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Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Statutory Warning: Drama Ahead - Please do NOT read if you are a practical, prosaic person (unless you want to know how others live).

Today, after years I felt the urge to cut myself. For those hearing about this for the first time - please don't panic. I am not suicidal, neither am I intent on harming myself - I just hate the fact that I have no self control at times. For me, a little cut on my pinky finger used to be a great way of putting any "emotional" pain I was feeling into context.

Like I said, it's been years - so what made me slip today?

-Lack of self control
-Getting too caught up in my dreams (the real deal - not day dreams)
-The inability to believe the evidence of my fucking senses. I believed that I was practical enough and tough enough to have learned that there's no use banging my head against the wall. Much better to climb over it or find another route.

And yet today, like a sap, I gave in to this child inside me. The softie that is a sucker for a beating. The imbecile who makes the same mistake again and again. The absolute dolt...that just does not learn.

But... if for no other reason than to not let scorpions across the world down I will dig deep. I will find the anger and the wrath that can get me out of this soup, and I WILL NOT BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THIS FUCKING WALL AGAIN.


Thursday, February 16, 2012

Miss Margaret

When I was 10 I changed schools, moving from a coed school to an all girls school run by nuns. My life changed completely in many ways - someday I'll write more about that - but today I want to memorialize "Miss Margaret".

In my old school every teacher was called just that - "teacher". I still remember the long drawn out "Good Morning Teacher" we used to chorus every morning. In my new school I was perplexed to find that every teacher was to be addressed as "Miss ___". For someone for whom "Miss" was the title of an unmarried lady, it was difficult to adjust to called married women in their 40s and 50s "Miss". But I learned. (I never did adjust to calling strange girls "girly" - but more about that some other time)

Anyway, the English teacher in the 6th and 7th standards was "Miss Margaret". Those of you who like what I write can thank her, those who don't, can blame her, for she was the first person who made me think I could write what others would enjoy reading. She was the first person who gave me that thrill that runs through you when you create something and someone appreciates it. I liken it to what a mother must feel when someone appreciates her new born baby. [Mothers everywhere must be up in arms at my daring to compare the creation of a baby to the creation of a story... but though I've not had a child I think any one who has created something - whether a story, a painting or a song - must feel something of the same.]

Anyway, getting back on track once more, thank you Miss Margaret for opening my eyes to one of my greatest loves. I may have found my way without you - but I'm glad I didn't have to risk it!