The Post Where I Finally Curtail Rumours That My Mother-In-Law Is A Romanian Prince Who Likes To Stick Spikes Up Bottoms.

Every now and then I get a little obsessed with stuff. This will come as no great surprise to anyone who’s read my insane mutterings about zombie chickens ( see.. pretty much the rest of the blog ).
Currently I’m a bit gripped by the concept of Cartesian doubt ( I’ll probably come back to that at some point ), but previous to that I was getting all thoughtful about the concept of karma.

I think a part of me *needs* to have karma at play in my universe, everything seems so dreadfully unfair otherwise, and that ticks me off a bit.
Not the traditional concept of karma – the paying for your sins in the next incarnation – but the all-new modernised instant karma that smacks you upside the head right now if you screw up. If I fiddle my taxes ( And I don’t. Please don’t report me ) I don’t want to come back as a colon-slurping tapeworm next time round. I want shit to rain down on me ( not literally – we appear to be back at the tapeworm scenario again ), and I want it to rain down on me NOW. I want to pay for my sins, and being a member of the disposable generation I’m not prepared to wait. Hit me!

And I have screwed up in the past. Some stuff I think I’ve paid for, some stuff I’m not sure I ever can, and in that respect I think I’m not so different from anyone else on this dirtball. Being agnostic I don’t have a heaven or hell in my future, so I have to rely on my own code of ethics to stop karma biting me on the ass. Fear of what comes next doesn’t motivate me, for me death is just a flicking of a switch from one state of being to another of nothingness. One minute I’m alive, minding my own business, sneaking down to the mailbox to see if the crap I ordered from eBay has arrived, the next I’m slowly cooling fertiliser. Death is a non-issue to me, I’m not scared of it. What totally terrifies me is pain and fear itself. I’m absolutely OK with being decapitated in a freak cheese-slicing tragedy, but being slowly and agonizingly grated myself…well, I’m going to have to go change my underpants just thinking about that.

For a lot of folk fear is stronger than morality. Horrifically, fear is currently fuelling the US Presidential circus. In an ideal world people would vote for whoever gave them the greatest hope instead of whoever tapped into their deepest terrors. I like to think that people are basically good. I see no difference between the darker skinned Muslim lady who lives downstairs, and my entirely paler Christian Mother-In-Law. Both have a warmth that extends to random strangers. Both like to feed my children snacks. Sure, the Muslim lady *could* be building a bomb in her dining room, but in all fairness so could my Mother-In-Law. Comparing my Muslim neighbour to a suicide bomber is like comparing my Mother-In-Law to Vlad The Impaler. It could be the truth but I’m thinking probably..not.

There is a quote from Benjamin Franklin that goes, “Even peace may be purchased at too high a price.” If peace comes from eradicating everything that we fear – and we fear everything and everyone who does not reflect ourselves – it is an acceptable price for us as a species? Of course not. And as far as Master Races go the ants have beaten us hands down anyway, so lets hope we never really piss those guys off.
Chances are even genocide will not halt the fear spiral, there will always be something that keeps us awake at night. I speculate that in a generation or two it will probably be intestinal worms.

 

 

Advertisements

A Post About Friends , Which In Retrospect Probably Contains The Word “Asshole” A Bit Too Much For The Subject Matter.

I don’t blog much these days, a fact that absolutely none of you will have noticed. It’s not that you don’t care. Or, well, you might not. You probably subscribed 3 years ago and then promptly forgot about my irregularly spurty waffle ( which sounds like something you should never ever Google. Just don’t. ) It’s all cool though, it happens. No judgement here.

But for those still subscribed I feel the need to thank you for your loyalty. And your inability to clear up your inactive blogger subscription. I also find it vital to take this opportunity to tell you that YOU are important to me. We’re best buds. Chums. I feel close enough to you to try to tap you for a fiver. Or ask you to buy me doughnuts and tampons whilst you’re down the shops anyway. It’s a beautiful friendship. Which is why it’s such a wonderful example of synchronicity that after randomly deciding to do my first post in yonks I scroll back through this morning’s emails and find today’s daily prompt is the word “Friends“.

Well bugger me sideways, what are the chances?

