Saturday, December 31, 2005

Thursday, December 29, 2005

Rambling part II. From a distance, we are all the same

Up close and personal too.
Willing to admit it or not, we all want one thing above all else. To be loved so completely for our essense, outside changes, outside influences, outside actions and the outside world could not alter that basic state.
Watching somone for a little while, sometimes from the start, I feel able to look inside, behind or whatever one might call it. Like a sense reaching out to who they really are. Acting is so very easy to distinguish, actions and words sprung from a host of emotions, most often fear, disappointment, insecurity, sometimes its just simple dishonesty too. Its why I spend time deliberating some in my environment over again, time worrying. I see their future holds no happiness without change or acceptance.
Seeing past layers makes it almost too easy for me to feel deep love, to at times feel overwhelmed. I would love to have that, which is why no matter how much I might desire from given sources at given times, halfway is no way and honesty becomes the only way. I am not perfect, nor will I pretend to be. It is simple after all to gauge what another's idea of perfection is, to mould oneself to their expectations and desires, their wants and needs, ignoring or losing ones own in the process. We all do it or have done it to get what we feel we need. I gave it up long ago.
All or nothing.
My yearbook caption at college was something about rose-tinted spectacles and only seeing the best in all people. I don't believe, that's what it is. Its about looking for the truest part. Its there to perceive in all of us, myself included, just a little below the surface veneer that we all have in varying degrees. It just takes a willingness to go a little deeper, to observe more closely. Often people are or choose to be fooled by masks or feel they need themselves to wear them. It is easier.
Its a very rare occurance, I imagine, when there is mutual willingness in two people. How lucky would those two be. How honest and secure and free to move and explore. Bathing and basking in acceptance and love. I'd love to do a little basking.

Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Anything that comes into my head tonight is getting posted the moment I write it, pay no real mind, its just a bunch of nonsense to get out of an apparent post slump.

Here to stay

I think too much about my brother. Its not grief either, its knowing too many details about his life and death and having nobody to share it with. Hence it stays within me. Someone once told me, when we have those really vivid dreams that feel real, they are. Souls emerge and meet. Too fanciful for me, but a nice thought admittedly. I had one of those dreams once and it makes a spooky kind of sense in the light of this theory. It felt as real as anything I have felt awake. A long drawn out goodbye. More sadness too.


Full of energy, full of hope and convinced the world is full of promise.
Each new year has brought about thoughts of a new beginning. 'Its a new dawn - its a new day', which every day of course is, but how far do we really take this into account as we wake up each morning. Not often, unless there is specific reason to.
I've always kinda trusted my so-called sixth sense and she and I used to do okay, it worked most times. Not so much in recent years, though something has me anticipating this coming year so very much more than any others that proceeded before. I feel like saying something silly and this is certainly the night for it. 2006 is the year of leaps.


I have so much feeling in me, its overflowing, spilling out wasted onto the floor. I'm slipping and sliding in it, which is quite fun, like skating along the icey pavement on cold, winter days. Clear thoughts have been few and far between, mostly because I have refused to entertain them, even though they were good ones. I don't feel like making the smart choices, whatever they may be, all I want to do is swirl in lovely dreams.

Feel goods

There are a few things that have the ability to make me feel joyous by just being near, yet I have put myself without realizing it in a position far from them, which is just plain rediculous. Ignoring it in favour of satisfying others. Made me feel good too. Perhaps I have become selfish of late. There are a couple of thoughts bouncing around in my head that I really want to put into action, but the only person they would directly benefit is me. It may even involve having to say no to certain other people, shock, horror. It wouldn't be a virgin experience, I've done it before when pushed to the farthest limits, but I've always come back for one reason or another. I'm starting to wonder, if it is not time for a clean break, but as always the burning question is, whether I will be steadfast or whether I will as on those other occasions finally give into the pressure.

