Away. Away. Away.

And then I found myself here, in the quiet, in the place I've longed to be. And I'm a contradictory mix of bliss and fear and joy and, and... It's beautiful and the silence is interrupted only by birds twittering, rain falling on the roof (it's rained, a lot!), the occasional donkey walking past and the even more occasional car. I can feel my soul slowly unwinding.

I am blogging as myself, elsewhere, keeping this blog as its semi-anonymous self. I like this place, this haven I've created, but I wanted to be able to blog for everyone I've left behind without losing the anonymity of this one. Anybody who's interested, please put your e-mail address in the comments and I'll happily send you the link.

Spring

Each year, without fail, I forget what a grumpy monster I turn into during the dark days of Winter. All I can say is thank the gods I don’t live in Europe with its way-too-long Winter, I might not have any friends at all if I did! Then, again without fail, Spring comes along and I feel the dark cloud lift and my personality starts wiggling around in the sun and I can feel the smile coming back.

This year is no exception. Our trip into the beautiful Karoo was the perfect celebration for the beginning of Spring – breathing fresh air, meeting new people, clearing the cobwebs from my head, opening me up to the newness of another Spring, all fresh and light-green-leaf-budded. Is there anything more beautiful than a tree in its new Spring dress?

And so, I’m welcoming it all, opening myself up to all that life can offer me, crawling out from the Winter darkness and blinking in the sunlight, its warmth on my face to the sky. I have had one of those weeks that have restored my faith in humankind. Despite having a momentary wobble (again) about privacy on this here blog, I reminded myself that it’s my stream of consciousness, be it egotistical, fantastical, or real, and I love it. I still claim my anonymity, even though it's not quite as anonymous as it used to be.

I’ve got back into watching movies, seen friends, met people, remembered my personality and (here I’m going to sound egotistical but I’m referring to the world, not my personality as such) it is good.

Happy Spring.

Thirty Days of Truth

I am, in case you hadn’t noticed, making an effort to write more and, in the pursuit of keeping the momentum going and in bringing this blog back to me, trying to pry open my shell and stop writing about everything else except for me, I am going to attempt to do 30 Days of Truth. Probably not in thirty consecutive days, but I shall work through all thirty prompts.

I’m not sure of the whole origin of it, I searched and searched, but only got to The List, which I hope is the original, but might not be! Apologies if I'm not acknowledging the right origins. The internet is a spiderweb. How profound am I?

I will, also, attempt to write about the first thing that springs to mind when reading the prompt. I promise to push through my (oh-so-blasé-by-now) privacy issues and write completely honestly, no holds barred. Or maybe just one or two holds barred. Or is it bars held? Buggerit I don’t even think the saying ‘no holds barred’ makes sense.

You get what I’m getting at, surely?

Looking inward, literally

I lay watching my insides this morning. My liver, pancreas, kidneys, hiding behind each other, under my layers of skin, like children behind their mother’s skirts. They were simultaneously inside me, and on the screen. At one point she turned the colours on and I could see my blood pumping furiously through them, willing them on to stay plump and happy. The report was all good. It’s a weird feeling, though.

When we arrived, a panicked man was driving behind his, his flickers flashing. He nudged rudely past as we turned into our parking, then turned around and drove the wrong way back, parking directly in front of the entrance to the hospital. Opening the back door of the car he helped a heavily pregnant woman out. All thoughts of rude man flew out of my head as I saw The Stork fly over. I cried at the thought of such excitement. I’m a sissy that way.

Then I looked at my insides. While I lay there watching them swirl, I realised that this blog has metamorphosised into something it wasn’t before. I’m beginning to write stories about other people, and ignoring those about me. I know what it is. I attended enough Psych 101 classes with my friends at varsity to be able to see through myself.

It’s that privacy thing again. People I know read this. I am always amazed at how other people write so blatantly and honestly on their blogs. I am in awe of that. Perhaps they too, though, are only allowing glimpses into certain parts, leaving others in the dark. I also fear that I may have lost my sense of humour, though. It feels dark in here.

Maybe that’s just me?