It’s been a busy [ insert actual time absent here, I’m too lazy to look it up. A year and a half maybe? ]. Work was frantic, sporadic, and largely semi-satisfying. I took time to eliminate the toxic aspects of my life and gained a certain level of peace. I started posting on Instagram. I challenged myself. I put myself on a diet and lost a crapload of weight. I took myself back off a diet because despite what I’d been absolutely certain of the last 4 decades, being skinny didn’t make me happier. Or younger. Or drop dead gorgeous. I feel particularly pissed about the last one, btw.

I’m still a bit mental. Not much but it’s there. My favourite quote of all time is “Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes.” And once I started an asshole eradication program I found my life went a lot more smoothly. I highly recommend it.

So now all I have is my family and my friends and it’s good. No, it’s really, *really* good. I thought for the longest time that to be happy I needed more. More money, more stuff, more achievements, a bigger better more me Me. More doughnuts, definitely. But turns out that what I really needed was less. Less pressure. Less assholes. And the friends? They’re just right. I feel I can finally tick them off my to-do list.

So, anyway, if you’re off down the shops………

Taking 5 minutes off Facebook to post my drivel in a slightly longer format.

I thought I would pre-empt the usual “Blog every day this year!” 1st of January post by ushering in the age of the short-lived but well-intentioned “Blog every day for the rest of 2014!” 30th December post. How well it catches on remains to be seen.

I’m not a consistent blogger. To be honest, I’m not a consistent *anything*, and sometimes that bothers me. And other times it doesn’t… because I can’t even be consistent about that. But I do like to write and I kick myself that I don’t do it more.. so this year, for the cazguillionth year running, I shall be attempting to make the effort to be creative every day. In theory this should be easy. I work in a creative field, and when I’m not working I have plenty of time. However, the small snappy chihuahua of mental instability is forever nipping at my ass, and I suspect the fact my ass is gravitating forever south isn’t helping any.

In a nutshell, I write this blog in an attempt to maybe just raise a smile or two, with varying degrees of success. My problem is that some days I can’t raise a smile myself. Some days I struggle to breathe under the weight of it all and it’s just not funny. And I don’t want to heap that up on your mailbox when all you want to do is just get on with your personal crapola without listening to mine.

So, I’m pondering this… and would value your opinion.

Considering I haven’t posted in over a year,( and haven’t consistently posted in closer to 2 ), it’s astounding that I still have a pretty hefty number of subscribers. I can only assume that I am largely forgotten and that folk are relatively lax on the “unsubscribing from lazy-ass bloggers who can’t be bothered to make an effort” front. It’s nice, and I would like to do my best not to upset those people who are mostly here for the lolz and bizarro chicken posts.

I’m thinking about either starting up a new blog which will probably head in a different direction ( less zombie chickens and lesbian-schoolgirl-seeking traffic ) and of a more serious nature, probably fiction … or I can split this one with tags but run the risk of people who like the general silliness not liking the new slightly-less-silliness and un-subscribing and taking their business elsewhere. Which would make me sad.
Of course there’s always the possibility that the old folk will like the new stuff… I just don’t know. It probably won’t be very good, I haven’t written fiction since I used to get around a table with my dinosaur chums on a Saturday night and brainstorm ideas about exciting new concept of fire, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give it a go.

So, if you happen to read this I would appreciate a vote. My expectations aren’t high though, it’s been a while.

And as a thank you please feel free to enjoy what is most definitely the most unflattering picture of me EVER. Cos you just can’t have too many shots of the inside of my nostrils.

I know, I'm sexy.

I know, I’m sexy.

Duck Tales

Today I bonded with a duck.

I had planned to write about today’s daily prompt like a good little blogger… but a duck, man… a freakin’ duck! Duck trumps blog prompt, sorry.

I was on my way to pick up my two youngest from school, the journey of which consists of a walk around the school moat to the front gate. Now, I know without asking that a few people are going to have the phrase “Moat ?!? Your kids go to Hogwarts?” go through their heads, but alas…no. I can think of many many things I would not encourage in my children ( especially Brandon ) and magic is one of them. Well, maybe Lily would be ok… but Brandon? He’s more of a Voldemort Lite. So I’m shuffling along, dragging my ass in the way that a mother who knows her free minutes of day are due to be over any moment does, when I look towards the little moat at the sound of a tiny splash.