Speak to my heart

Felt recently as though I am about to burst with all I feel inside. My chest feels constricted and I find myself smiling almost constantly. Everything has felt really easy, even when it has been hard. Like a soft coat of veneer has been spread and nothing can lose its sheen. Even on a day such as today, when there has been such an uproar, not once did I feel anything other than insanely happy on the inside. I want to tell myself, its because the future is bright and looming. Or that it is because yesterday is gone. But its neither, its simply now.


Let neither man nor woman too be heard
To say beauty is unimportant
Beauty makes the soul sing like the sweetest bird
Enraptures the mind, captivates the imagination
Fills the heart with purest joy
It appears before us in many a guise
Some that stay that way forever
Some gone almost before they arise
Fear is a debilitating emotion
I'm so afraid of being like you
I do all I consciously can to be otherwise
Yet often recognize those qualities in myself
By the same token
Were I to embrace and emphasize some of those aspects
Perhaps I would take more chances
Perhaps I would know more beauty

Pay no heed

'Learn from the mistakes of others, since there is not time enough to make them all ourselves.' Always thought that was such a clever quote. I've lived by it. And I'm not sure that was such a smart thing to do.


Something is missing. Well, if I wanted to sit down and count them, there are a lot of 'somethings' missing. What comes from being too accepting and thankful for what one has is complacency about the things one hasn't. I think, I have my needs pretty much covered. After all, we cannot miss, what we never had, which in turn turns the rest into 'wants'. I don't normally pay too much attention to 'wants', considering them bonuses that I am well able to live without, not least when one looks around and sees there are those without that they need.
But there are an awful lot of them.

Of late

I have a whole bunch of motivational cliches that I love to throw out at opportune moments, mostly to myself. 'You never know until you try' - 'Anything is possible, if you want it bad enough' - 'Each dawn brings a new day' - 'There are no limits to what we can achieve, except those we place on ourselves' to name but a few. And my favourite: 'Just do it!'
'Just do it!' has got me past many hurdles.
Of late, I seem to have been taking only the safe options. But its terribly tedious in the long run and life is just too short. Decision time coming up around the next bend. I believe, its just about time to leap with blind trust there will be no sharp rocks below.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

:-) Hats 'n' all

Monday, December 26, 2005


I've always very much liked the idea that everything happens for a reason, though I am not at all sure anymore, how much truth there is to this convenient theory. It could simply be a case of moulding perceptions of past events to fit an acceptable reason. A desire to make sense of the nonsensical leading to finding it even where there is none.
Perhaps driven by the extent of the apparent implausibility, another theory happily emerges to make sense of the senseless, namely that not everything needs to make sense. Or at the very least, reason is allowed to remain unfathomable. Radical though that thought is. ;-)
Simple, in other words.

Akurala Beach, Sri Lanka

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Friday, December 23, 2005

The Little Matchstick Girl - by H.C.Andersen

The two most valuable lessons I learnt in childhood were: The value of money and to be grateful for all I had in the knowledge there were so many less fortunate than I.
Despite being showered with gifts by my grandmother in all seasons, I never expected or demanded of her. Watching some children now, this behaviour seems pretty amazing to me. I'm not exactly sure why or how, but that is how it was. I was always very aware of the fact, I was lucky to be safe, warm and fed and anything more than that was a most wonderous blessing.
"Eat up all your dinner, there are children starving in Africa" not quite, but I do try my best to pass those two lessons onto my child.

Stories told to us in childhood and the impressions our youthful minds draw from them can have a trememdous influence on how we view the world. The one I remember best and the one that still has the ability to make me cry each time I hear it is H.C. Andersen's story about the little matchgirl.
I'm sharing it here for anyone who has not read or heard it, simply because it serves well, I believe, as a reminder in this time of great blessings, just how very fortunate we are to be safe, warm and fed.

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold.
In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not.
Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.
She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.
She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky....
....She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.
In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day.

