here it is!
my short story website is up and ready to launch tomorrow [01.01.10].
when you have a moment, please visit www.thisdidnthappen.com for daily short and tiny stories from yours truly.
feel free to shout about it :)
2009 has been an amazing year, and i wish everyone the best for 2010.
food from mickey d's has always made me feel a little nauseous, but after watching the video below i am definitely never walking through the golden arches again.
this woman has a 4 yr old happy meal [the irony!] that looks like she bought it yesterday. yesterday! it hasn't rotted. it has no mould. the bread doesn't even have mould. the bread!
how is this legal?
every year my dad calls me a day early to wish me a happy birthday.
every year i tell him that it's his sister's birthday, and that mine is the next day.
when he called today i bust out laughing. it's just so ridiculous. surely by now he'd stop and remember what happened when he called the year before. something should make him second-guess himself and cause him to pull his hand away from the phone and have a good think. but no. his confidence remains untouched, and so every year he calls with an assurance that i just can't fathom.
my favourite year was the one where he argued with me for 2 minutes about whether or not he'd got it wrong. "it IS your birthday today!" like i don't know when my own damn birthday is. after i finished laughing at him this morning he told me [like he does every year] that he'll call me tomorrow.
but sometimes he forgets.
this guy is a trip and a half!
i know that everybody is talking about tiger woods, his 15+ mistresses and his possible lovechild, but i want to talk about his wife, elin.
see, women have this thing called intuition. every woman reading this has had that pang in the guts when something doesn't feel right. we notice things, and more than that, we feel things. things not seeming right logically is one thing, but if things don't feel right then we don't care if it's logical or not.
a wife having no clue that her husband is cheating on her with another woman is one thing; but 15 women? this woman's guts didn't pang, her left knee didn't hurt, her nose didn't itch over none of these 15 women? she must have known on some level. as all of the drama unfolds we see that tiger is not that slick (no one is), and left far too much of a trail for him not to be caught. that's if she wanted to catch him, and i don't think she did. perhaps she knew and never said anything to him. perhaps he knew she knew, but they had an agreement that he would be discreet. but my guts are panging about this story because something doesn't feel right to me.
i believe that the physical abuse elin dished out to tiger (which i don't co-sign) and her filing for divorce are related to her embarrassment because now everyone knows. it's either that or she is the most naive, disconnected from self, woman that ever walked the planet.
so get your money girl, but please get your gut good too.
i have a very strong impatient streak, and that part is itching to at least share the name...but good things come to those who wait, and the wait will be over on january 1st.
as i approach my 28th birthday [dec 22nd people; feel free to fed-ex me diamonds so i can pawn them and buy lots of chocolate] i am beginning to see a new horizon. i can look at events in my life and conclude that it makes sense that right now there is transition, but this feels trite. for when is there not transition in life? transition is the heartbeat of this earth. temporariness and change, movement and growth, progression and elevation. it demands our flexibility, and when we yield to this force we find ourselves discovering new horizons often. so is it really worth shouting about them? yes. say what you see. acknowledge what is there.
so here is my new-horizon-yell in my shoutiest voice: i see modelling work! i see singing! i see fiction writing! the pictures and sounds will arrive later, but my new blog, dedicated to my fiction work, will be launching in the next two weeks.
that's my horizon. feel free to shout about what you see on yours.
i've been thinking:
my number one job right now is to be my most fabulous self.
that's your job too, btw.
recently, i've been thinking about lines. lines and boundaries, territory and trespass.
at what point does it become necessary to not do what you would naturally do? if you are someone that likes to give gifts, do you give and give and give to people that never give to you? if you are a hard worker who responds well to a structured work environment, do you bust your balls all day long even though there is no reward? if you are a friend that remembers birthdays, do you make arrangements for your friends' birthdays even though they never remember yours?
at what point does being who you are begin to resemble being taken advantage of? when do you stop doing what is second-nature to you? should you? does stopping mean that you are giving people the power to change you? does expecting something in return make your initial demonstration hollow or selfish?
yes, i've been thinking about lines. maths was one of my favourite subjects at school, geometry and algebra being my two favourite topics. thinking about lines has brought me right back to geometry and thinking about the motivation behind being or not being who you are has brought me right back to algebra.
