Writer and psychologist. My health, a journey with two life threatening diseases
finding joy in every day things. No location given, ever. My poetry, essays, and psychology.
Or they let France win. Ireland put up a poor defence in the second half. So Ireland are third in the tournament and England win it.
Not my happy day then.
A friend phoned me and said they’d played a joke on Mike. I don’t even know his address. How weird.
So we have lockdown here again. Hey ho. It’s needed.
So today is the last day of the Six Nations. I’ll be watching.
I went to have a meal with a friend, and I stayed overnight. It was very pleasant but I like my own bed. We had Thai curry which was delicious.
I am getting an ache in my left arm which is strange. It is nerve pain.
The storm is ended and the sun is coming out…
Gratitude day 3 of 7. I am deeply grateful for my Dad. A gentle man who can mix which rich and poor and not be changed, who taught me manners and right from wrong, who has given me hours and days of laughter and hiking, who carried me when I was so near to death and wept for my suffering. A man who has stood for something all his life and taught me to stand and be counted. My Dad has my undying love and admiration. He is my only hero.I am truly grateful for grace. Perhaps not everyone will understand. Grace has kept me strong, been a source of mercy and sustenance and will help me in the difficult times ahead. Grace has renewed me when I have reached the end of me, and made relationships endure.I am grateful for my daughter Lara who is an amazing person. She is to me like a fragrance, refreshing and attractive in essence as well as looks. She has so many talents, is well loved by many and will go on to many more wonderful things. I feel such a feeling as her abilities far exceed my own in so many talents of sport, dance, charisma, hiking, leadership, choreography and pure presence. She has achieved more in her 16 years than some bother to try in a lifetime, despite some difficult circumstances that were beyond our control and my declining health. It’s a privilege to know her, let alone to be her mother.
What a match. Ireland on top form even without their home crowd. First two caps for Hugo Keenan on his debut, Sexton converting, and another try from him. Stockdale, Henshaw, and Murphy putting in great set ups and as always fabulous teamwork.
They meet France next week. France are playing Wales this evening. I so love rugby. Especially Irish rugby.
Tomorrow Ireland will play at home and it will be on TV live. I can’t wait. It’s the postponed match of the Six Nations.
The following weekend all six teams will be playing it seems. That is a bit strange, unless I’ve missed something,
I’m very low on wordpress engagement, which makes me sad, but my blog gets a lot of search engine traffic.
I’m doing my best. I am so fatigued.
Louann Brizendine, M.D., is an American scientist, a neuropsychiatrist who is both a researcher and a clinician and professor at the University of California, San Francisco. She’s written two books, The Male Brain and The Female Brain, and notes significant differences including the following:
Like many people, I thought there were only two stages to have a great relationship. First, the magic moment where we meet that special someone and fall in love. Second, we become a couple and live happily ever after. Also, like many whose marriage hit the rocks and disillusionment overcame us, I got divorced, became depressed, decided I had chosen the wrong partner, and eventually tried again.
Pieces
Once upon a time Before the clock flew by and fun was had. Before the madness and sadness choked away the glad Before the mind cried mad and caved to the bad I was whole. A perfect godlike being. Godlike as in pure and innocent with no blemish nor imperfection. Apart from the anger, the inability to walk correctly and the lazy eye. Then the tock of clocks knocking on the walls of my mind. As events called life chipped and chiselled a baby worth breaking into a boy worth making. As the anger surfaced and became the only emotion i knew how to express. Product of environment. Bullied and berated, tortured and hated by reflections Nature cruel like cradles as adults bickered about a boy not quite right. Again ticking tackled the twisting of the teenager. As danger became a diagnosis a thill is sought and words of venom spoke. Serpent unrelenting, chaos equals venting and hate now renting space behind this face of fear and… I catch myself as I fall to pieces. Reinvent. Renew rebuild a better me. I count 3 so far and its a charm that 4th strike became an adult. Irresponsible forced to become responsible I don’t respond to it all but often flit between the rage and hate to the anger. To the pity of the before mes and seeing their graves pissed on like a promise kept left in a trauma of words that should never be spoken. The dust settled and yet again like a china doll dropped by a careless carrier i shatter among the stains of tears and accompany the former losses of my sanity, my personas, my lives. I must be cat. At the least I have spent 4 and now I stand here. Glue in hand. Made from the broken pieces of past selves. Its not so bad. I learned how to be human. I found out what made me mad. A crazy. The cuckoo of the clock sat firmly in the family tree. Asperger’s. So they say. All I know is that I have lost a lot. I’ve been broken, But I am still here. Bigger. Better But made. From Pieces.
By John Sean Mannix
Someone on Linkedin has approached me to be interviewed about my poetry collection. I’ve never heard of him and don’t trust a word he says.
I have been very fatigued today. I have written a little.
My friend and poet, Frank Mundo, has written a wonderful review about my collection.
It is still available through Amazon.
The last two years since my sister died have been very hard, and since last year when Mike ghosted me because he ‘didn’t want to be my cook, cleaner and nurse’, twenty four hours after he proclaimed his love and that he would not let me die alone, my emotional strength has been even more fragile. I also lost my dog a week or so after the death of my sister.
I have had some bad news today and have wept and feel I will never stop weeping.
All the PTSD I’ve suffered because of my neurological disease seems to haunt me again, and feelings of worthlessness are constant companions. I have no resilience to weather the storms, even literal ones. And the loss of the view of the harbour has impacted me deeply.
I am a changed person since September last year, and the passive aggression of Abby G Poetree has hurt me far more than my relationship with her warranted. I had been trying to nurture a friendship, but she is hard work.
I am grateful to Tanya and John. They are friends indeed, and during this pandemic we all need to show kindness more than ever before.
Someone arranged to meet me today. I spent a while thinking about cancelling. Then I realised it would do me the world of good to get out in the sunshine, and I could get groceries afterwards.
We outside in the sunshine. It was so mild. We talked for ages. Then we parted company and I went to the market.
I felt good when I got home. My friend has plans for meeting again. I need this so much. Many of my friends are too afraid of the pandemic to go anywhere, which frustrates me.
I have been writing. I feel quite happy with my life. I may have someone staying here for a short while as they need to sort some issues out. If this happens, I shall enjoy it.
The autumn sun is good on my skin, even though less of it is exposed.
I picked all the unripened figs from the tree. I looked up what to do about them. When I came home, I found more flowers in bloom in the garden. I am pleased.