What matters is what is in the heart

Near or far, here or gone, all we give and have been given is forever ours to know.

Christmas at Tivoli, Copenhagen

Wednesday, December 21, 2005


Monday, December 19, 2005

Hey all.
Connection problems again.
Replies to your comments below coming up and hopefully thereafter I shall have time to have a quick peek through most of your keyholes.
Other than that, I'll be back a.s.a.p.

How I ever got through my days without talking to all of you, I will never know :-D.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Those 3 little words, I long to hear

"Of course not!"
To move on past the final stumbling blocks. Just two of the kind, but pretty efficient.
It would just take a little tweaking, or a lot, but I trusted the words would eventually come from my own lips, or rather I no longer would feel the need to hear them. Suspicion grows, it will not be entirely that simple. For all the great and glorious changes, it lingers.
On the one hand, I keep thinking; just leave it alone, when have things ever felt this good!
On the other, I know, it is wherefrom all the rest stemmed and if I could just get past these last two obstacles, I'd have every chance of winning!
Biased as I am, I'm not sure, I am capable of seeing what is real. Whether I have, as I hope, the right to hear those words. Thus, ultimately they may have to come from someone else, but who?
Whom would I believe?
The prerequisite would be allowing them the opportunity and the procarious opening, as it were, to declare "Of course!".
Needs will necessitate, however, fore one thing above all else is certain. I have absolutely no intention of losing.

Secret smile

In the middle, underneath, behind all the closed doors,
Between asleep and awake, in silence,
Always in noise,
It comes to me. A secret knowlegde that only I know,
Taking me so very close to happy.
New faces surround, knowing nothing different,
Thinking this is who I am,
And it is. Not then as now,
Or perhaps will be,
So heartbreakingly close to happy.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Here's the pattern ---> (which btw has nothing to do with cleaning rofl!)

Tidy, tidy, tidy, freak, tidy, tidy, tidy, freak, tidy, tidy, tidy, freak.....
And I haven't freaked in a while.
I should just freak on a full-time basis!
Ultimately, its when the good stuff happens.


Its not finding the answers that preoccupies.
There are plenty of those all around.
Its determining which are the correct questions.

Truth looms large as life ahead, obscuring clarity.
You thought you knew then where you were headed. It may not have been pleasant, but at least you were resigned. What lies ahead now, just one person knows.
Ask not, and you shall hear none.
Too many options, not enough. Each one, tentatively disregarded, disappearing out of sight before you are allowed to be certain. Knowing nothing is infinitely unnerving. Knowing everything must be more. Small wonder you feel confused now that everything is back in place.
Hate to love and love to hate.
Everyone wants a happy ending.
Hope she does too.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Too short


Perception is essential to contentment, I do believe. I see or talk to a number of people on a daily basis, who have so much to be thankful for, yet they do not have that one luxury they covet and all else becomes tainted.
I can't quite figure out if I'm loopy or smart, since there is an awful lot of mess and stress that has been gaining momentum around me in recent days, yet all I can think about is how incredibly lucky I am.

"It is so simple to be happy, but it is so difficult to be simple"

It seems to me, we need three things and three things only, though they may come in any number of guises. The really good news is, we are largely, if not perfectly, able to provide these for ourselves.
We need to feel safe, we need to feel in control and we need to feel valued.
Whether or not they are equally balanced with regard to importance, I am not entirely sure. I suspect that which we consider to be more crucial among the three is that which we are missing (or previously was absent for a longer period of time).
Its all too easy to make up logical, perfectly believable reasons and take them as truth, at times even managing to kid ourselves, though deep down we may know better and therein lies the answers to such ever-persistant questions as: why?
Control is essential to me.
As soon, as I feel the reigns slipping, I start to panic and grab on even tighter. I'm not sure what would happen, if I ever let go.
The answers to my whys are really very simple, they just are not the ones I want them to be.