And there she is, speed-waddling in my direction. She’s not looking angry or scared, but there’s a definite hint of determination, so I stop walking so I don’t startle her as I’m expecting my new best bud to pick up some tasty morsel off the grass and be on her way. Didn’t happen. Instead she strolled up to me like we’d known each other forever and I’d raised her from an egg and tapped me lightly on the foot. It wasn’t a snippy “Nice feet, I’m gonna eat those” assault, it was more of a fist-bump “S’up?” moment. Given the choice I’d have stood there all day and spent time with my new avian chum, but assorted children were spewing forth from the school gates and experience has shown me that kids aren’t always at their nicest around wild animals, so I just said a polite “Hello!” and walked away.She returned to her important moat-based activities out of harms reach and I caught up with my dumbfounded Hubby who’s only words were “What, are you the Duck Whisperer now??”

I love nature, it provides balance in my life. As a born introvert, people are one long drain on my energy. It’s not like I dislike them, I just don’t like being around them. For instance, I have some great friends that I truly care about, which is only made better by the fact they live over the other side of the world. I can talk to them allllllllll day and not have to make eye contact or share a sofa with them once. Epic Introvert Win.

But nature, it’s like Anti-People. Everything that social interaction drains from me nature rejuvenates. My mind clears and I can take big breaths and level out. It’s like some sort of meditation, but with extra smiling and conversations with wildlife. When I say I was excited at the duck encounter I wasn’t just kidding, it felt like nature strolled up to me, put it’s arm around my shoulder, and said “Yeah, people suck don’t they? They just don’t understand us huh?” When I think of all the places I’d love to see in the world humans just don’t feature. They are places of epic beauty and reflection, natural shrines of silence and comfortable solitude ( except the tiny little voice in the back of my head that says “If you ever win the lottery were heading to VEGAS baby, ooooh yeah” ). When I think of emigrating I think of rural areas in Canada, where the scenery is stunning, the townsfolk are limited but renowned for their politeness, and the chances of finding a moose on your wooden veranda one morning are pretty reasonable. ( A moose. A MOOSE. You’ve seen how excited I got about the duck, can you imagine how I’d feel about a MOOSE? I’d wee my pants at the magnificence of it all, even if it started eating my expensive veranda furniture that I bought from my extensive Vegas winnings ).

So yet again I appear to have answered the Daily Prompt entirely by accident ( Lie : I’m actually an incredibly intelligent writer who manufactures it to seem like pure luck *ahem* ), because when the prompt asks me “a place you’d love to visit? What about it speaks to you?” my answer would be “Nature speaks to me by not speaking to me. Where it is in abundance, that’s where I want to be.” It doesn’t indulge in pleasantries that neither of us have any interest in, it just comes right up and taps me on the foot, and then waddles off ,it’s connection made.

That’s just duckin’ awesome.

I’m not here, ignore me.

I haven’t been around for quite a while. In fact, I haven’t been around since my single annual post that usually consists of the phrase “I haven’t been around for quite a while”. This has been occurring with enough regularity to have the phrase engraved on my tombstone ( which is moderately amusing when I think about it ). There are reasons. Madness. Facebook. Plushie brains. The usual. But none of which are interesting enough to share, let alone write about.