if giving + a lack of appreciation / x = the perfect balance, then: what the hell is x?
have you ever had someone hit on you with such deficient game that you didn't realise you were being hit on? or rather: you couldn't believe that was their attempt at hitting on you?
i was helping a customer pick out some jeans yesterday when he touched my elbow and said "what's your story?"
i was confused, but always one to give the benefit of the doubt i thought that he might be a writer. nope. he was a lawyer. cue more awkward customer service from me and off-putting, far-too-intense-considering-i-don't-know-you glances from him. then he asked me my name, and i told him. of course i wouldn't have if we were anywhere else, but you can't exactly withhold your name from a customer. so he asks me if i'm nigerian. nope. i tell him that, although my name is nigerian, my parents are from the caribbean. he then exclaims "see! you DO have a story!"
we didn't have the jeans he wanted in his size, so he told me [whilst giving me the eye-strangle] that he'd be back on wednesday or thursday. i suppose i was supposed to confirm that i'd be working those days. nope. i just said "ok." cue the most disturbing three-second linger from him, searching my eyes, looking for a sign that i too was feeling some kind of connection...
and if he walks into my store tomorrow i will play the most gangsta game of one-player hide and seek that you have ever seen in yo' life.
that's my story.
funny that his career hasn't been affected by this. and when i say 'funny', i mean 'not funny at all'.
after a year of being single, with no pressing desire to mingle, i am ready to date. for the first time in years, my singledom was not a result of having to get over my ex, that was tied up some time ago, this time it was just about looking after and enjoying me. but in the past week or so i have noticed that something has awoken in me, a flutter of desire, i'm ready for some male company.
i'm not looking for anything heavy. if marriage is a plate of steak with all the trimmings then i'm looking for a caesar salad. if marriage is a main course that comes with two sides then i'm looking for a starter, or maybe an aperitif. i think i'll leave the metaphors there, because i'm sure you get my drift. i want some fun and some kissy-kissy, but no bridey-bridey.
now, i'm not tooting my own horn, but i do get a decent amount of male attention on a daily basis. it could be because i'm attractive, or i could be a serial booger-smuggler with no awareness of the hefty stalactites on show to all others with two functioning eyes. my ego begs that i go with the former [and carry tissues with me at all times]. so: add to my ability to get some flirty attention to the fact that i a) work in an area with lots of foot traffic b) work in a store with lots of male customers [cute ones too] and c) have a social life back in full effect and on paper it looks like i should have no trouble finding a lovely man to share some time with. well, let's rip that paper up shall we? because there is a very real issue in the way of my date-dom that dawned on me in the late hours of last night...
i won't count the number of years, for even i may faint at the sight, but it has been a very long time since the internet has not played some kind of role in my dating life. how sad is that? [that's rhetorical!] whether i have met a man online or needed the internet to support a long-distance relationship, i am quite used to e-mails and instant messages being a major communicative tool in my love adventures. the disconnection i was beginning to feel in my friendships, and even within myself, contributed to my retreat from social networking sites [see below post]; but i never really considered how this would now alter the dynamics of my romantic relationships.
i'm not worried about the relationship itself, once it is in full swing then i'm fine. no help needed. it's the beginning that is a mystery to me. the first hello. the flirting [i'm a great flirt, but only when i don't like someone]. the exchange of phone numbers. the who calls who. the what to say. the first date. the first kiss.
hmm...that actually sounds like fun! if there is risk there is reward and i'm about to walk the high wire with no safety [inter]net. i honestly have no idea how i'm going to turn this flutter into a fella, but maybe, just maybe, i'll find my feet as quickly as i used to find the friend request button.
my twitter is dead. my myspace is terminally ill. my facebook is fake. after 10+ years of being a social networking glutton: i am full. i can't eat another bite.
it's the end of an era for me. the internet provided me with a non-physical space to express myself and experience a camaraderie with my contemporaries that was lacking in my life in my teens and early twenties. myspace changed my life in so many ways; i discovered there were many kindred spirits all over the world that thought, dressed and felt like me, i found music that i never would have heard on the radio, i made friends online that became friends offline, i found love.
