies, our minds, our hearts. Too much potential for breaking.



Monday, January 19, 2015

Saturday, January 17, 2015

I hope this doesn't backfire

I've been feeling bad for a long time, about how little I do for the world. I'm not a very worthy human. I care a lot but I feel sort of helpless, as you know, and am reluctant to take on projects as my energy levels are so low.

I've been looking at dogs who need fostering from the same place we got our Derry since before we got him - this winter, as it gets so cold, there's so many lost dogs in the pound all needing care. So... I have pressured poor Axl into fostering this fella:


Aero the 8 month old black lab.

I'm sure he's bouncy and fun - it's odd, someone lost him but no one seems to be looking for him. Apparently chances are he'll find a home in the UK, who take most of the labs that need homes in Ireland - people there love them, apparently they're not so popular here.

I'd be tempted to see if my father wants him, as his dog was just drowned tragically, the second one who's died in sad circumstances. BUT when I was a child, my father kicked, shouted at and beat our dogs very abusively and I've no idea if he still hurts his - he and his wife seem to love them like children but how to be sure? I think I'll just leave that one, I suppose.

Anyway... more reports soon, and this guy won't be sleeping in a cement cell and on my conscience.

If I somehow, miraculously, came to live in a country house with lots of fields and sheds... I think I would fill it with rescue dogs and have an adoption centre.

Oh, and also, kune kune pigs for Bodhi. He wants piggies.




Thursday, January 15, 2015

Storm Rachel

Such a wind today, Storm Rachel. It blew me like a blimp round the ball fields, where the poor dog so desperately needed to walk, my big raincoat like a sail, after two days of my refusal to go out in the cold/storm. It was epic, in a cold sort of way, solid wind and spattering rain, real effort to walk. I think I'm glad I didn't go out in the earlier blustery sunshine and climb the side of Bray Head. I might have blown out to sea.

I tried to find a picture of a fat lady being blown through the air, but there doesn't seem to be one. However, I did find these, and they're gorgoeus, have a look.


Wednesday, January 7, 2015

elegy

My friend's elegy for the baby she lost. I'm rendered speechless by her beautiful words, her enormous understand, the sweetness of her little children.

I don't know that I'd recommend this to anyone who's had a loss, it's raw and tender and beautiful, and guaranteed to make you cry. but I want to record it here.

http://starvingartistink.com/summer-sun-leo-moon/

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Well, I just wrote 73 words, after a whole evening of waiting to write. And not writing.  They mount up so fast. Maybe if I could just ride on through the impulse to stop I get. It does keep returning, though. If I could eat endless packets of biscuits, I think it might help, but that's hardly a good trade off.


My fingers are moving now... the problem with fiction is the fear that what you're writing sounds stupid all the time. Someone who doesn't like me very much once commented on something I'd written, and suggested that fiction maybe just isn't my thing. Heh. That was ... well, it didn't work, let's say, being that little bit too obvious a ploy. I produce good stuff, it's just ... it kills me to do it. There. is. no. flow. Where is my flow? Where is the pour, the spouting stream of articulation and inspiration? Hmm? *pokes brain demandingly*



I'm one of those people who wants to be a writer but doesn't write. Danielle suggested I might be a lady writer, and I totally am, but I'm not even that right now.

Everything in my being has just slowed to a thickening fudge. A swampy morass of treacly entropy. I just had to look up entropy, it doesn't exactly mean what I thought it did, but actually, it'll do.


Sunday, January 4, 2015

Back to the grind tomorrow. The reality of an early morning, school, cold-light-of-day money worries and the fact that we'll have to take down our beautiful, fragrant Christmas tree make me feel a little bleak about the near future. This is the problem with January, there's fuck all to look forward to. 

I've no work til the 19th, and that will cause problems, scary problems, but when I go back I have to go back to teenagers, shorter hours, early mornings... blarg. I don't wanna. I don't want to make my son get up early from his sweet, blissful sleep, I don't want to force my daughter into doing more stuff she is so, so resistant to. I am not eager for the battle. 

I would prefer it wasn't all a battle, but it is, because none of us are really doing what we love. But this is just life, for most of us. I know people manage to find that balance that allows them to exist happily, finding the Thing. I don't know what the Thing even is for me, though. Come on, Thing, present yourself. That or the Lottery - I suspect being independently wealthy might be my thing. 

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

happy new year

You peeps, I feel like I should have something to say.

Some wisdom, something pretty, some summary of 2014. Truth is, I don't really have any sense of what a year is anymore.

I'd like to be more normal this year; work harder, have more energy, exercise, eat like a proper human eats, parent well, succeed a little - make some money, pay for grown up things like cars, holidays, dental work. I don't know about resolutions, though. I am not famous for resolve, wishes are much more my style.

I wish you all the best for the coming year, though. I stood in the doorway tonight, and shouted happy new year to my Polish neighbours, and watched someone else's fireworks bursting in the sky. Axl responded to Olivia's question about resolutions by saying that he was going to exercise, and to Parent and to ... give up smoking...! I am impressed by the resolve, even if these things are ongoing projects.

And it seems from this pic that 2015 is year of the sheep, which may mean nothing to anyone but me and my friend, but it makes me happy.






Tuesday, December 30, 2014

cake

I bought myself a Christmas present...



It's a print of this beautiful painting.
Only a small one, as it's more than I can afford, but I love it, had to have one. The artist's name is Laura Shull, I saw it on tumblr and looked her up. God bless the Internet.
Now I just have to go find an old frame that'll fit it, and paint it old gold and white.

I have a jar of poster paint that my mother bought to paint a cheap frame with when I was so young... there was a painting of parrots I loved in the National Gallery in Dublin, it's still there - my parents bought me the postcard and a little frame to fit it in, and she painted it with poster paint for authenticity. It's a sweet thing.
This is the painting, just for interest's sake, though it hasn't got anything to do with anything.


So, parrots aside, what do you think of the painting? It's an exploration of indulgence and decadence, but I see something else in it too. I mean... you know me and cake. 



Saturday, December 27, 2014

humans of the world

I've had a weird experience today. I commented on the ever-wonderful Humans of New York, a photo of this sweetheart boy whose little brother is 11 and who wants to know how to have the sex talk with him as he's become his father figure. It's (as usual) an achingly sweet slice of humanity.

The weird thing is, to date, my comment has 225 replies and nearly fifteen thousand likes... well, ok, I've just had one hater who thinks I was being condescending, but hey, I suppose that's par for the course. I half agree with her , I wasn't trying to be condescending, just compassionate, but I don't know why the people are flocking to my comment, instead of the original wonderful post.

Everyone is so desperate for a little compassion, though - why is a kind response to a stranger so remarkable? I genuinely don't get it. HONY posts always get great comments, but I'm being showered with love here, as if I did something special. Like, serious love - I've made people cry, I've had about ten friend requests (er, yikes!). I worry about us all. We all need so much.

I do too, this is the thing. I'm no guru. They'd think again if they could see my grumpy facebook updates and whingy blog posts and see what a lazy and narky mother I am, and see how I have to be medicated for general fear and hopelessness. Ha, fingers just wrote hopefulness. Maybe there's hope yet.

I'm worried for the world though. So much need. And me too - I lay in bed last night, uncharacteristically unable to sleep, and I felt so alone. The room was so still, it felt odd. Hyper-real, and me all alone in the middle of it, in the dead of night, feeling a little bit sorry for myself. All the need, and no one to ask anything of except the imaginary friends in my head, and yet these people on facebook have decided they need me and I've restored their faith in humanity. Agh!