A month ago I decided to wipe this blog. You probably didn’t notice, but don’t beat yourself up about it… you were busy. The reasons for this were twofold.
1) People told me I was a good writer and should write a book or something. This, naturally, terrified me. Suddenly I became incapable of stringing sentences together in any coherent fashion whatsoever. Success..? What the heck was I supposed to do with that?? I instantly sought other avenues where failure was a sure thing. And you know what?? There’s LOADS of them. I was potentially guaranteed to be bloody useless at a new something for a very long time indeed. Ahhh… there was my comfort zone. Rather annoyingly I became moderately successful at a few of those things too, but I nipped those in the bud before anyone else noticed. *phew*
2) I got an email from my ex where, amongst other things, he mentioned one of my blog entries. Which coincidentally was about something he did that was rather silly that made him look like a bit of a lemon. Suddenly it dawned on me. This blog isn’t under my name, it’s under my professional online name.
What sort of moron has a private blog under the same name that they earn a living under?
(I’ll leave you to imagine me sheepishly raising my right hand at this point.)
Yup.
It’s through sheer good luck rather than any semblance of intelligence that I’ve never bitched about the industry I work in or the folk that inhabit the same particular swamp. But I could have. And if my ex can find me, anyone else can.
So I toyed with starting up a new blog, but my muse was nowhere to be found. He’s probably in Switzerland or something, living an entirely new identity under the witness protection program… so I just settled for deleting all my content.
“Hold on one sec, you loon,” I hear you say “But I can see what you’ve written. It’s right there…look.”
Well yes, I changed my mind this morning and re-imported the whole damn thing.
Why?
Rarasaur, that’s why. Or more accurately *this post*. Rara seems to be struggling a bit with the same issue. However, she’s more “get up and go” than me, and I usually have to resort to some serious industrial grade self-bribery to get anything done. For instance, for writing this I am rewarding myself with a KitKat Chunky. I introduced this reward system as a feeble attempt at self-encouragement, which has worked up to a point. The point being that my chocolate consumption has shot up 600%, which equates to a 20% increase of bodily mass. To put it bluntly, in return for being a good and focussed girl I rewarded myself with a 15% bigger arse. Considering the fact there’s already plenty of junk in this trunk this side effect hasn’t turned out to be terribly motivating. Yesterday I bought myself a huge bunch of fresh carrots with the intention of rewarding myself with crunchy carrot sticks and healthy dip. Last night I moved them to the end of the kitchen and ate the entire dip with half a family-size bag of Doritos.
Nevertheless, here I am, and I’m hoping to get back into the Daily Prompt.
I will, however, continue to ignore their handy tips on better blogging and building a healthy following because that’s a little too much like achieving something for my liking… and success? That’s something I shall be avoiding like carrots.

I don’t want your stinkin’ lemonade!

You know those chirpy people who say things like “When life gives you lemons…!” and then stare at you all cheery, gloriously tickled 87 different shades of pink that they know the end of that saying… they know *you* know the end of that saying… and they got to be 200% extra smug for 50% of the effort ?

Yeah, I hate them. OK, maybe ‘hate’ is a bit strong. Maybe ‘want to push down a small flight of stairs’ would be better. Or ‘would like to sneak laxatives at the start of a very long exam to’. Or even ‘want to YouTube them walking around with the back of her skirt tucked into the top of her not-getting-lucky-any-time-soon knickers’. You get the idea.
To me the whole lemon thing just rubs me up the wrong way.

1) Lemons. Really ? Well Life can toss me a basket of whatever citrus it may feel like, but the resulting pulpy mess is still going to blow if Life doesn’t throw in a few bags of sugar too. Do I see sugar? No, I do not. So in effect, what exactly is Life up to here? It’s setting me up for a fall, that’s what it’s doing. It’s pandering to the entrepreneurial spirit by slyly suggesting a potential Lemonade Empire, knowing full well that my first customer is going to spit that lemonade back in my face, crushing my dreams in one steady stream of spittle. Oh, the humiliation.

2) Nothing in life is free, except flatulence. The lemons are probably tax deductible or something, and Life is just using me to screw over the tax people. I’m an accomplice to its deception. Life is making me a criminal, and I didn’t even get a beachfront property in the Bahamas out of it. What exactly did I get? Yup… shitty sour lemonade which nobody is going to drink, and I’ll just end up having to toss it down the sink AND do the extra washing up.

3) I don’t want to make lemonade, and even if I did my kitchen probably contravenes a whole bunch of health code regulations. Serving lemonade would probably just resort in an instant shutdown by some beady-eyed health inspector, the resulting disgrace making me local pariah. Neighbours will throw rotten produce at me. Knowing my luck it’ll probably be bloody lemons too. Irish Cream liqueur is what I want to make. Life needs to be handing me whisky.

As for that super-perky optimism… well, I don’t *want* to slap you upside the head, but I will if needs be. I’d consider it my civic duty. You have NO right pimping your lemons around here under the thin guise of a life lesson.
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t got it in for optimists. Or pessimists. Or mists of any sort really.
In the oft-quoted scenario I don’t see the glass half full or half empty. I’m a realist. I see a glass totally devoid of any liquid, with the contents slowly seeping into my white sofa. Possibly the fact I have two 6 yr olds might cloud my judgement, granted. And yes… “a white sofa…with kids…? Are you insane ?!”. I’ve heard it many many times, and all I can say in response is “Hey, chocolate milk is the new black.”