but now this social networking lark feels too fragmented. now it feels too time-consuming. now it feels too demanding to ensure my online representation is in alignment with who i am, or how i'm feeling, or what i'm doing 'right now'. now lol's and omg's feel empty. it's not fun anymore. there was a time when three days without the internet would have had me feeling lost, my life was on there you see; but when i shut my computer down...i effectively shut my life down. i didn't have the social life i felt i had; what i did have was an incredibly powerful illusion of a social life which i clung to with steadfast might. but even air can begin to feel heavy in a tightly clenched fist.
this is not about anybody else, just me. i have no position on what internet usage says about you and your life, i can't possibly know. i'm sharing this partly because people have asked me why i shut my twitter down, and partly because this unpacking of my thoughts is cathartic. be clear though, i do not hate the internet, far from it. i don't know who i'd be or who i'd know if i wasn't given the gift of dial up at 16 yrs old. i'm indebted to those that laid the tarmac on this information super-highway that has been so good to me for so long. but today, 'right now', i don't feel compelled to drive on it like i used to.
i work with people that i adore, that i laugh with all day long. i talk to new people every day, communicating with eye contact and facial expressions instead of emoticons. i call my friends on the phone and meet them for dinner and a movie instead of seeing them in my buddy list every day but not seeing them for months. i no longer want to create pages about who i am that force me to consider how i look to an imagined audience, i just live for me.
so this is now my only internet home. i am in the process of setting up a tumblr for my fiction work [i'm soooooooo excited!], but this is the only place i will use to share my thoughts. i'm still not sure why this blog has survived my internet shutdown spree, but i am sure it will be revealed to me in time.
so it turns out that the internet was unable to give me what i really wanted, and that what i have now is more than i secretly believed possible. consequently, you can no longer find me in the tweets, because i'm in the london streets [corniness intact]. my posts may be sparse, but my life is plentiful. it's kind of weird. i guess a broken compass will still guide you somewhere: and i guess i am here.
farewell social networking, i won't brb :)
"...a gift that cannot be given away ceases to be a gift. the spirit of a gift is kept alive by its constant donation."
- lewis hyde on creative talent from 'the gift: how the creative spirit transforms the world'
today, i have fallen in love with a woman. her name is mary martin.
above is a tiny selection of her wonderful relief sculptures. there are others on display at the tate britain. that is where i first laid eyes on her. her art struck me as bold and futuristic, perhaps a commentary on the failings of modern freedom which has ironically manifested as refined bondage. how very millennium i thought. imagine my surprise when i learned that mary passed away in 1969.
she is my new crush. i want to see everything she has made. i want to sit in front of her work with a pen and pad; absorb her concepts and translate them into my own language before channeling the transmuted energy into my literary creations. yes. i am in love.
"the end is always to achieve simplicity but the means and processes are often complex because one is not repeating a performance of something that has gone before."
- mary martin
my mother told me
when flame meets skin
and flame wins
its heat-light burning through
vaseline won’t do
and she was right
the sweet, sticky medicine made shapes on my pores
before spreading out to give my skin room to
and in two days you couldn’t even see
when i heard the unthinkable news
my beating heart got hot
it scalded my lungs
set my gasps on fire
and left my chest plate charred
i had nothing
then in the broken silence i heard the words
and so here i lay
gold smeared on convex breasts
trying to reclaim my breath
hoping that in two days
i will not feel
some people are up in arms about this vid [this is cooning! why are they singing about mickey d's when obesity is such an issue in our community?! how dare they sing about a multi-billion dollar corporation in a gospel stylee!].
really, people, it's not that deep. it looks like a bunch of sanging-ass friends were messing around and someone starting filming on their phone. i doubt the singer is seriously testifying about a cheeseburger and sweet tea; but his voice?
