WWWC # 3

 

Challenged by Caryn

 

Pick a literary quote/reference that inspires you, and do the opposite with it. (I PICKED A SONG)

 

Where my heart will take me

“A good turn-out, don’t you think?” I’m not really surprised that he doesn’t respond, although his rigid expression makes me sigh.  “If you’re not going to smile at my jokes, can you at least pretend to look sad? I don’t think people will laugh at you if you cry” Frustrated at his lack of response, I turn away, and start wandering between the people.  What the hell is she doing here? Backstabbing bitch, I knew I should have made a guest list.  Sighing I just move on, I always found her drama exhausting, and being dead doesn’t change how I feel about her. 

A few colleagues shuffle past me, sniffling as they go. “Yeah, keep crying you lying sack of shit.  Everyone who knew me knows what I think of you and how much you hated me in return.” I’m so over this crap, where is the goddamned white light? Right now, I’ll settle for black smoke swallowing me.  Anything to get away from this ball bag of an event.

I could have sworn I insisted on a no church event? I hope there is no lying penguin getting up on that podium screaming at the poor defenceless mourners about my supreme faith and how much better off I am. I can see it now.  All the religious nutcases I have ever known, and who hated my open-mindedness and love of gay people will nod solemnly in agreement at how I was such a pillar of Christianity and all things pure and fanatical, and how I am so much better off where I am. Ha.  Faith?  Me? Imagine that.

Indeed, they send up a penguin.  Well fuck. I won’t listen to this shit. I move away to the back of the church, but the thousand megawatt speakers blare out my faithful worship of a god that I never thought much of, a love of people that I never felt and a dedication to the improvement of life for all mankind. I wonder if the people here even knew me.  At all.

I give up.  Leaning against the pillar in the back of the church, I resign myself to suffering through this crap. The promise of a video clip made by a friend of mine peaks my interest. At last, someone that actually knows what they are talking about.  The church goes quiet; just a few abandoned sniffles can be heard as the penguin scratches at a laptop, trying to get the cursed clip to play. Eventually, a picture of me standing somewhere against a thundercloud-darkened sky pops up on the big screen, and the sounds of “Where my heart will take me” starts up, and I actually burst out laughing. 

This is the funeral song I chose years and years ago, when my dewy fresh youth still believed in the romance of life and death.  It’s been a long road? You are not kidding.  It’s been one hell of a long road. Long time?! Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t think thirty years is very long at all thank you. I’ve got strength? No one is going to bend or break me? Who dreams up this crap? Did you even see my remains? Do you at least KNOW how I kicked the bucket? Yeah, I didn’t think so. 

The picture flips over to another one, and another.  All cheesy pics where I pose awkwardly for a camera, clearly as uncomfortable in my skin as the cheesy song playing is out of place with who I am.  I do have faith.  Faith that this bullshit is a never-ending abyss of darkness and torment.  God I wish I could still get drunk so I can delete this crap from my undead memory.  There is nothing after this crap called life, and here I am, proving the fucking point, aren’t I?  Just more crap.  The high-light of today? I am going to follow that bitch home and drive her crazy.

 

Wednesday Weirdo’s Writers Club Challenge 2

Unhoard my life? Challenged by Annelle to throw something out and give something away and then, write about it.

Reinvented

Joyously, I hold up the piece of soft, grey cloth.  I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! All right, I didn’t know, and that is why I am so happy. Last year, in my annual fit of spring cleaning, I decided that the time had finally come to say goodbye.

I bought the shirt as a polo neck when I was just fourteen years old, and wore it whenever it came out of the wash.  When the neckline became too tight, I just snipped it off and hand-stitched a new neckline.  This off course meant that my baby had to be demoted to a vest slash home shirt. As time kept marching on and the material inevitably thinned out even more, I was completely unable to wear it anywhere but to bed, but last year, I took the plunge, and threw it out.  Ah, but did I? Off course I did.  I have no idea how it snuck back into my closet, hiding behind my actual peejays, I’m just really grateful it found a way. I washed it and am back to wearing it, runs and holes be damned.

Now, you might think this classifies me as a hoarder, and truth be told, I doubt I am.  I am simply an economic re-inventor that feels inanimate objects need love too. It’s the little things after all, that matters in life.  Little things like buttons, beads and ribbons, because an arty crafty like myself, can reinvent anything.