So… what *do* you say to me in a ‘silver lining’ capacity?
“Hey, there’s a 50% chance of things being less crappy tomorrow. Here… have a bar of chocolate and go back to bed” will do just fine.
Or “They’re all morons anyway, just ignore then. By the way, your arse looks spectacular in jogging bottoms.”
Or best of all “You’re fabulous. Here’s a cup of tea. I made it with milk because we’re out of lemons.”

 

Word-mangling like a boss.

Way, way back when I first started fooling around with the grubby little man-whore that is Facebook ( It’s not a love affair, there’s nothing meaningful in our trysts, it just drags me into the stationery cupboard , uses me for its own devices, and completely prevents me from getting any work done ) one of the very first things I laughed at and re-posted was a list. You may well have seen it knocking about online, but for those that haven’t…this is it:

“The Washington Post’s Style Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.
Here are this year’s winners:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It’s like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it’s like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you’re eating.

[And the pick of the literature:]

18. Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.

…. all of which I still think are superb 4 years later. My particular favourite is #18 which I occasionally use, mumbled under my breath, in social situations where such creatures freely roam.
I wish I’d thought of any of them. I’d be triple espresso smug with a squirt of whipped smug on top. Alas, no.
But you can probably see why this sprang to mind when faced with today’s Daily Prompt. So without further ado, here are my efforts :

Lickorich allspurts – The act of sucking up to someone with a vast fortune that culminates in a sudden climactic financial deposit.

Piesmograph – Electrical apparatus used to measure how much my stomach rumbles in response to the promise of pastry.

Pomfetti – the tiny little bits of coloured paper Brits like to throw at Australian weddings.

Hawkward – the very close scrutiny you get from your partner when you bring up the name of an attractive colleague from work during conversation.

This prompt hurt my head.

Repulsion. There might possibly be a bit of swearing at the end.

One of the things I like most about the Daily Prompt is that it gives me the opportunity to really think about a subject I wouldn’t otherwise bother with, and every now and then it gives me some sort of insight into myself that probably would have eluded me otherwise. This is usually a good thing, or I’d probably not be quite so keen on it. Nobody would be particularly thrilled to sign up for blogging prompts and suddenly find themselves realising that they have a deeply repressed urge to stalk the neighbourhood in the wee small hours skinning the local cats. That would just suck.

Today’s prompt was one such eye-opener.

“Think of something that truly repulses you. Hold that thought until your skin squirms. Now, write a glowing puff piece about its amazing merits.”

Firstly, I had to look up “puff piece”. I gathered from context a rough idea, but if I’m going to write about something I think the least I can do is make the effort to look it up for an accurate description. And yes, admittedly, there was a very small part of me that was slightly disappointed it wasn’t a porn industry term… cos that would have been kinda fun for WordPress. Ho hum, maybe next time.

Then, knowing what I was aiming for I looked carefully at the wording. And that’s when I had my glowing moment of self revelation.

Repulsion. That’s kinda strong. And I just don’t feel it.

I have things that I hate, things that make me angry, things that sicken me, lots of things that have horrified me… but complete repulsion? Nah, not really.
It’s not like I’ve lived a particularly sheltered life. I’ve seen stuff. More stuff than I should have really, but I’m a curious gal with an internet connection..it happens. But repulsion… true repulsion… that’s pretty big.

That’s not to say that there aren’t such huge things out there, because there are… However, I’m guessing that WordPress are pushing for amusing or insightful pieces about nasal mucus, spiders, or midget clown porn.

OK, possibly not the last one.

What they aren’t expecting is glowing commendations on the merits of , for example, paedophilia. You just…can’t. And if you can I’d really rather you go away and quit reading my blog. A quick skim through my blog search engine stats will reveal I’m pretty big with the perverts, but consider the line drawn. ( As an aside… if you really want to up your page views include the phrase “lesbian catholic schoolgirls” in your posts. It’s my number one page-draw, which makes me wonder exactly whether people who ended up on here continued to read, or just got very frustrated that the post where that phrase featured didn’t actually have any such action… red hot or otherwise. Suckerrrrs. )

So, we’re looking for a subject that’s a bit icky, but not utterly abhorrent, that I can waffle about briefly…and I’m drawing a blank.And what do I do when I’m grasping for inspiration? Facebook. Dear Sweet Facebook And It’s Assorted Internet Freaks Who Usually Have An Opinion On Everything.