#bah dah bap bah baaaah: i'm loving it!#
if a way to a man's heart is through his stomach then a way to a femi's heart is through her nose. my nose.
i think i was a sniffer-dog in a previous life. there is not much that i hold in my hands [and definitely nothing that goes into my mouth] that i do not feel compelled to smell. it looks nice, but does it taste nice? well first let's see if it smells nice. not just in the privacy of my own home, no no no, i will inhale aromas at your house, at the restaurant, and even at the supermarket. yes, i willingly engage in social faux-pas-dom because my need for nasal confirmation of delightfulness is just that strong. i have been known to try to pick up the scent of products in tightly-sealed jars and vacuum packed plastic. and i also rub my nostril hairs on carrots.
but it's not just food that my snout is obsessed with; it's smell itself. if someone farts then i am that person that will take a sneaky short, sharp sniff to see if i can pick it up. if it is stinky then i will frown, but i will smell again. i am that person that will smell something foul [perhaps rotten food or a b.o. infested item of clothing], exclaim at how horrible it is and then ask that you smell it too. a friend of mine met such a request with the words "for the record: i never want to smell anything that stinks." i thought him quite strange.
however more than food, it is people that i love to smell the most. i don't run up on folks unannounced, but if we have an embrace then you can be sure that i am inhaling your fragrance. i have dated men that i knew i had no future with based on their scent. men who smelled like they were covered in a cologne named four months pour homme. something in me believes i can smell a friend, and i can smell a foe. that by the whiff emanating from the pores of another, i can locate our future journey. it's almost spiritual.
i wish i could inhale you all.
song lyrics : i shall be released
they say everything can be replaced
they say every distance is not near
so i remember every face
of every man who put me here
i see my light come shining
from the west down to the east
any day now, any day now
i shall be released
they say every man needs protection
they say every man must fall
so i swear i see my reflection
somewhere inside these walls
i see my light come shining
from the west unto the east
any day now, any day now
i shall be released
yonder stands a man in this lonely crowd
man who swears he's not to blame
all day long i hear him hollering so loud
just crying out that he's not to blame
i see my light come shining
from the west down to the east
any day now, any day now
i shall be released
sometimes other people's words can speak for you as well as your own.
are you like me? do you also think that something about kanye west and amber rose just doesn't ring true?
well it might have escaped your attention, but kanye has in fact spoken out about his budding relationship. not in an interview, no, he doesn't do those anymore. kanye put the details in a song, people. yes he did. allow me to direct your attention to the chart-topping single stronger.
so we gon' do everything that kan' like/
heard they do anything for a klondike/
well, i'd do anything for a blonde dyke/
and she'll do anything for the limelight/
and we'll do anything when the time's right/
uh, baby, you're makin' it/
harder, better, faster, stronger/
so i've been on twitter for a couple of weeks now. my jury is still out on the site as a whole, but i have noticed something that worries me. i know the twitter update box asks 'what are you doing?', but some people use the site to the extent that their page resembles a stream of consciousness.
i think this ties into something that is much bigger than twitter. we children of generation I [for internet] seem to have crossed the line from demonstration into proof. we used to upload pictures to show people what we did, and now it seems we need a picture to show people that we really did do it.
the sad motto for generation I is: if it's not online, it didn't happen.
and for some people on twitter, that seems to go for their thoughts too.
we gon' need rehab, y'all.
in 2005 i came up with the nifty idea that i am from the atlantic ocean. the trade triangle sums me up quite well, so why not just drop me in the middle of it? the idea for an oceanic identity came to me while i was in NY and going to a lot of slam-esque poetry readings [you. know. the. kiiiiiiiiiiiind ofpoetryi'mtalkingboooooooooooout]. many of the poets i saw told stories about their experience as black americans. it hit me then, and perhaps as a recent anthropology graduate it hit me harder than it might've otherwise done, that the black american and black british experiences are similar in some ways, and oh so different in others. just like when i'm in the caribbean, i felt quite british. still, i didn't choose to proclaim my britishness, it didn't say enough, and so the atlantic ocean thing just kinda stuck.
to this day i get annoyed when people ask me if i'm english. the answer to that question is no. surprisingly, the answer to that question is out of my little black hands. according to the powers that be, english is an ethnicity, not a nationality. so you can only be english if you are white, and if you are black then you can only be british [check the census forms, me no lie]. again, i'm in no hurry to claim a country that does not want me to and so i invariably check the 'black caribbean' box. although the signs hung in english windows in the 50s read "no blacks, no irish, no dogs", the descendants of those irish immigrants can now tick the 'english' box on the census form with no questions asked. and so they should: hardly anyone from england is english through and through. this country is a nation full of 4th, 5th and 6th generation scottish, irish and welsh immigrants.