Remember this at Christmas time

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers until after they give birth in the spring.

Therefore, according to every historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, every single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl.

We should've known...

ONLY women would be able to drag a large man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Amorous Untamed Temptress Undertaking Massage and Necking

Monday, December 12, 2005

"All my life"

"There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more"

Sunday, December 11, 2005

The cows of Somerset

Living in the city of London, it was a rare and wonderous treat to head out into the country-side. I once had a spritzer with the much-admired Patricia Routledge after watching her highly-comical performance as 'Mrs Malaprop' in Chichester. Yet the highlight of that day trip was a short walk through the loveliest, quaintest, cobbled street town that we passed through on route and whose name has escaped me ever since, sadly putting paid to the idea I shall revisit by anything other than chance.

Visitors flock to Wells for the Cathedral (much as they do to Canterbury), for the architecture and for the cosy charm of the many low-ceilinged antique stores.
My fondest memory from my visit to this pretty little village and the surrounding attractions are of the cows in the meadow by the Bed and Breakfast at which I stayed.
It was quite a large patch of grassland bordered mostly by a man-made wall of stones and home to 19 friendly cows. At the height of summer, the many apple trees running along the outside of the wall were dropping their fruit by the dozen and on that first morning there, as the cows stood directly on the other side of the wall, I threw them a couple.
It was such a simple but great pleasure to see them munching joyfully, it became a habit to stop and throw a couple of apples to any cows near the wall each morning on my way out and again when I returned.
After a few days, I tried whistling to get their attention when a little way away and it seemed to work. Certainly, they would look up and come on over when I began throwing apples out into the grass.
All in all, I stayed at the B&B for almost four weeks by the end of which our signal had been perfected.
I've seen some fabulously funny things along the way, but few, if any, have made me laugh with as much frivolity and sheer joy as watching a bunch of knobbly-kneed, clumsy cows gallop across a field, as though at Ascot, in a spirited race for apples, and all at the mere sound of a whistle.

Who has more children

What is behind this post. Who had a story to tell. Why knows nothing about it. Who told what. In fact, only what and who know, who has secrets. Who has more children. Four to be exact.

Check-book, bin-liners and tissues

People talk. Amongst themselves.
Most often to me.
They see what goes on. They've been affected.
They complain, and rightly so.
How?! Why?! They ask, confused, hurt.
I say: What is, just is. Some people never change.
She tells lies. Often. All the time.
She knows, I know. Thick skin, twisting and turning.
Nowhere to go. The truth wins.
She thinks, if she just keeps running, she will stay ahead.
Its so blatant.
She'll scream at me. Mistaken impression.
The louder she shouts, the less I'll listen.
No pride in the fact, I outwit her each time.
No pride at all.
Just embarassment.
People talk. I stay to listen. To help clean up.
She did this. She did that.
She said this. She said that.
Is it true, they'll ask.
Its all lies.
They watch, question.
What is, just is.
Don't worry, just leave it, we'll sort it ourselves.
So nice, they are.
But that wouldn't be right.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Yet another Christmas post

I remember the Christmas' of my childhood as perfect. Four generations gathered to celebrate a traditional Danish Christmas in my grandparents home.
The evening would begin with a meal of roast pork, roast duck, caramel potatoes, boiled potatoes, potato chips, brown gravy and jam. Strawberry jam, to be exact.
Rice pudding with powered cinnamon and butter would follow for desert. There would be a single whole nut mixed in and whomever would get this nut in their portion would win a prize. Somehow, being the only child in those days, the nut would always end up on my plate, even though I would have Ice-cream instead.

After dinner, it was upstairs to light the candles on the tree.

Being the only child/grandchild/great-grandchild had even greater advantages than getting the nut. At least half the presents under the tree would be for me.
Before I was allowed to open any, however, we would join hands in a circle around the tree and walk around it singing Christmas carols for at least an hour.