Well, that was helpful.

*sigh*

Here goes….

Dog shit… it’s brilliant!! No really, I know what you’re thinking ” public menace, irresponsible pet owners, scraping your shoes on the curb for half an hour before you can go into your own house, all the charm of fish paste & cauliflower cheese mixed in a big bowl with a side serving of cat vomit *wince*..” but hear me out.
Have you ever considered it’s excellence in the field of crime prevention? One huge steaming pile and everyone’s going to be walking *around* your neighbourhood instead of through it. No noisy kids, no car thefts. No pedestrians of any sort really.
And you know what? The bigger the better! Smaller dollops acting as fertiliser for oft-neglected sidwalk greenery… larger megadumps are an eco-system in their own right.
Stand behind a pile in case of a nuclear blast for full protection!
Climb inside a mountain of the stuff for insulation in case of a sudden ice age!
Form it into bricks, allow it to harden, and fashion it into a second residence. Don’t let the fact it shot out of a dog’s arse dissuade you from building your own property portfolio.
Dog shit. It’s low in calories, and brown is slimming. Acquire some today.

 

Vital advice, especially if you’re prone to putting things into your bottom.

Advice is easy. Anybody can give it, and there’s no quality control system in place to filter the life-enhancing gems from the plain stupid Captain Obvious stuff. I, for example, have a broad spectrum of advice of varying usefulness on the tip of my tongue should anyone come asking.
Try me, go on.

  • Don’t buy a dress size down with a view to slimming into it, you won’t. Embrace your beautiful outer insulation and just get something in a size that isn’t going to cut off your circulation from the hips down and strip you of your dignity.
  • Don’t rob banks. It increases your chances of multiple unplanned holes in your body, and most banks these days don’t contain any actual money anyway.
  • Don’t give away your virginity too easily. Religious beliefs aside, it’s a rite of passage that deserves thought… cos Lord knows you’ll think back on it in the future. I know someone who lost her virginity in a car park bent over a shopping trolley. That’s a heart-warming tale for the grandchildren.
  • Don’t stick things up your bottom when there is even the slimmest possibility they won’t come out. I have absolutely nothing against folk who want to anally insert items of their choice per se but I’ve worked in a hospital. 9 times out of 10 when you see a small huddle of doctors around an x-ray screen they’re looking at holiday snaps from someone who’s using their rectum as a storage facility.

And so on.

However, I feel for advice to reach it’s maximum usefulness it has to apply to all, and not everyone is going to “slip in the shower and end up with a bottle of “Head & Shoulders” inserted. Mr or Ms Average need to read it, nod, and realise they might just have dodged a bullet for having done so ( which admittedly would apply in the bank robbing example ). I also strongly feel that advice only reaches it’s full potential when it comes from real personal experience… and I’ll leave you to work out which of the above that applies to in my case. No clues.

So what is it that I’m going to share with you in response to today’s Daily Prompt? Well, it’s common sense really. Sadly, however, common sense often flies out of the window on this one… but I think it bears repeating.

Do not, no matter how tempting, get involved with someone who is married to somebody else.

I’ve been there, and the life lesson it taught me was this “You’re great, but you’re just not that great. If he cheated on her to be with you, you can bet your life savings ( literally, in my case ) that he will cheat on you to be with someone else.
I know it’s tempting. Temptation always comes in the most wonderful of lickable packages, but keep your tongue in your mouth… and your mouth only … and you’ll be fine. There are people who cheat, and there are people who don’t. And really, is that all you’re worth?
People fall in love with the wrong people all the time ( Holy cow, I could write a book on that one ), but if you take a step back and garner some perspective you will see it for what it is.