during a heated debate in one of my anthropology lectures, our teacher explained to the class that we have the power to self-identify, and it is our definition that counts. it reminded me of a moment during one of my geography classes in high school where two girls, that i would have identified as south asian, spoke about themselves. one girl's family was from guyana, and she identified as black caribbean. one girl's family was from kenya, and she identified as indian. who was right? they both were. the truth is that identity is, and always has been, more patchwork quilt than blanket. it is inherently messy, and it is only getting messier. this suits me just fine.
so i will continue to claim my britishness when i'm not on british soil; cheer england on during the rugby and football, but not the cricket; balk at the very idea of englishness; eat fish and chips; drink vitamalt and listen to a smattering of hip-hop. being british is no longer something i feel the need to reject, and it would be silly to. besides, whatever i might say, my sense of humour [which is connected to the truth] always betrays the part of my quilt that is unmistakably shepherd's pie. i never feel more british than when i'm laughing.
on that note, i leave you with the wonderful we are klang, and a song about racial identity. hilarious.
me: the book is done. now i have to publicise it. i'm terrible at such things, this isn't the funnest part.
friend: have you at least told your regular blog readers about it?
me: yeah. it was done in a half-arsed fashion though. i actually have a few things to tweak before i can push it properly. but i'm not 100% sure how to make it twork after i've tweaked.
friend: well where are you gonna post about it?
me: i would say that i'll start with myspace, but posting anything on there is like talking in a cave these days. nuff echo. where the hell is everyone?
friend: you really should get on twitter. stop being stubborn and just move with the times.
me: sigh. i know.
*hangs head in shame*
i am very much a fan of google. be it blogspot, e-mail, calendar, maps or their sexy analytics, i rep google to the def. and while others are happy to use yahoo or ask, i will only use the google search engine.
no others, no way.
hoooooooooowever: can i talk about the lovely search engine found at www.addictomatic.com?
type in your choice of words and this internet hoover will return links from youtube, twitter, digg, delicious, and much more; including the google, yahoo and ask.com search engines. and it doesn't just throw them in some kind of css heap on your internet floor. oh no. addictomatic places them in orderly sections and lays them at your happy, toe-tapping feet.
so now i use two search engines.
one other, yes way.
the evolution of a great song:
"the yellow wallpaper tells the story of a nameless woman driven mad by enforced confinement after the birth of her child. forced to live in an attic where the walls are covered in a sickly yellow wallpaper, she does what she has to do, she writes. slowly but surely the tortuous pattern of the paper weaves itself into her mind."
i read this book when i was 17 years old. it's a short story for real, no more than 20 pages, and i can remember the visual feast when i consumed it all in one greedy go. the woman in this story is mentally unstable, but now i'm thinking that she's just a regular old writer. how many writers go a little crazy?
plus i don't think computers help. creativity is to be expressed, and the feeling of putting pen to paper brings forth a feeling that fingertips tapping away on a keyboard can't touch. the more i write on a computer, the more mental my process becomes, and the more mental i'm sure i become.
anywhens: i've found the book online here and so, in only 12 pages of well spaced html, you too can experience the pleasure and the pain of the unnamed female protagonist in the yellow wallpaper. i affectionately refer to her as eve.
"black dudes with dirty sneakers scare the f*cking shit outta me"
so, here it is: the cover.