It was nice, but at this point the excitement and anticipation would be almost too great. It would accumulate in the preceding weeks, especially in those last two or three days leading up to Christmas Eve. On those days, my grandfather would take me up to the attic on top of his bakery each evening, so that we could leave a bowl of rice pudding for Santa.
Santa lived in the smallest, narrowest space between the inside wall and the slope of the roof. Just at the top of the stairs, it was possible to look right down to the end. We would try our hardest to spy him hiding, rushing from one peeking spot to the other hoping to catch him out through sheer speed.
One year I ran so fast to the other end, I saw him, but just for a second.

I felt immensely sorry for the all the others that year, since they were all old and none of them had ever seen the real Santa. So with my mother's help, I pretended, I was he and handed out gifts for all.
Nobody knew it was really me and they were so happy to have seen Santa.


it would be time to open presents. One by one, I would hand out the gifts from under the tree. I would be left with a mountain of new dolls and toys and be almost too tired at this stage to play with them.

That year, one of my presents was a doll almost as big as me!

I named her after my favourite person in the whole world. My grandmother, Grete.
She was the glue of our family and Christmas was always perfect.

This year, with just 2 weeks to go until Christmas, the bottom has well and truly dropped out of my plans.
I had hoped my family would come spend Christmas with myself and Maria, perhaps I might even have succeeded in giving her the kind of traditional, big-happy-family Christmas, I remember, surrounded by loving relatives each intent on making her every moment magical.
Alas, oh well, and never mind.

We'll make an open circle around the tree, it worked just fine before.
Plus, when I remember

  1. Santa will be coming,
  2. We know all the carols,
  3. We always give each other the perfect gifts,
  4. The house will be filled with love
  5. And the nut will be in Ice Cream, not rice pudding

- it starts to sound pretty perfect!

Friday, December 09, 2005

English signs in Foreign Countries

In a Bangkok temple:

Cocktail lounge, Norway:

Doctor's office, Rome:

Dry cleaners, Bangkok:

Tokyo hotel's rules and regulations:

On the menu of a Swiss restaurant:

In a Tokyo bar:

Hotel, Japan:

Hotel, Zurich:

Advertisement for donkey rides, Thailand:

A laundry in Rome:

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Happy Christmas your arse

Generalization is considered a big no-no, I know, but...
I have such great admiration for the Irish. Generally.
Their humour, their spirit (intentionally no 'S'), the accent, their hearts, the incessant swearing, the love of family.
Smile upon them with much fondness.
The first piece of dialogue in 'The Commitments' is "Fock orf!". I fell off my chair laughing and in love with this film instantly. For the same reasons ( and the chance for a short Irish jig in the middle), I cannot do other but cherish the following;

Fairy Tale Of New York
by the Pogues & Kirsty MacColl

It was Christmas Eve babe
In the drunk tank
An old man said to me, won't see another one
And then he sang a song
The rare old mountain dew
I turned my face away
And dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one
Came in eighteen to one
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
So happy Christmas
I love you baby
I can see a better time
When all our dreams come true

(Jiggy time :)
They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Still singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last


I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me

When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you


Wednesday, December 07, 2005


Happy Birthday to you
The year, it just flew
I've loved every minute
Sure, we'll make it to two

Tuesday, December 06, 2005



Monday, December 05, 2005

Your opinion, please.

In reference to the quintessential aspects of charater, is personality cultivated through the experiences of childhood and life or are aspects of the character genetic/hereditary?
If both, which is more influential?

Much appreciated.

Saturday, December 03, 2005


5th post of the day

Nah, :-), this is just an update for those of you who remember the post about the man, whose wife left him after 40 years of marriage.
She is moving back home this evening.
Hoping everything will work out between them!
Fingers crossed.

