An Hour Later.

Busy. Busy. Busy. Quite a few weeks since my last entry.

  The first time I read my story was in the book (pictured) – an early draft sent to me some years ago. I was really upset about how assumptions were made that were neither true nor accurate. I am pleased to say the published book is far more faithful to my recollections – but there were more arguments of how the end was portrayed. More of that later.

  Anyway chapter one.

  The book opens with what surely is the sublimation for all sins. Voluntary work! Working for no money? Well, I suppose it does make you feel good that’s if you need to feel good. And did I need to feel good about myself! In the mid 1990s, I had such a low self worth that I would have literally done anything to make myself feel better. Well, perhaps not anything.

  It still saddens me to say that I still battle with that fragile image even today.

  Those were such good days working with the cats for they can teach you so much: independence, survival, tenacity and most of all unconditional love. Can there ever be a bigger comeuppance if your pet cat leaves home because they don’t like you or your home? Some people are so cruel to pets – throwing them out when they want to go on holiday, or because they clash with their new wallpaper. But then you have to accept that some people are totally worthless human beings.

  Does everyone need love? I guess it depends on the sort of love you receive. For there are many kinds. Is love never having to say you are sorry? If only life were that simple!

  Did I know then how much animals would inevitably play a part in my life? Never! Did I know then how those summer months would unravel in 1994? Nope.

  Maybe I should ask myself, ‘what if nothing was said…’

  S.

  Home sweet home?

  Posted June 12th, 2012

  I noticed this morning a few Union Jack flags looking a little bedraggled in the rain. I suppose it is good to have a national event that people can celebrate – even my local paper got in on the act (above.) Up and down the country, I imagined families in their homes having a fleeting moment of patriotism during the Jubilee celebrations.

  But imagine not having a home … I can’t. Imagine things getting so bad that you just leave and go to some big city and scramble around to survive. Imagine just packing a bag and walking out, with no note, and no goodbye. How bad would it have to be for you to do that? But you would have no responsibilities, no bills to pay and no one to look after but yourself. I can, in a warped sort of way, see the attraction of just opting out but it was never an option for me. Underneath this fragile exterior lies a bit of a fighter – some even say a survivor.

  I remember this particular day as if it were yesterday. She came stumbling along the bus aisle and sat noisily across from me. She was too chatty, babbling away to anyone who would listen. Dear God, I sound such a bitch but I didn’t need that scenario on that particular day. I would not have minded but she expected me to join in the conversation as well. The bus jogging and stopping every few minutes and the constant chatter made my head ache and I just wanted to get home.

  So is it any wonder that I wanted my own car?

  Little did I know at the time how big a part that word CAR would play in my life, or should I say, all of our lives.

  SW.

  Recreation

  Posted July 10th, 2012

  Such an odd word to recreate. Sometimes my head wanted to burst with thoughts I did not want to recreate but other times I knew I had no option but to relate them to someone who would listen.

  Home to me was the privacy of my own room and just like a womb like existence I could always relax best in my own company. Was I a loner? You must judge that for yourself - if you read the book.

  My bedroom door could easily shut out the unwanted noise of the shallow, synthetic company below, if only it was as easy as to shut out the world of memory in my mind. Why couldn't your memory have a delete button just like on a computer?

  Some mothers are odd aren't they? Does any daughter really get on with their mother? That sounds mean, but look at it another way, I mean, how do you look upon your mother? Mothers: on whom the family is supposed to revolve – but do they? And what is a family? A God made process to keep us all together in tribal existence. Loved ones is the modern word for family and this description really really irritates me. I know, I sound bitter today, perhaps I am.

  I guess my mother isn’t much different from everyone else's mother, ambitions, self-centered at times, difficult to understand and with a terrible affliction to feel it necessary to better everyone else. No, that's unkind, she suffered as well and despite me putting her through so much, in the end she came through for me – and you cannot ask anyone for more than that.

  My father: this outward good-looking man with charisma and charm and how my friends envied me. And how I basked in their envy. Was that part of the problem? A whiff of an aftershave or a word can, even today, suddenly evoke all those memories and sometimes I feel the tears in my eyes.

  But are they for me or my family?

  Going to stop now before I say too much.

  Having a really bad day.

  SW.

   

  Friends

  Posted July 31st, 2012

  What are friends? People to confide in? Today, I have a few good close friends, back then, I didn’t like anyone enough to call them friends. Sorry Liz! Friends think they know you but they can also be intrusive and a bloody nuisance.

  Pandora (may God bless her) was my friend. She never judged or condemned. A real friend is undemanding and most of all understanding. Do you think there is someone like that in my life now – do I deserve someone like that in my life?

  Back to the book. Page 27. I remember that March afternoon vividly. How detached and off-standing I must have seemed when she approached me. She was young poor and pushing a pram. I can still see the babies vacant stare. I turned away not wanting to prolong any possible encounter. I was what you would call aloof. What a terrible word!

  But money is the root of all evil. She had none and suddenly an unexpected feeling of sympathy overwhelmed me. So, I helped her and at the same time helped myself. Does that sound self righteous?

  Sorry, it was not meant to.

  S.W.

  Page 41.

  Posted: August 29th, 2012

  Hallelujah! My name appears for the first time on page 41.

  That evening, I was embraced by such a warm and understating family that I momentarily wished I belonged to them – or was even independent. How contrary was the greeting when I returned to my home. Talking of independence – what is that? A non dependence on whom?

  Words are such odd things.

  Back to the book. It’s funny how the connotation of black lingerie lingers in men’s minds (and women) as they both buy to entice. Suddenly I felt demeaned and merely a sexual object. Nothing new there! It was no gift, it was more of a sexual comment but I smiled sweetly and accepted the gesture – whatever that was. Reading page 36 back to myself, it comes across as my friend being the instigator of the purchase. But I can definitely say it wasn’t.

  And how ironic that a throw away remark before I left that evening would snowball and not only consume my thoughts but that of my comfortable existence. Life is made up of sentences that take on a far greater meaning than is not always intended.

  This evening, as I type this, are there any regrets?

  Many.

  S

  Sociable

  Posted October 9th, 2012

  Another month and still no blog from me. Not very good at all these printed words on screen! But my story in print. Who would have thought it? Started off as a wild idea, then when I saw the first chapter taking shape I knew it had to continue.

  What are innuendoes and allegations? Merely opinions based on hearsay with no facts. How easily these can destroy a person, how easy the wrong conclusion can be formed. And the worst part is you never know the source, just whispers and gossip. These horrible stories fo
rm in people’s minds and even worse is that people believe them.

  People relish other people’s misfortune, for some seem to thrive on hearing misery. The opposite to misery is of course forced jollity and our house was cramped to the rafters with that. We seem to be in an age of where adults want to act like children or is it just a vain attempt to re capture their youth!

  And why does everyone want to sing? And worse why does everyone want to listen to them?

  Am I a party-pooper? Perhaps.

  Maybe I am a realist … I wonder!

  Next time. An error in the book! Only small but it is there nevertheless. I will post a picture and you can see it for yourself.

  S.

  Anonymous Admirers are Anonymous

  Posted November 7th, 2012