*the crowd ooohs and aaahs*
this process has been one beautiful headache; and it's not over yet. i always thought writing the book would be tough, but it does not compare to the editing process. lawd, i am not qualified for this! still, when it's published on july 29th, i'ma be like: damn. i really did this. and then the world is in trouble, cos i'll be wanting to do more.
due to my employment status [the status being that i have no employment], i can't lay out the money required to get the book printed. a couple of weeks ago i was close to giving up on publishing it at all, and then [after an emotional experience that i've detailed in the book] i decided to publish as an ebook instead. you gotta roll with the punches right? i'm trying to make lemonade up in here!
publishing this book is a big step for me. i don't think i've ever been so honest about myself or my life, perhaps not even to myself. old foes will be able to read this book and take pleasure in some of the things they read, that's how open i am in these pages. but i'm fearless in general these days. fearless and imperfect, and this time next week i'll never again be able to pretend that i am anything different. how liberating.
i know that everyone that says they are going to buy the book won't do so. that's ok; the well-wishes mean a lot to me. in some ways i don't care if i sell one copy; the riches ultimately come from what i've put into, and not just what i get out of this text. but, to memorialise the kindness of those that do take the extra step and part with their money, i have decided that the first 9 people to purchase the book will be listed in the acknowledgements when the book is printed. and not just the first edition, but any that are to follow.
if you began reading my blogs on this blogspot a few months ago, have been reading my blogs for the past few years on myspace, or if you just stumbled across my page today and like the way i put these words together:
all is well.
we all like to complain from time to time; exaggerate our problems and make momentary mountains out of molehills. a ten-minute whinefest with a good friend can be fun and quite hilarious. i've certainly enjoyed my fair share.
but people who make drama a way of life, some kind of pseudo career, are really not welcome in my space [pause] anymore. people who turn every situation into a code red, turn every event into a crisis, and make every problem appear unsolvable [just so they can complain about it indefinitely] can exit stage right. hell, they can exit stage wrong, just vacate the damn premises.
the irony is that the only people that have time to make drama out of nothing, are people that have no drama. this is the main reason why it annoys me so much. i really don't need to have intense conversations about shit that you and i both know is a pretend-problem. it's just...well...boring. why waste time complaining when you can be basking in the glow of your good fortune?
the past two years have taught me that perspective is everything. i'll be sharing more about my trials and tribulations in my book, but i'll say now that as someone who has been unable to freely eat and drink for two years, i have had to make a serious decision about the way in which i want to live my life. when you feel like you are staring death in the face you have to either check-in or check-out.
i checked in. i'm tryna see the silver-lining; so if you're constantly looking for the clouds, you're gonna have to rain on another person's parade.
all is full of love. always. and if it isn't, then i'm all about trying to get it there. life is too short for idle griping. i'd rather laugh til i pee on myself.
happy solar eclipse!
maxwell and i have been married for 14 years. he doesn't know anything about it, but i'm happy to report that it's been the most successful relationship i've ever had. we don't talk [because he doesn't know that i exist], and so we don't fight. it's a peaceful, loving [one-sided, but no less potent] relationship. heaven.
embrya, his least popular album, is my favourite. it's one of my favourite albums full stop. i like, totally get it. and i guess i thought this meant that i understood him, that if he was standing in front of me i'd do the fingerpoint to eyes gesture signalling that we're >here<
i really wanted to like this new album. i liked the cover and i really wanted to love the music too. i really did. god knows i attacked all of my friends that spoke ill of what i was sure would be a masterpiece. because um, it's maxwell, people! even if it doesn't blow you away, it's still maxwell and it will still be hot and definitely worthy of heavy itunes rotation. i was certain.
do you dream when you sleep?
i used to be someone that had dreams every night. when i found out that other people didn't always dream at night i was really surprised. i thought dreaming was a mandatory part of sleeping. the concept of dreamless sleep was something that i found it hard to wrap my head around; and i even felt sorry for these poor non-dreamers.
then about a year ago i stopped dreaming every night, and then i pretty much stopped dreaming altogether. i don't know why this happened, but i thought it may have been my body's reaction to my ill health. i used to love waking up from a full night's dreaming, but it really did tire me out. i'd often wake up ready to go straight back to sleep to recover from the sleep i just had. as i was functioning on very little energy at the time, i think my dreams were kind enough to give me a break.
