Archives for the month of: February, 2013

Dreams… Well you knew already that it wasn’t going to be all about the bees didn’t you!? Did I tell you the one where I was stroking my cat and I tugged on her ears (she likes it) and her head popped off (in the dream)… That was weird. I think I have sinusitis again. My face hurts. This new vac that I have is excellent. Or at least it is when I remember to put the filter back in.

The thing about bees, they are in decline, which is bad because we really need them. There are different reasons for this but the only one you can do anything about is not concrete all your garden and have a range of indigenous plants growing. I wish I had a garden.

My nephew is visiting tomorrow, excited. But I don’t know if I will sleep tonight because of all the above and the dream that I had about recognising my limits as being my strength. Or my limitations are my strength. Hm. I wrote another 8 pages of my book and killed off my protagonist, this is fabulous news as one of the motivations I made was to see the day out with her.

How does this fit together. Is the dream about the cat a really obvious reference to my allergy. I keep forgetting that I am allergic to her (thanks Dyslexia!) but I had been keeping up with the vac-ing. I forget the bedroom, as I pulled up the carpet, to keep the dander down. She is also banned from the bedroom (mostly). I remembered to sweep the floor yesterday and removed a cat sized dust bunny.

I hoovered and polished and then hoovered again for measure. Forgetting to put the filter back on after I emptied it. The engine spat out a cloud of dust, I might as well have not bothered. I had to leave it for a day to settle, so I could hoover and polish over again.

Keeping bees is a good thing cos we need them, but I’m unsure of the ethical implications of harvesting the honey. Honey is said to be good for allergies that are rhino-something based, like mine is. So, a teaspoon of honey a day might help my head. I would be clearer more often and able to write lots. And have the capacity to create the pieces of art that are clamouring for attention.

After my speech, I was thanked by some of the crowd, I told them I was nervous. They said it didn’t show, I thought “So, the bit in the middle where I giggled like a loon, told you my name and said I’m really frightened didn’t tip you off then?”.

In a week I start work then I will have less time to write, but then I will have money and will be able to move. Garden. This is a head full of Ow! Especially, since now I have face ache as well.

For a head full of WOW, find Digital Demigods (Jamie Macpherson). Hola!

For a voice full of WOW, check out Alabama Shakes.

And finally, not that it matters, it was Heidi Klum not Claudia Schiffer.

“If at first you don’t succeed; let go, let go, let go.” (Unknown to me)

I have not been letting go. My mobile phone warned me it was about to give up the ghost and I did not take the appropriate steps to move all my contacts and photographs to a new phone, graciously given to me, by MU. Instead I tried to make the charger work one last time, using the power of my will. It, surprisingly, said yes! So I got cocky wore the battery down and tried again. Fool.

I have let my ego run rampant recently, in new and unexpected ways. Strange ways that I won’t go into. The Buddha was a big fan of letting go. He let go of a whole kingdom and his family. Then he let go of himself.

I am not letting go.

One of my best friends recently lost his mother, she had a very bad fall in the snow. It was unexpected to say the least. What comfort can I give him. Let go? Om Mane Padme Hum on a Wednesday for the next six weeks? You’ll be fine! He wants me to think of loved ones that I’ve lost on Friday at two.

I’ve been invited to talk at a One Billion Rising march. I’ve made a speech but racked with doubt I can not decide whether to back out or not. I’ve been getting involved in fights that are not mine. My energies are fractured. I need to refocus.

What I really want to do, is pack up and drive off. Maybe on my own, maybe with a group of friends. Have lots of music to sing to and books to read. Be able to sit on the metaphorical hill and write my book. I have been writing my book. The story is coming along well. I am cold and my back is hurting and I can not drive. Damn it!

Hugs. What I want is hugs. But not from anyone I can get them from. I want to lie down in a warm bed, with a small bottom pressed into my chest, tiny lips tutting all the while, because I am not being a pillow right.

I had put orange peel in the bowls on the radiators and I forgot and could not work out what the smell was. I have been reading your blogs.

I won’t go on any longer… Have a poem instead…

Love is as breeze is,
through my mind it blows.

Watching dusky sun on hill,
whilst wiggling my toes.

Summer highs in Winter depths,
keep away the lows.

Imagine blooms and birds in flight,
by the ember glows.

Well, aside from the bits that are not, obviously. I’ve been aware of how much I am able to put in now my health is nearly back to normal. I’ve done some washing for a friend, some cleaning for my nan, edited a job application and presentation for another friend and supported yet another friend through a difficult emotional incident.

