Memories…Like the sharp-edged corners of my mind

image

Facebook is a world of pain. I actually went off it for months but then missed the good stuff it is capable of bringing, so I started using it again. While there are many things to rant and rave about to do with the social network, it’s the ‘Facebook Memories’ or ‘On This Day’ feature which has me writing this post.

It’s a bittersweet thing. And, often, more bitter than sweet.

Now, I don’t have her (see picture) and I am heavily medicated. Not in a padded room, but definitely medicated – for what little good it does me.

I have to wonder if she ever sees these…if she ever looks at her ‘On This Day’.

I didn’t mean to her what she meant to me; obviously. I was convenient when she was in need of someone to talk to, more than willing to be that someone, glad to be needed. But, I wasn’t anything special…just convenient. Until my illness got worse and life got harder and then I became inconvenient.

And even though I know all this, I still miss her because she was special to me, not just a convenient-happened-to-be-there-so-you’ll-do person. She was music and laughter and walks in the forest, and…

I know I’m not worthless just because she treated me so throw-away.  I know that. I know. But, I miss her. And, damn you, Facebook. Damn you.

Advertisements

Unfriended

I find myself irrationally upset about having someone ‘unfriend’ me on Facebook. I say irrationally, because it wasn’t anyone I was close to, just a casual acquaintance from the school run. But,  it’s someone I have thought of as very friendly, a person I shared a smile and hello and simple mummy conversation with in the schoolyard. Plus, she was the one who sent me the friend request in the first place.

I began to notice no posts from her, so I checked.

I’ve been unfriended before, but I have always known why… usually some silly drama. Or, it’s been an issue of someone not liking my position on something. But, at least I knew their reason for the unfriending, even if it does seem to be a rather extreme way to handle differences of opinion.

I don’t know why this bothers me so much, why it’s such a sting. Other than…

I guess it makes me feel rather worthless to know, that, without a word, she’d just ‘delete’ me like that.

And, yes, this is just me bpding out. I know. So, I guess I’ve answered my own question as to why I feel this way. But, it still doesn’t make it right.

Sigh.

Music is Therapy. Always.

image

The school run rarely runs (no pun intended) smoothly. I struggled, per usual, but I got them there and got myself back to the safe confines of the four walls I live in (I’d have said “my house”, but it’s rented and our financial situation is never going to allow us to own a house…so).

Things with my health have been deteriorating. Go back to the doctor, I hear you say. I’m tired of that. I’ve tried to get better, and just get worse.

I’ve withdrawn. Even more. I avoid Facebook, with the exception of my artist’s page. It’s another outlet. I keep it for that reason; it certainly isn’t good for much else (like promoting my music, which was its original intention).

Facebook. Ugh. Society in general, ugh. But, Facebook? Let’s put all neuroses in a Petri dish, why don’t we? The never ending stream (feed…yeah, and I’m fed up) of depressing human existence. Updates about food and who’s watching what on the telly. And the endless competition for who has the best (and worst) of life’s experiences goes on. It’s fucking overwhelming.

Oh, but you will accuse me of being negative…all the while, the whisper you ignore in the back of your head agrees with me, knows I’m right.

It may surprise you to find out this post is not a rant about Facebook. Where was I?… oh, yeah, the school run was done and I was safe inside the four walls.

After a glass of chocolate milk (with added vitamins), I found myself in front of my piano (it IS mine…not rented, all mine). I couldn’t remember the last time I had played it. I felt I should do something about it. Music is therapy. Always.

I cleared the pile of stuff (clothes, kids’ toys, who knows what else) off the bench. I sat. There was a song I had written (scribbled) in front of me. I played and sang it. My voice is rusty. But, the piano welcomed me like the true friend it is. We touched each other…that’s what musicians and their instruments do. It’s a very intimate thing and surely sounds freaky and pervy to non-musos. Freaky and pervy I can be accused of (I digress), but the relationship between musician and instrument is sacred.

It’s like any other relationship. We let each other down. We please each other when we can. It’s very give and take…on both sides.

After the scribbled song, I played and sang an old favourite. Then, I let the piano play me for a while. Give. Take.

I feel just as wretched and ill as before I sat down, but I feel a little less frazzled; I feel comforted.

Music is therapy. Always.

What’s next? I don’t know. Take it a day at a time. Do what I can…let go what I can’t. And, perhaps, try to play daily, even if only a minute or two. Yeah…it’s a plan.

I’m Partial To The 5th One Down (a rant)

I saw this posted on Twitter today.

image

Oh, I would certainly use number 5 on a regular basis.

It has to be my biggest social media pet-peeve (after poor grammar and bad spelling, that is): women talking about how much weight they have to lose and those gym/exercise nuts (in their asinine attempts to disguise their vanity and insistence to conform to media’s and society’s standards by calling it “fitness” or a “health kick”) who post (brag) about every run and every single workout as if it’s some blinkin’ virtue.

Poo of the bull! You are are full of it.

You are fishing for attention and it’s no more about health than it is about an elephant. Get real. Stop deceiving yourself and everyone else (well, you’re obviously not fooling me) and admit it.

Then, after you’ve done us all (including you) a favour (called it what it is and have stopped bombarding the rest of us with it), go on and “enjoy” that legs, bums and tums class, if you want to. Just keep the bovine excrement (about health and fitness) out of your statuses and remember that no one but you (and, perhaps, your personal trainer) care about a blow by blow report of each and every time you exercise!