but this past week i've begun dreaming again. gosh, i forgot how twisted my subconscious is! last night i dreamt [is this a real word? i hate the word dreamed, but dreamt doesn't look right.] that i was in love with usher. usher! ew. my brother took me to usher's house, who was aware of my imminent arrival and feelings for him. people in the house were smiling and excited, no doubt about the fact that they were soon to witness a fairytale moment where usher and i would fall into each other's arms and smooch it up. except this didn't happen. he walked down the stairs, wrapped in a duvet, saw me, and was completely underwhelmed by my presence. he was sucking his thumb [i still suck my thumb, so there's nothing wrong with this. it's genetic, i swear, my grandmother sucked her thumb til the day she died. don't judge me!] and he signalled for me to follow him to his bedroom. no, not to do the nasty, but to sit on his bed, in the dark, while he slept. and then i got bitten by a mosquito.
i woke up tired and confused. what does this dream meeeeeean? nothing probably. i find those dream interpretation books quite pointless; they're like the horoscopes in the newspaper. sooo hit and miss. how about my horoscope yesterday was giving me advice on how to handle people at my job. i'm unemployed! in yo' face random astrologer that only uses sun signs when i am so much more a product of my venus and moon!
to be continued, i'm sure...
forget the angry, threatening songs; this woman is singing to her rival with a smile on her face.
which probably means that she's batshit crazy, and would break her rival's neck in a heartbeat.
i also imagine that this song was originally 2 seconds longer: the ending was her hollering bitch!
that's how i sing it anyway.
i've decided that i'm busy is no longer a reasonable excuse for...anything.
it's not a good enough reason for lovers not returning calls.
it's not a good enough reason for friends not being able to hang out.
it's not a good enough explanation for a dirty house.
it's not a good enough excuse for ignoring unexciting, but important tasks.
it's just not.
when we say that we are busy, or too busy, what we are really talking about out are our priorities. it's not that we are too busy, it's that the thing that we are too busy for is not as important as what we have chosen to do instead. i'm not using value judgements; when i say important i simply mean that which is higher up on our list, more pressing. choosing to work instead of go to a party doesn't mean you love working more than being with your friends; but it does mean that you have deemed working to be more important on that particular day.
i've dated guys that were too busy to spend time with me, or return my calls. hearing this faux justification used to annoy the hell out of me, and i would let them know how i felt. then as time went on, and i became more zen, i decided that it was my ego, my imbalance, my resistance that was creating a problem. but then i became a woman with my own incredibly busy periods and i became annoyed again. i became annoyed because i realised that they really weren't too busy to see me: i just wasn't a priority of theirs. i wasn't high up on their list.
i don't want any boyfriend of mine telling me he's too busy for me. if oprah can hold down a relationship with stedman [and possibly gail too], then the average joe can find 5 mins in his day to give me a call. are there exceptions? of course. i know that things can be hectic, and there are all kinds of variables that mean it might not be possible on a given day. but if someone is telling me it's hard to find a moment for me every day? um...no. please don't date me. at some point you have to be honest about what you choose to make time for. this is why i'm not interested in a relationship right now. if i had a man then i'd be the one on the phone saying i'm too busy. truth is that a relationship is just not a priority of mine right now. and if someone did come along that made me reevaluate this then i would have to jiggle my list around, not just plonk them at the bottom of it.
the truth is that if we want to make time for something/someone then we do. i'm busy right now with various journalism projects, my book, website launches, portfolios and looking for a regular job but here i am blogging this entry. i also managed to find time to watch judge judy and big brother today, although i was too busy to call my bank and talk to them about my overdraft. see what i mean?
now, i'm not suggesting that we all start telling our friends that we can't meet for coffee because they're not a priority. i'm busy is the appropriate reason in most circumstances when we're dealing with others. for the sake of polite social interaction, please do not abandon the b-word.
so why do i say it's not a reasonable excuse? because even though it is the best thing to say to others, it is an unnecessary and potentially harmful thing to say to ourselves. it's dangerous because it's believable and it encourages avoidance. we become inept at effectively tackling those things/people that are the least desirable. it can take us weeks, months, even years to eradicate uncomfortable tasks from our lists and stressful people from our lives. this does not bode well for our holistic health.
so, i think it's time for some housekeeping. stop for a moment and think about the people, things and tasks you regularly tell yourself you are too busy for. really just pause for a moment and think.
who and/or what is clinging to the bottom of your list?
now: clear those cobwebs.
all is well
this is the title of my book.
it will be published on july 29th 2009.
i can't wait to share it.