It feels so good to be able to ‘do’. Having had to accept the help of so many people emotionally and physically over the last year, I realised how much I was trying to do on my own, before I became ill. Allowing people to nurture me, has allowed me the mental space to be able to nurture myself. What a difference it makes.

If you do one thing for yourself, make sure you choose the right friends. Letting go of control is effortless when they are good people you can rely on. I have felt reborn. This is not a happy clappy thing, it was painful, and almost took me out. Letting go of my fierce independence was a wrench. Accepting that I have value even when I am not ‘good Tickertapemind’ was almost inconceivable before I was ill.

So I am grateful to all my friends who broke down my barriers by being loving and nurturing, even when I was not at my best. Even when I was incapable of giving and frequently moody and tearful they held me in their constant care. They have not asked anything from me in return and if they have needed help from me they have graciously accepted. This is living, is it not?

So, on a day where I am counting my blessings, I would also like to say thank you to you. Yes, you, my internet chums! I have brought you with me on one of my most wild adventures so far and you are still here. Reading, observing and bearing witness.

I would like you to know, that I read your blogs when I am able, I don’t always have time to respond, I often forget to like and as for following back… well… You are getting too numerous for me to click on your avatars when you like my posts, so I shall have to do something about that :D

I wish you all well, where ever you are and how ever you feel.
My thoughts are with you,
TickerTapeMind.

Yeah Yeah – Bodyrox ft Luciana.

Pulling up my boots. Got my big girl pants on. Looking at myself in mirror and I wonder how did I get here? This is not my beautiful face. Today I washed my hair and forgot to put conditioner on it, I look like Dianna Ross. Or at least my hair does. I look angry. I have a cleft that makes me look like Andy McDowell. I earned it from not wearing my glasses and ranting.

I could easily go to tomorrows Cultural Strategy meeting, hair wild, jump on the table, tear my top and stab a pen in my fleshy left tit. All whilst screaming, “I am Joan of Art!”

In my mind, I did not move in with Psycho 2, on the day he was emotionally holding me to ransom, I did not resolve the situation, I told him to “Fuck off”, climbed out of the kitchen window and ran like billie-o for the sake of my sanity.

I got rid of him and I made myself ugly. I tried really hard to rub myself out. I got fat and earned a cleft that makes me look perma-angry. My clothes are a mess and my make up is none existent (not that I ever wore much anyway).

Some say I’ve been pupae-ting. If that’s the case, I want to be the Claudia Schiffer some one in Norway once said I looked like, because of my curves apparently. Believe me, if I look like anyone famous it’s Cathy Burke. I’m ok with that, she has mad skillz.

I’m not doing this any more. I have skills. I know what I am doing. I know where I am going and I do not need anyone to get there. I am taking off my stabilisers. I never needed them anyway. He made me think I was useless and I believed him. I am not that person.

I once asked a friend to describe me; he couldn’t decide between Budgie the Little Helicopter or a Dragon with an Opal in it’s claw. I’ve been described as an “accident in a spring factory”, a “great dane puppy” and a “pin ball wizard”. I’m “gorgeous”, with a “big gob and a big heart”. “Scarey” and “intimidating”. I wanted to be told I looked like Minnie Driver in my twenties, but was told I looked like Janice Joplin or Bette Midler. Recently, I was likened to Susan Boyle.

What I have not been recently is the Dragon with an Opal in it’s claw. I have been waiting for a resurgence, a renaissance. It is not forth coming and I am not getting any younger. So after fishing around for opinions to take to the Cultural Strategy, I thought Fuck It. I’m going on behalf of me. Nan bought me an Opal pendant for Christmas, 1st Dad gave it to me the day we fixed the wall. I am going to wear that Opal and I am going to be “Joan of Art”.

The protagonist of my book is called Joan. She’s more me than I thought. I’m going Renegade. Catch you in the slip stream!

This might not seem like a blessing. It might hint at deep and tortuous family rifts. In my families instance, it might have initially, but my mother is a remarkable woman. She should have been named Constance. She has a right to privacy. This is my story. With more plot lines than even I was able to follow at times. The running joke was and still is, “Has your Dad called?”. “Which one?”.