Yes, I do need to sort out my arts and crafts cupboard, but what would be the point if I know I won’t throw it out? So, instead of throwing it out, I reinvented things that really should go.  Glue gun, fabric strips and mismatched beads met elastic bands, old bra straps and random hairclips to create new and fun hair accessories, and whatever tiny pieces were left, met the bin. I have three new hair pieces for myself, three new hairpieces for my daughter, and am in the process of making these for every friend I have. So there, hoarder or re-inventor, you decide.

 

Blank pages and bottles of wine

As has been established, I am somewhat of an erratic writer.  Undisciplined, far too controlled by my emotions to ever really become an effective writer.  I review my work and some is really decent, but as soon as my emotions dip beyond a certain point, I write badly, or not at all. 

So the solution to this for me seems to be the Wednesday Weirdo’s Writers Club.  The club sprung forth from the desperate need of a few Capetonians feeling all left out from the meetings of the Tequila Thursday Writers club due to proximity. Thanks to the few determined members (we are only five people so far) we have met up three times, and done some challenges too.  I will post these challenges onto my blog whenever I can, or whenever it is even remotely appropriate.  Please be aware that these challenges can and will include absolutely any possible scenario, and should therefore always be read with a great dollop of open-mindedness, because really, anything goes. Here is another member and his contributions. Here’s to the crazy folk who inspires me *raises glass*

 

Taking the journey

Digging yourself out of a dark hole when you are really more afraid of getting out of it than staying inside it, is impossible, right? No, it’s not.  It really isn’t.  I can honestly say, my circumstances haven’t changed at all, life is still tough and challenging, but my view has changed.  This change wasn’t because of medication, friends, family or an inspiring tv show.  I just slowly changed. 

It wasn’t like I got up one day and decided I am going to be better.  I didn’t pray and have my prayers answered.  I just slowly realized that today is okay. I’m never going to be completely okay, but that’s cool too right? It’s not like you are really okay either.  Life has a tendency to break us down and build us up, and I guess that is normal.  So let’s ride this bicycle up and down the hill hmm?

 

Day 1 of attempt to overcome writer’s block

The sunlight, sharp and clear, bears down on the driest of earth in a blaze so painfully pure that it may as well have been an open flame. I try to avoid the blast by huddling into the small shadow left by a rather small Ficus, but the howling wind bites into every part of me, exposed and shaded. Nature does not discriminate.

 

And the personal review

Hi guys, welcome to my personal review of my blog, excluding all the numbers and apparent successes and failures.  I wish to thank my readers, all of you have contributed to these small successes, and sadly, the failures are all thanks to inconsistent posting :-/ Oh well, we are what we are, right?

So, instead of promising the world this time around and again failing to post what I need to, I will post what I can, when I can, and most importantly, whatever I want to… I actually just need a good kick in the pants… right, review:

I started this blog off with a bang, posting many, and varied, posts.  Most of them appeared rather poorly written, but as things progressed to the end of February and March, I seemed to get slightly better at expressing my thoughts as eloquently as I am able to, intermittently off course. Sadly there was this crazy moment in March where I believed that posting as my cat should be funny and interesting.  What a schmuck I am *shakes head* Well, thankfully the idea died rather quickly, and I decided to just move on from there.

April appeared to be a better writing month for me, one filled with consistently good posts, well written mostly, if not always brilliantly inspired, whereas May turned out to be rather uninteresting with just the one post.  It was a huge step for me nonetheless, confronting part of my past head on. June turned out to be a good one.  I liked most of my posts, and the content was much more interesting to read.  Turns out, the rest of the world thought so too!

July was my holiday, so off course, it was drier than the Sahara, and it all went downhill from there.  Reading some of my posts, and just remembering what they were about, has me realizing the importance of a journal.  I find it shocking how I didn’t realize my downward slope into depression was taking place so radically and noticeably.  This blog is by far the best resource for me; it helps me deal with me, it helps me deal with history, it allows so much to be said, and puts it all back into perspective for me.  Well, I’m going to go out and get some help, because clearly I was taken off the antidepressants WAY too soon.  My poor poor husband… He really must have the fortitude of a rock.

 

2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 25 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.