right here right now
and in the end Peter Pan stole Tinkerbell's wings so she'd never leave him
I’ve always thought that lust was some kind of spell; a spell that can be easily broken, or if you are really really lucky, a spell that just fades away over time. When you first meet someone the way the look, act, smell, or even dance, conjures up feelings of attraction that if powerful enough develops into infatuation and therefore lust. But like any spell, lust is rose-tinted, a sheen of shiny newness, of goodness, of possibility, of hope. Lust is fur coat nae knickers, it hides flaws, hides those imperfections that will become niggles, deal breakers.
Once the spell is broken, it can’t be just magic’d back.
I’m addicted to the spell; i’m easily bewitched by something new, something shiny, something full of possibilities. You could call this spell temptation, you could call it very wrong; but if you have ever been touched by it, then you know at the time it feels oh so right. But, the fire burst, the magic is never to last. The spell for me is often broken so quickly, often so sharply that I am left empty, like my favourite toy has been taken away, like my raison d’etra is to be Tinkerbell, eternally adored, eternally alone in a bubble of sparkles which whilst pretty, is oh so empty.
I have yet to learn to live with the niggles, I have yet to learn that fading magic is better than moments of pure pure pleasure.
But I take it day by day.
Kx
P.s apologies, but there is something up with my blog right now.. almost of my sidebar has gone away, i am working to get this back!
To me family, has never been blood related, but love related, nurture rather than nature, care over something that whilst was not theirs originally is theirs now. It’s a real family, one that I have been lucky to be given, one I am truly thankful for. But, although nurture has always nurtured me well, I have no shame in admitting that having a real family is something I have always desired, dreamed of; to have someone one day looking back at me and saying, mum you’re mine. But to one day have that family taken away from me is inconceivable.
Let me state this for the record – both mothers and fathers have rights to their children. In making a child you sign up for joint responsibility for life. One of you can’t be bought out of the hire-purchase agreement or sell your share. One of you can’t buy the other out from underneath. One of you can’t sit pretty, holding all the papers, forcing the other to bend to your will
But even though religion and the lack of a husband can no longer force women to let go of their children (as was with my mother); it seems that our rights to our children as mothers can be bought or still taken away from us through lying, deceit and down right dirty tricks. It seems that the some men feel they have the right to marry, to have a child, and then for that child to not be used as a pawn and out-dated anarchic law the game.
In an age of equal opportunity, where gay rights, black rights, animal rights (and anti-everythingism) you would think that after we finally won the right for women to have rights, well, we would have rights. But I guess the EU and particularly the Irish Government doesn’t recognise that along with the rest of us.
This post is part of the Save One Mammy campaign. Mammy is fighting for the permission to leave Ireland together with her English-born daughter and return home to England; something her estranged husband is trying to prevent by all means and for seemingly egotistical reasons only. Parental alienation, unfair hearings and a clear and blatant violation of every EU citizen’s right to free movement are just a few of the hurdles she has to overcome. Please help us to raise awareness and visit her blog to support her in her campaign.
Visit the Save one Mammy campaign!
Kx
Life isn’t meant to feel like one long fin de siècle. But if you can’t quite expect joie de vivre, then there should be at least some moments of joy, light, relief, happiness. Months have gone by with the most energetic thing I did all day being getting out of bed, and sometimes I didn’t even do that. I’d been barely peeling open my eyes, hardly stretching and walking through life hunch backed.
It obviously couldn’t go on; but grey settles, grey is hard to shift. When life is grey, then everything is grey, food is for fuel, alcohol to forget and sex is a means to an end. Grey isn’t a new pair of shoes or a night out or a quick email with a friend. Grey means deep cleaning, scratching raw, picking scabs to find out if there is anything still fresh underneath.
Grey can’t be beaten with half baked promises to challenge yourself. Grey needs confidence, grey needs you to face the fears, break the routines that keep you in the dark and cold, even when the sun is shining.
Going on holiday, seeing real romance, having real fun, looking at things with fresh eyes, getting happy, putting a smile on my face, making more time for friends, making more time for me, cuddling my poor broken cat, moving back to my old house, starting my Msc degree at university; all of these things have been helping lift the gloom, restoring the light. The grey is still lurking but for now I am distracted by shiny new things.
You can see the flames of your wasted life
You should be ashamed
You don’t want to waste your life
I walk along these hillsides in the summer neath the sunshine
I am feathered by the moonlight falling down on me
Change, change, change
Change is good
Kx
(Counting Crows – A Murder of One)
In life there is little time for time alone but tomorrow, all action, all time, will stop just for one day to make peace and reflection the focus.
For whilst tomorrow will bring back the pain of loss for so many, tomorrow for me will be about just one small family and their small loss. In this big wide world, with a backdrop of the date, we are nothing, but to them, he was everything. I ask you to think of us tomorrow as we deserve your thoughts as well.
I did not die
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle Autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush.
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there;
I did not die.
This loss may not be my loss, but this pain is my own; for all you who have lost, the people around you lose too – to see pain in someone’s eyes is also pain for you.
Kxx