i could not have predicted that this movie, released in 1945, would touch me the way it did; and that it would leave me with some wholewheat multigrain food for thought. i knew immediately that it was a movie i wanted to own and so i began searching for it everywhere, but to no avail. it's not one of those old classics that you can find in your local video store, so i turned to the interwebs hoping to find a copy. i did find it, but the people selling it on amazon and ebay wanted hundreds of beans for it [how about no?]. after more than a year of intermittent searches i accepted defeat and told myself that this movie would have to find me instead...and it did!
some lovely person has uploaded the whole movie to youtube, along with a heap of other old movies that i look forward to getting into when i find the time. i curled up on my sofa and watched the enchanted cottage one afternoon last week and fell in love with it all over again.
it's hard to explain why i love this movie so much without giving the entire plot [and the special, beautiful, magic moment] away. so i will just say this: what we think and believe about ourselves is what ultimately shapes our experience in and of this world.
to reference my myspace page: think peace, hold hope, speak love.
click here to watch the movie
i was making my signature mango & strawberry smoothie this morning when i found this very special specimen at the bottom of the punnet...
as i'm sure you can imagine: my smoothie tasted love-ly.
i was on my way home from a very productive meeting this evening and thought i'd get some food from a thai place i haven't tried before.
it's a little family-run spot, and the smell of lemongrass that caressed my nostrils as i walked in made me feel right at home. after ordering my food i was presented with complementary jasmine tea by the momma bear because it was getting cold outside. so sweet. she sat with me and we chatted about the ups and downs of the restaurant until my food was ready. i left, food in hand, and practically skipped all the way home. i couldn't wait to tuck into my treat of chicken and prawn on toast, followed by prawns and vegetables in red curry paste.
sounds delicious right?
well, when she was taking my order, momma bear asked me how hot i wanted my food and i requested it not too spicy; which means mild. but it seems that somewhere between my lips and her ears the words not too spicy transmuted into something along the lines of ON FIRE. after three mouthfuls, and an equal amount of swallows, it began to feel like satan was grilling volcano steaks on a bbq in my guts. if that was mild then i don't even wanna know what hot is like. good gawd. this was the kinda meal that is sure to burn twice. drop by the crib tomorrow and i'll surely have a bag of frozen peas stuffed down my drawers.
what's that you said?
why did i eat it all?
cos i was hungry!
and aside from the flames of death that were blazing in my mouth and down my gullet: it tasted pretty good!
i don't mind the pms, cramps and headaches; because one day i'm gonna get to feel this:
when i was 18 i made the decision to 'fix myself'. i can't remember any particular event that precipitated this, and so can only assume that my desire to work out all of my issues, banishing them to my past, was the result of a culmination of experiences. with a dr phil book in hand, i began to explore my demons, determined to discover and destroy them all during an extended family holiday in the caribbean.
looking back, i think i was very brave, but i was also very naive. although looking at wounds can help them heal, they do often leave scars. the deeper the wound, the bigger the scar; and whilst i most certainly caught a glimpse of previously unacknowledged wounds, i was misguided in my attempt to transform known scars into nothingness. scars can and do fade, but the deeper the wound, the less likely this is to happen. for some of our hurts, scars are the final destination.
and this rule rings true not just for my hurts, but for some of my least desirable traits and idiosyncrasies. for whatever reason, i'm someone that internalises...um...almost everything. i get caught up in my head far too much, to the extent that i can think my days away. i weigh up every option for so long that i don't get anything done. i dream so much that i get attached to them and get nervous about my ability to make them a reality.
this is my scar. my scar that i have seen a million times. my scar that i have accepted will not fade. it's one of the reasons why my achievements might seem bigger to me than they do to others, and also why i find it hard to bask in them for very long.
so, almost 10 years since that first dr phil book, i'm embarking on a new mission. not to erase my scars, but to consistenly be more than just the sum of them. to turn my burdens into quirks. to learn how to carry on regardless with a much quicker turnaround. to turn the noise down in my head and make more noise with my mouth. to take less mental steps and walk more miles with my feet. to use my fingertips not just to press against my temples in despair, but to write the beautiful stories of my heart that are far more persistent than i deserve.
i'm fixed on this.