So, to help you I will tell you the Dad of the previous post is 2nd Dad (in chronological order). It gets easier to follow, they have their own personalities :D

Years ago my brother put a hole in my wall when he was drunk. I was away with my mother and missed the whole glorious episode. I had a full breakdown from the neighbours which was hilarious. Not. The teenage son of one of them asked him if he’d been in prison when he hadn’t been seen for a while. Anyhow, 1st Dad is very good with his hands, so he fixed the wall, but he put shelves in the hole.

My brother never paid for the work. He was an angry man and had somehow rationalised that it was my fault. Now I have to move, I have to remove the shelves or the landlords will hammer me for money I do not have. 1st Dad to the rescue again. Over the years I have become a bit of a builders mate to him.

We talked as we always do whilst we worked. I made him some dinner, he’s another good eater. And we chewed the cud. He knows me like no one else. I know him like I know myself. I am my fathers daughter. Just as I am my mothers daughter. Just as I am my other fathers daughter! And yet, of all my parents, he knows me most; saying the least. We have the gift of a very rich non-verbal communication.

He has an IQ of 148 and he too is Dyslexic. The bits that no one else gets come from him. My mother only knows about these bits because she knows him. It helps me understand myself, when I have doubts, to watch him. Then I can settle and know that I am not alone in this world, in my ways. There is nothing abnormal about me. I do not feel five minutes in front or five behind, I am right on time with 1st Dad.

I thought that my family had failed me. They had not. The one thing I can say is that my upbringing has been unorthodox. It was not bourgeois, it was not the worst of lives, it certainly was not mediocre. Because of my mother, I have had 4 constant parents. Granted their efficacy at various stages in my life has been questionable, but right now, I can see how they have all shaped me. I am fully rounded.

2nd Dad (the Yorkshire Buddha) rang to ask about bay leaves. I’m stupidly happy he is making stew.

Woodkid – I love you. For the bit of me that is done with tragedy and hopes for a little romance.

I started the piece for MSF today and wrote some more.

Tuesday, I spent the day with my Dad. He’s got high blood pressure and has to stop eating salt. I taught him to make a stew and said now he knew how to make nearly everything. He doesn’t believe me. He ate the full pan in one day (three meals), he walks 10 miles a day, so he can get away with it. In summer he walks more. Or did, now the dog is gone, I worry for him.

Wednesday, I went to the opera to see Otello. I cried. The ticket was a gift. Not for me for my friend, The Ukraine. Her husband decided that he did not want to go and I was the lucky beneficiary.

Thursday, I went to the cinema to see Les Miserables. I cried. I forgot my discount card but the woman still gave me a discounted ticket for a pound, which my friend The Boffin paid for.

Friday, I saw my Dad again as it was his Birthday. He brought me some pre-cut stir fry veg. I told him on Tuesday that one tub was enough for two meals and he laughed and said one. What he had brought me was the second of the tubs saying that he couldn’t eat it all. Go figure!

Saturday, I offered one of my pieces of art to be used as a prize in a tombola to raise money for Medicin Sans Frontiere, they accepted. I’m so pleased. In the evening, a pal came to pick me up (The Facilitator) for a party and it was BYOB, so I bought 8 cans, this was not a night to be one beer short. I declined to perform. And I danced and danced and danced. So many people were out. I was drunk and I was dancing. We walked home and I swore all the way dragging my suitcase behind me. It was excellent.

Today, I was allowed to open my presents from Miss India. For Christmas I got Pirates in an Adventure With Scientists with matching sticker book and a novel called The Dark Side of Love.

Here is the amazing list of India gifts:

A scarf.
A bag.
Some henna.
A packet of Bindi (decorative dots put in between the eyebrows).
15 post cards, one of which is hand painted and dated 1967.
Earl Grey Tea.
An Om pendant.
And a small Bronze statue of Hanuman.

She was going to save some for my birthday in August but couldn’t wait to give me them.

The best part? Ever since I was a little girl I heard stories about Hanuman. I have been in love with him all my life. By accident I have had several boyfriends with nicknames like monkey and chimp! I never thought that I would ever be fortunate to have my very own Hanuman statue. And here he is in my house.

I’ve been listening to all sorts too much to mention but check out Asa – The Way I Feel. Last night they play M.I.A’s Bad Girl.

When you have time and would like to watch a movie, you MUST watch Sita Sings the Blues. It is free to view on Youtube.

The last few months have been so hard going that it has been difficult to see the beauty around me. I won’t try and rewrite history and pretend everything has been fine. This is not the way the world works. How can we ever appreciate the beauty and the love in the world, if we never experience hard times.