back ...

Of course I was being silly in my previous posts. As a human being, I suppose I have the right to feel down from time to time. And this summer has been particularly depressing in this part of the world for several reasons. Every morning I wake up, look out of my window, and feel like diving into bed again. Why? Well, after an ugly grey brutal winter, all we have had this summer is rain, rain and more iffing rain. It is dark all day long, from the minute you open your eyes to the minute you close them. And the air is heavy. Heavy with moisture and rain.

But then I am silly and ungrateful right. Wasn't I away for almost a month hopping from one country to the next in the Old World. Wasn't I on a beach overlooking the Mediterranean in Turkey for almost a week, soaking in the sun? And don't I still look like a zebra with tan lines running in all directions across my body? And didn't I have fun? Loads of fun, in fact? And wasn't all that just a month ago?

So what is wrong?

What is wrong is that I am an ungrateful cow who either has everything my way -- or want nothing at all from this world. It is either black, very black, or pink. Rosy pink. My rules are simple: I want fun, loads of it; I love simplicity, I am straightforward; I don't want to have anything to do with complex, crazy, complicated, complex-ridden people ever; and I want comfort - and contrary to popular belief it doesn't even have to be high end - simply because I enjoy making things myself. How many people here know that I have a sewing machine? That I love making my own curtains and drapes and cushions and quilts? That I sew and embroider? And stitch and paint and cut and carve? And work with wood, and a hammer, and a saw? And can work a soldering iron and cut glass? And make my own lamp shades? And spin a potter's wheel? And make pots and figurines? And paint them and glaze them and burn them and turn them. And play in the clay and the mud. And pick fruit. And then remove the stones, and make my own jam. And when the jam is ready to go, I get the flour out. And whip up a nasty dough, which makes great cookies if cut and baked alone. Just as I can sustain myself, and survive Survivour, I choose to live life according to my own twisted rules - and not those dictated by Big Brother. And even though I can do everything I want for myself on my own, I still need security, loads of it. And I need to feel I belong. And I want to belong. And I can't belong - simply because I don't.

And I will snap out of it. And nothing will change. I will not change the world and the world will not change me. And we will continue battling it out and at the end, the world will triumph. And the dark clouds will gobble up everything and there will be no more light - not even that faint glimmer which forces its way through the heavy drapes I put together and tickles my eyelids every morning, forcing my lashes to part.

But I am annoyed. And have every right to be annoyed. Annoyed not because I am always good - but because I am always wronged. Annoyed not because I always forgive - but because this easily given forgiveness is perceived as an act of weakness. I am not weak. Was never weak. Will never be weak. I just have no time and energy for games. Mental games aren't for me. I love simple, uncomplicated things. Very simple things. And lots of fun.

And that last Batman movie. It really annoyed me too. It was dark and evil and had to close my eyes through many of the scenes. And for the record, I actually screamed a couple of times too. I left the theatre disturbed. Violence makes me cring. As well as loud things. And loud people. Even people who laugh loudly. There is something disturbing and sinister about them. They aren't real... but then a lot of things aren't real. Like me having to go grocery shopping today. Or having to clean the house. Or having to cook. Or trying to juggle a couple of writing projects and making time to play video games - all at the same time.