Rant over…well, for the moment anyway.

Just Call Me A Camel

Last week I decided that instead of “Facebook Status-ing” all my woes, that I would blog them instead – it seemed to be less of a waste of words, maybe a better use of them and the energy spent to write them, and I might get more appreciation for them than just casting them onto the navel-gazing world of Facebook where, really, no one cares. So, I have had two “blogging” not status-ing moments, and here’s a third.

Mornings like this one crush me. It’s difficult to explain to those who just don’t get it. I am overwhelmed, as a parent…the schoolrun…there is too much to remember…I’ve got to remember their bags, their homework and, when there are extras (like today, we were supposed to bring in a favourite book for World Book Day), it’s often just too much to handle. I love books (understatement). I should have been excited, but this was the proverbial back-breaking straw. Just call me a camel. I hadn’t remembered at all; I was already battling the weepiness that attacks me most days (especially in the morning).  I left my daughter’s school feeling (and knowing) once again I had failed. DON’T ARGUE WITH ME, DAMMIT! It was a failure; call it what it is.

I managed to get my son to playgroup, minus his bag (which I had forgotten) and all the time him fighting me because he didn’t want to go today. I then quickly got back to the house to attempt to find The Velveteen Rabbit (one of my daughter’s favourite books that I used to read to her quite a lot) in order to rush it back to the school so she wouldn’t be one of the only children that didn’t bring in her own book. But, another failure… I tried to find it. I failed.

As a parent, I constantly fail. Again, don’t you argue with me! It is failure. FAILURE!  And, when they are throwing their tantrums and treating me and each other like poo, I crumble. I fail. Do not tell me that I am being too hard on myself. Do not LIE to me!

There is no happy turn at the end of this post like the others. No redemption of it at the finishing line. Don’t look for it. Today, reduced to sobs that wrack and ravage my soul, I am going to wallow. Today I am going to let the Waterfall take me, because life – and parenthood – sucks! Don’t argue with me. Just don’t.

Getting What You Deserve

Every woman deserves a man who calls her baby, kisses her like he means it, holds her tight like he never wants to let go, doesn’t cheat, wipes her tears when she cries, doesn’t make her jealous of other women, instead makes other women jealous of her, is not scared to let his friends know how he really feels about her, and lets her know how much he really loves her….. Repost if you agree…

 

I’ve been seeing this pop up on a few people’s status messages on Facebook today, and it allows me to expound on a subject near and dear to my heart; it lets me rant about a pet peeve. 

I would never repost such a thing.  And, when I go into my strong opinions as to why, I am sure I will get criticised. However, I’m still going to share, because I feel strongly that, while the great throng of men (specifically husbands) do not need me to defend them, I, as a woman, am willing to both be brutally honest and be supportive of the other side of the story. And, there most definitely is another side!

 See, I cannot imagine a status message coming out which reads something like:

 

Every man (specifically husband) deserves a woman (wife) who treats him with respect, encourages his dreams, allows him to be a man, regularly falls on her knees in front of him and rocks his world, regularly meets him at the door and delivers more than just a promise (that later is likely to get broken by “a headache” or some other lame excuse), doesn’t make him jealous of other men but goes out of her way to give him bragging rights with other men (making them wish they had wives like her), gives him no time to even look at another woman because she knows exactly what he wants and delights in giving it to him: she knows him so well, loves and desires and needs and wants him so much and knows if she wants him to respond to her like she wants him to she’s gotta give in order to receive……Repost if you agree…

 

 In other words, this woman doesn’t get the cart before the horse, and she doesn’t just expect all that stuff in the  “every woman (wife) deserves message” unless she’s ready and willing to do what’s in the “every man (husband) deserves message”!   See, I’m tired of all the people who think the ball is always in the man’s court and that they have to earn certain things from their wives. There are women who tend to think that sex is something they pay their husband IF – and only IF – their husband doesn’t annoy them, instead of seeing it for what it is: a need.

 Now, I realise I have a slight advantage over many women, in that I have I have a higher than average sex-drive than the average female.  But, even if you find yourself in the average category, I still don’t see how this excuses you. Sex isn’t a favour. It’s not a weapon. It shouldn’t be withheld when he isn’t changing like you think he should change and it shouldn’t be given as a reward for when he does change or do what you want him to do. You should desire it as much as he does, but even if you don’t desire it as intensely, darlin’, I can promise you that by giving in this area you are the one who will win, because he is much more likely to bend in areas for you if you will rock his world in areas for him. But, as much as I’d like to camp on sex, this isn’t only about sex.

This is about not being a controlling, nagging, non-encouraging, manipulating woman (wife).  It’s about not using emotional blackmail to manipulate and control and emasculate your husband, just as it is about not using sex as leverage.  It’s about respect. Because, Sweet Cheeks, if you want  – or think you deserve – all that stuff in the first message, then you must deserve it, indeed. You aren’t entitled to it unless you are willing to do and be the second message.

So, I wonder how many people would repost it if I posted a message like the one I have written here in this blog on the mighty Facebook. I bet a great many of men would, but, unfortunately, I also suspect they’d get attacked for doing it. I know a few extremely rare and beautiful women – who I love dearly – who would do it, as well.  But, I know a great many more who will be offended and angry at me and, most likely, hit me with, “How dare you?”  Even sadder yet will be the men who defend such women. And, for those of you who do that, I would suggest that you are getting exactly what you deserve!