Wounds Heal Better In The Sun

To live with what is unhealable

is presumably also living.

Just don't

turn the hurt into a god.

Also do not believe

that every wound is a stigma.

The sun has its glow, the blood also.

Competition is not necessary.

But it is a firm saying, worthy of adoption,

that wounds heal well in the sun.     Anna Greta Wide

I'm gradually losing hope again now.  But Anna Greta was right about the sun.  This morning's surprise intelligent conversation whilst the sun streamed in through the window, bringing the spectre of spring on the horizon, did me good.  Oh, if only there were true hope of a carefree and enjoyable ride into summer!  The desire to run away, the longing for a chance to lie about on the grass in a field and have the sun keep me warm is as strong as ever after such a tough winter.  There has to be hope of a holiday even though I have absolutely no idea how I'll ever afford one.  I'm so tired of the struggle; the battle to keep going.  The fight to hold back the tears.  The pulling at shreds of hope to make a future.

Make up your mind world.  Either pull me in from the platform and bring me a cup of tea, or let me go just as the fastest train hits its top speed.  I honestly don't mind which.

Hell On Earth

"The only message there is: be who you want to be and stick by it.  My [step] father got me a job at the Hotpoint factory to show me what the real values of life were.  And the real values of life were discussing football and reading the Daily Mirror every fucking day, so I thought I'd get some new values.  To spend your whole life doing a job you hate must be hell on earth.  Don't spend your life thinking 'if only' because it will kill you.  You'll die of regret."  Ian 'Lemmy' Kilminster

I tried to be who I wanted to be.  I really did.  But the consequence of that was ending up in a houseshare that nearly killed me because I didn't earn enough money (or any from the thing I worked hardest at) to get me out of there and into a place on my own.  So, if the choice is, die from unbearable housing situation or die from unbearable work situation, I suppose it's much of a muchness.  I'd settle for one of those secret suicide pills from NASA right now.  But they're secret, so I don't suppose they'd do me the courtesy of sending me one even if I asked nicely, would they?

Oh to have the luxury of good timing so that your principles can serve you well enough that you never have to change them...

Despair and despondency

What a difference a day makes.  

I thought a full day-off would help, but of course, it only serves to allow me just enough time to see how horrible my day-to-day existence (it would be wholly inaccurate to call this 'a life') has become.  Given the chance to see the number of hours I'm working and the dramatically non-corresponding financial reward, I'm tempted right back into despondency.  I cannot live like this.  It's not just the work itself, which is denying me any time to be creative unless I take the risk of making myself ill by regularly getting only as much sleep as a new parent, but it is the lack of appreciation and consideration for all that I am managing to do, which threatens to overwhelm me.  I may as well have embarked on motherhood.  The problem of unpaid, hard-work that goes unappreciated is absolutely identical.

There must be a way out of this?  Surely my efforts to learn Czech and continue to practise French and continue to play music in the last spare minutes I have left, must count for something?  Come on someone, hire me for work I can actually excel at.  Or at least make a headstone saying 'she really did try' and lay a comfy blanket and pillow in the grave for me to lie on and bring me the barbiturates to see me on my way out of here, so that I don't have to go out and source them myself.  Because, frankly, I don't have the time.  Or the money.  Dammit.

Love and other tragedies...

Oh dear.  God save me - I think I've fallen in love.  How can this have happened? What tragedy!  (Someone once said, once you've fallen in love, things can only end badly.  Someone either leaves or dies in the end.)

This is not very 'me'.  I'm meant to be dynamic and fiercely independent and cynical.  What the hell is this?!  And why do my older and wiser friends have to have been so right, dammit?  I had my principles and my little survival strategies and my convictions that my romantic life was over for good and I would remain a (fit and forward-thinking) spinster, playing angry songs no-one else would ever hear.  For good.  I thought I had it all sussed out.

So, ok Mr. Rock god and Mr. Byron II, you were right; I was wrong.  Happy now?