Is their relationship working ?   Yes : Avoid.     No : Proceed to next question.
Are they separating?               No : Avoid       Yes : Proceed to next question.
Are they separated?                No : Avoid       Yes : Proceed to next question.
Are they a huge festering boil of unresolved issues, and prone to unrelentingly talking about their ex?                                        Yes : Avoid      No : Proceed to next question.
Are you just drawn to that which isn’t yours?      Yes : Avoid       No : Proceed to next question.
Wouldn’t life just be easier to find yourself someone who will be yours alone from day 1, because adulterers have a lack of respect that doesn’t change just because you’re a great guy / girl ? Yes : Yes. Proceed with life.       No : No. Just..no.

It’s not easy. Sometimes life conspires to screw you over like that. But take heart in the fact that every now and then someone will leave a relationship that isn’t working and tie up their loose ends before moving on. Those sort of people won’t leave you behind the local supermarket with your knickers around your ankles, which is always a bonus when relationships are so dreadfully tricky in the first place.

Photo post, totally devoid of photos.

Sometimes I find that if you need answers then asking someone else for their opinion and then passing it off as your own often works at a push. (  I say potato, you say Plagiarism … and totally ruin the song). Occasionally some moderate re-wording is involved, but basically all that tedious thinking stuff is bypassed, which is something I’m all in favour of… especially when I’m sleep deprived / hormonal / slightly mental / all of the above.

Cue the arrival of today’s Daily Prompt :
“Take a subject you’re familiar with and imagine it as three photos in a sequence. Tackle the subject by describing those three shots.”

Sorry… what ?

I’m familiar with a lot of subjects. My children’s bowel movements, for one, but I doubt very much you’re gonna want photos. Or you might. There are a lot of very strange and depraved individuals on the internet, or so my Mum tells me. But then she also tells me that you can catch a cold by not wearing a scarf, so she might not be the world’s foremost authority on Things You Should Take As Gospel.

So I read this prompt and thought “I know! I’ll ask the family”, though I thought for the sake of clarity that I’d simplify things a bit by asking them “What am I good at?”

Big mistake.

After a long and painfully contribution-free few minutes my children came up with these gems:
Brandon : Playing games on the pc. Papa works. You play.
Lily : Picking food out of your teeth.

Well, cheers guys. No really. No chance of my ego spiralling out of control any time soon here, no siree.
Hubby, on the other hand, has had considerably more experience with delicately tip-toeing around any potential emotional minefields, so he came up with a list of things that he thought I was good at and that wouldn’t shove me headfirst into a mudslide of floundering self-esteem issues. Good save.

None were quite right though. Gesture appreciated, however.

It came to me an hour or so ago. I was going to skip this prompt, but then I came up with an idea. An idea which isn’t particularly humorous ( sorry about that ), or witty ( oops ) or even entertaining ( *apologetic look* ). However, it is honest, it isn’t stolen and refurbished, and it isn’t 3 snapshots of broccoli-infested gums.

What am I familiar with?
I’m familiar with Depression.

Every now and then I write about being a teensy weensy bit mental, and in all honesty I’ve made my peace with the whole issue. It’s not something I’ve done wrong, I do my best not to be a complete nightmare for everyone around me, and I think I cope pretty well. In my opinion, all you can do is cope, and some times you do better than others. Some days it isn’t even an issue and life can be good and fluffy and sugar-coated-doughnutty. And then there are the days that are huge and crushing and there isn’t a pastry in sight… and those are the ones I’m familiar with.

So here are my photos.

Photo 1 :  Black. Nothing to see. Just endless, soul-mashing, lonely, unfathomable black.
Photo 2 :  More Black. It doesn’t end. It just doesn’t. Not ever.
Photo 3:   Black….. with the tiniest spot of grey in one corner. Because whilst the black is still huge and painful, there is hope. There is always hope. Sometimes you have to wait one photo for it… sometimes a whole album. But it’s there. So don’t give up, because you’re not the only one sitting in the dark… there are other people too, you just can’t see them. But when the tiny dot of grey comes you’ll realise that you were never truly alone. You just have to wait.

There you have it. It’s not particularly well worded, and in all honesty it’s not even a new concept, but it is easily forgotten. So if you find yourself sitting in the dark one day, remember that there’s a chance there’s someone else in there with you who’s also having a crappy time of it. But at least you’ll have less mashed vegetation between your teeth, and that’s gotta count for something.