In the name of love

I have on occasion gone too far.
Twice I've tried to use emotional blackmail as a last-ditched attempt to evoke change and each time it was wasted, there was no result. For me to go to that kind of length means I have been pushed as far as I can go. For me to use the memory of love and time given freely means there was nowhere else to go.
"Think about who I am and what I have done for you!" Imagine saying such a thing! Yet I did. I said it to try and get them to listen to me, to try and stop them from harming themselves and everyone around them.
Some people are just not worth the effort others make on their behalf.
Being selfish is not natural in my book, how can one only think about oneself all of the time and worse still, how can one continue to do so, when it is plain for all and sundry to see the damage being done because of it.
A few times, like my own personal ghost showing me what could or should have been, I've seen other roads. Walked a little ways along them even, far enough at least to have an idea of what the outcome may have been.
In going too far, I worked harder than I should against an honest man in order to help one of these two. It seemed at the time, the lesser of two evils, that she needed the favourable outcome more, and thus I felt I had little choice. However, that matters not in black and white, it wasn't right. I didn't hurt him or anyone else, but I did place a seed of doubt in his mind, where none had previously existed, relying on the whole innocent until proven guilty theory to cloud what he thought he knew, making him think perhaps he had made a mistake.
Nothing changed in her though and those words later left my mouth:
"Think of who I am and what I have done for you!"
Such a terrible thing to say.

Little did I realize

It is almost like pain, but the pleasant kind, the kind one cannot get enough of. Like the build to orgasm, except in this case there will be no relief, no sweet aftermath.
No languishing in release and yet it matters less. I can understand though, how some might let it hurt them. I'm riding the wave, managing to balance and letting it carry me by momentum to the shore, convinced it shall bestow me gently thereupon. And once it has, that I shall eventually find something else.
Meanwhile, everything seems to be brighter, nearer, softer, clearer, better, and for this I am infinitely thankful.
More than that, I'm anticipative.


Giggles at the absurdity always accompanied thoughts of those people who mindlessly flick through the channels on a television and call it relaxation.
I get it now.
I do the same with blogs.
In fact, I have an A-list, a B-list and a Z-list (and no, I'm not telling whose on which).
Sometimes I mindlessly surf.
And happily call it relaxation.

Coming in from behind

Two and three quarter years ago, my good friend, Danielle, came to visit me for the weekend. Up until then, we had spoken either by email or telephone each day and as the day approached, neither of us could contain our excitement at our impending reunion. Though a short visit, we had the best time. We talked, hardly slept, went to the coast, watched the waves, ate chocolate, drank coffee, laughed.
She flew back home and I continued to call her regularly as I had done before (she didn't). She came across cold and I couldn't figure out why. I didn't ask. Pride kept me from doing so, and although I'd never have admitted it then, a large dose of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of loss.
Instead, I decided to also try not calling for a little while.
That was April 2003.
Not one word has passed between us since. I think of her all the time and analyse every part of that weekend, wondering, trying to recall some forgotten detail that would lend explanation to all the rest. Her last words to me at the airport were 'I love you'.
Dan and I were very close for 12 years, 12 important years. I was there, when she lost, she was there for me after I left my daughter's father. She saw me change and was the only one who warned me. It showed in my face, she told me and pleaded with me not to get too hard, to forgive myself. Much history, much affection. Yet pride, and especially fear overrode.
Frequently just recently, I've felt as though I am finally comprehending things everyone seems to have known all along. And its not that I didn't know of their existance and their validity, but only now does it truly make sense to me. Coming in from behind, a little late granted, but better late than never.
Better late than never.
I wrote Dan a letter tonight, which I will be sending tomorrow.
The main thing is not, whether she will reply, although of course this would be ideal. What matters is, she knows I still love her and though I cannot for the life of me think what it could possibly be, if I did unwittingly do something to upset her, that I am immeasurably sorry.
Its late, yes, but I wrote it almost as soon as I was able.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

there is a warm soft wind blowing 'round me
just to give all the leaves such a haunting melody
that forever will be a part of me

- Santana