This could still fall apart tomorrow.  Then the hyenas will gather to laugh loudly.

We had the 'kids' conversation last night.  In that tentative way you do when no-one's dared say 'I love you' yet, incase it serves to suffocate the other person. (This topic of conversation was due to some stupid American sitcom dubbed into Czech that got me angry about the linguistic ridiculousness in the phrase, ,,Jsme těhotné'" i.e. "we're pregnant".  We?  There is no "we" in being pregnant.  Just ask the woman in labour. )  I made it plain I have no intention of ever having kids.  He had said before that he hadn't wanted them either.  But that was during the break-up of his last relationship.  Now, three years later, he's convinced he's 'getting old' and has changed his mind.  And, for now at least, he assumes I will too when I catch up to his age.  

So that's the end of our relationship looming in the distance. It's just out of reach or relevance right now, but it will grow and grow and one day it'll be the thing that drives us apart.  (Or maybe it will be the thing we laugh about in a month's time, when he decides he can't stand me anymore anyway.)

Who knows?  Last night he looked at me and said, "so it's a challenge", in response to my saying I didn't want children.  But I won the argument in the end anyway by saying that wanting children is irrelevant anyhow.  Whether you are successful enough, rich enough, happy enough to ensure giving children a good life is the most important factor.  It requires a sense of being at peace with yourself and what you have or haven't achieved.  It requires a hope for the future.  And those are the things I know will prevent me from ever embarking on it.

Incompatibility?

Watching episodes of 'The IT Crowd' on his PC, a PC which is currently infected with a virus called 'Windows XP Antivirus 2011', was both highly entertaining as well as ironic.  The virus kept intercepting with 4 minutes left of the episode to watch, so we did indeed have to, "try switching it off and on again".

(He's got a PC, I've got a Mac.  How very apt.  How very SATC.)

He watches Top Gear (in Czech) and I watch David Attenborough documentaries.  He has hot chocolate for breakfast on a weekend but I have tea, followed by an essential cup of coffee.  He seems older than he is (nothing like a few tragedies in someone's life to make them ever so mature rather quickly) but insists I look younger than my age.  (A 'meet-ee' of mine today guessed my age as 12 years younger.)  He eats white bread rolls (or "housky") and I eat wholemeal ones.  But we both wish we had enough money to train as a pilot and at least get a PPL for flying a little Piper plane.

All this frivolity could end tomorrow.  The hugs, the smiles, the cracking up at either of our linguistic errors; all of it could just disappear.  I know this better than anyone.

I'm getting my Saturday back this weekend.  I shall have to do some thinking.  Good, quality thinking-time is a luxury I haven't had in a while.

Survival

"The creative artist, who must transmute the everyday for the sake of poetry, is unfitted, by his imaginative gift, for work requiring constant attention to mechanical precision."  Michael Tippett

Oh how true.  How will I survive this relentless learning of the minutiae of the specifics of my day job?  The jargon, the methods for persuasion, the necessary planning.  It threatens to overwhelm me daily.

But the architect is here and we'll have some fun to make up for it.

A Piece of Advice

Seriously, I haven't got time to go into how lacking in perception a certain person was today...  To be honest, I had expected better from this person.  My only advice is: if you see a girl who normally wears make-up and eccentric earrings suddenly wandering around with her hand on her tummy, hair in a mess, no make-up, no earrings and a tired, anaemic look in her eyes, you would do well not to ask too much of her.  It would serve you best not to badger her with unnecessary questions and requests.  It would even be a good idea to be nice to her.

I came THISCLOSE to snapping at said person.  And I don't even get that kind of PMT.  I get the unbearable, debilitating and excruciating pain kind.  So I'm simply going to try to survive tomorrow, not excel in it.  And I shall pray from the depths of my soul that the architect will have a warm spot on his sofa for me, or better still, in his arms, so that come what may, I can run away to another world by evening.