Being fat and filthy windows.

I am so tempted to just sit here and write out song lyrics. None of what I am feeling makes any sense anyway and there is always some lyric that hits the clanging point of resonance with a steely precision I ache for but lack.  As though clarity would bring relief from the chaos…….why should it. The chaos will still exist.  And still I ache,  searching science, spirituality, knowledge and the minds of those widely acclaimed as the wise and profound for something to cut through the mud and treacle like thought processes and ease the almost cellular scream. If I listen with my heart,  my soul responds,  but my head never fucking shuts up!

 

I have come to the conclusion that being fat is a little like having dirty windows….sooner or later your defence will be that it stops people from looking in. But this itself is madness. I am desperate for someone to look in. To see all of it, the quick smile, the kind heart, the ability to hear and accept, the desire to love and the darkness that holds it all steadfast and apart.

 

I wish it were just rejection issues…ha. We are all rejected in some way, at some point, we all carry deep wounds from a battle that did not go our way. But I have no desire for battle. I see how weary making and futile it is. Must I always be that warrior….who or what am I fighting against. I have been so still and waited for discovery. None came. I have stopped trying so hard, to just be. The most I ever managed to grasp were tiny glimpses, brief moments, the rear view of a blissful peace as it gently slipped through my fingers. Nothing left to hang on to.

 

I would believe that it is because I am not brave enough but I cannot understand that. Maybe I am trying to hard to understand it with my head. I am strong. so very strong. I am constantly being told so.  But what of my strength….surely there must come a point when it stops being tested or relevant. And I am not so self-absorbed to not realise that it is all relative anyway. Which of us has not been pushed and pulled, ripped and torn.

 

Sometimes I find a wistful joy in the bleakness of existence. There is a hard comfort in believing that this is all there is. Just now, and the jumbled chaos inside myself as I try to understand this now. People say that humanity needs its leaders, its rules, its gods and its religions. I envy those who find their comfort here because for me there is none. And no answers either. I feel the pull in my chest…is it my heart…..an ache,  of a longing,  of a need for something to fill me up . Push the chaos out of every pore. How I long for that life defining click as the light inside me goes on. Dreams. I have no dreams beyond just getting by these days. They are as hidden from me as I am from the world beneath my cloak of carbohydrates and dirty windows.

 

How do you know you can trust what you have seen in someones eyes. I am not without the ability to have faith. In fact it is probably more precious to me than to anyone else I know and maybe it’s just that. I carry it like a fragile cargo, protectively, respectfully and I dare not let it go. What if it breaks? What if it soars, leaves me and never returns? What will I have then?

 

Just now, I caught the reflection of my own eyes in the mirror. They looked empty, searching. They were pale and unrecognisable to me as my own. Do people see this? I wander around the city I live in, sit on the buses I frequently travel on and find my eyes drawn to those of the people around me. I though for the longest time that I was searching for something out there, or someone out there. It was almost confrontational though I had nothing but warmth in my heart. I long for meaningful connection. I long to see eyes I recognise. Maybe I just wanted someone to see me.

 

 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all….

There is an application on Facebook that allows God to talk to you….and they aren’t joking!

 

Meanwhile, back on Earth…..

Possibly the quickest blog i’ll ever do…

…considering my difficulty in stopping once I  have started.

 

Jeremy Clarkson!

In a world of opinionated people, of which I am one, I still find it difficult to fathom how this can be considered funny….context or no context.

“Frankly, I’d have them all shot! I would take them outside and execute them in front of their families. I mean how dare they go on strike when they’ve got these gilt-edged pensions that are going to be guaranteed while the rest of us have to work for a living?!”

I work…and not in the public sector. I cannot afford to put anything away for a pension. I know a woman who has slogged over the last 35 years looking after the elderly……she will get a pension of £6,500. The government want to cut this and make her work longer. I question that Clarkson even knows what a decent day of hard work even feels like.

However, politics aside, to take people outside and shoot them in front of their families……i’m sorry but I don’t have words for the sickness and cold his words spread through my body.

 

The Truth hurts…..

 

Please don’t use the scaffolding……….

Ok, heres the thing, the scaffolders were supposed to come on friday as per the telephone call received on friday morning, telling me they were coming. They didn’t! Actually that’s not strictly true, they came in their gargantuan lorry as wide as the house, blocked the road and  had their lunch,  and then…they drove off again. They came back unexpectedly on sunday. Three separate members of council staff have told me that installation only takes a day. Hmmm! This could of course be a council day…anywhere from half an hour to 3 months. Installers came yesterday, crashed and banged about for a couple of hours on the roof and then left. I thought this odd as I know they have to enter the property to connect the panels to the electricity meter. On inspecting the roof from the outside there are no panels…..strange!  So I am assuming, although this is risky when it comes to the council, that they will be back at some point to, erm,  fit the panels. They may want entry to the house or they may want to come back later in the week or month, depending upon which part of the councils ‘day’ they have slotted me into. Of course they won’t ring me because a good proportion of the councils annual budget is set aside for terse, abrubt  ’We called but you were out cards’  for employees to illegibly scrawl on, therefore rendering any attempt at contact and reorganisation impossible.

They may turn up any second. It’s an unusual and unsettling experience in that it is a little bit like expecting the Spanish Inquisition…which I am lead to believe almost no one does. It does make me wonder how people who do not work from home actually manage to live in a council house and hold down a job. No wonder there is still so much stigma attached to social housing.

I am a good compliant tenant, my wish is only to be cooperative and helpful….and i’d like the invitation to the local bored and demoralised youth to climb all over my house to be gone as soon as possible. However there are a sufficient amount of residual grumps left over from yesterday for me to have a teeny weeny bit of ‘get fucked’ about me!

Shall I wait in or shall I haul my weary and achy body, weighty with hormones and a tired soul out into the grey and wet world…..it has to be done i’m afraid. I have to pay the money I was saving to buy my sons christmas present in the bank in preparation for Thursday’s direct debit robbery…most of which will be going on gas and electric. Still, I am assured that these solar panels should help to save £100 pounds a year, even with my ancient, defunct and only part working, partial central heating (the gas fire works though we cannot afford to put it on and haven’t used it for 3 years now).  So all this being pissed about will be worth it eh?

 

Yes, I am rolling my eyes….

 

The nearly 40 year old blog virgin.

Well, here i am. It’s a bit like the first day in a new job. I have reasoned that for me blogging is a little like jogging, i see the benefits, the joy and the value but …yeah,  never gonna happen. Until now!  I remain adamant about the jogging thing, although i have dreams and the accompanying waking ache to walk….and walk,  and walk. My head,  my heart and my feet want to walk and never stop.

So i am on a mission to get fit…before the impending 40th which gives me just a little under 2 years and believe me i need every second. But this is not why i am here….

I found a letter. A letter that somebody had written to somebody who had hurt them. An unsent letter. They wrote it and posted it using this site. Wow thought i. And so, here i am.   I have pootled and titivated the page that i am hoping you will find this blurbage on and added allsorts of little bits of info, when really i just wanted to write my letter. I have one too. Lost in the jungle of technology….i have reached that place where i am no longer frightened of clicking buttons and playing about but i don’t really know what domains are and if i should pay to have my own. Url is not something you make soup with, nor is it a small animal, but….well, it may as well be.

I think i lost my letter in the jungle. I am hoping to come back once i have found it again. I think i may like this…..it’s not really about you is it….an act of selfishness maybe? Or just a clever place for an unheard voice. I guess we’ll see….