Blogging and honesty

I have been trying, really hard, to be a better blogger. Like in, one that blogs regularly. My initial plan for April was every day, then I decided perhaps every working day after the first (unsuccessful) week. Then I decided maybe I could make up the 'gaps' by blogging twice in a day a couple of days. Then I gave up. May is a new month, let's see what ideas I come up with for then. My brain just seems to be a barren wasteland when it comes to writing.

In the interest's of becoming a better blogger, I decided to venture out of my usual realm of fabulous bloggers who I read regularly, and find some others to see what other people do.

I spent an entire day reading a woman's blog that I stumbled across and becoming more and more amazed by humans. It was filled with (fascinating) tales of primary-school-type best friend poiltics (e.g. she ran off with my ex-boyfriend so now I'm not talking to her anymore), alcopop and shooter-fuelled nights out in clubs, vomiting in bathrooms and a whole cast of men passing through the blogger's bed. I was horrified to realise as I got deeper and deeper into the back stories that it actually belonged to a woman who is the mother of not only a tweenie/young teenaged daughter, but a 17-year old son too.

Far be it for me to judge, I don't have children and can't even imagine how hard it is to rear them, especially single-handedly, but I must admit to thinking that perhaps it's not a wonder that 16-year old son has 'behavioural problems'. Beside all that, though, her blatant honesty was refreshing and, while her naivete was astounding after reading her history, her soul glowed through it all - clear and beautiful and heart-wrenchingly broken, so many times. Tough cookie.

My point? Not sure I have one, other than a refreshed desire to write more, and honestly, and openly, and push those privacy issues into a corner (or, preferably, out the door completely).

In the good news, I'm off to the Big Smoke this weekend to go to a wedding of two of the nicest people I know - two boys. It's my first gay boy wedding and I'm terribly excited. As I've discussed before, I believe that love doesn't see gender or colour or religion etc (a post of its own - coming soon), and there is nothing lovelier than seeing two people who have found each other and want to stay together. And I get to see my gorgeous baby nephews, who are crawling and teething, and being generally fabulous. Yippee!

Let's see what May brings, shall we?

So much to tell

I have been quiet, it's true. As I alluded to in a couple of previous posts - I have been busy falling in love. When this happens, I find that time runs away, like a Jack Russel puppy after a small red plastic bone (I've had one a-visiting The Big Black Dog, thus the analogy). And my whole falling in love story is something I want to write about, and shout from the rooftops, and be all sickeningly Mills & Boon-ey about, but I've held back. I'm holding back.

It's that bloody privacy thing again. It's at times like this that I think of opening up a whole new, completely anonymous blog. While I have maintained relative anonymity on this one, there are those people who do know me, who read it intermittently (or did. Maybe they've sauntered off again)... Honestly though, it's the fear of my mother reading it. Because I have not told her about my romance, although I think she suspects it. And, well, it's complicated, but I need to tell her first, before you all.

I think.

Then I start to really want to blurt it all out because blogland is filled with people with such good advice. Oh, blegh.

In less obscure news (sorry, I know secret-keeping in blogland is just frustrating really... please, bear with me... I can feel an outpouring is imminent), I went to visit the beautiful baby nephews over the weekend. They're 4 months old and smiley and gurgley and just delicious. This is what they look like now (pics above... can't get them down here for some reason). One sleeping, one awake, both yummy.

I will be better at posting, I have stories to tell. Yes, I'm convincing myself. And I'm reminding myself that this whole blogging thing was (is) an exercise in placing my honest, straight-forward thoughts on paper (screen), no editing, no fancy-edging.

If I think I can, then I can, surely?

Long passages

Yesterday, I somehow managed to stumble upon something I'm not sure I really wanted to stumble upon. The blog of somebody from a long ago time. A boy I loved deeply and, possibly very youth-tintedly many, many moons ago. Someone I have not had contact with for years (not purposefully, it just worked out like that). I felt a little voyeuristic, like I was reading his diary while he was out of his bedroom.

It just happened. I wasn't looking for it, it was just suddenly there. Obviously it didn't just appear on my screen but, like I said, I stumbled upon it and, being the curious thing I am, there was no way that I couldn't click on the link. Of course not! So I wandered through the back corridors of time and The Ether. You know the ones - they're long and sometimes dark, sometimes lit by a candle attached to the wall, and there are literally hundreds of doors through which one can hear familiar sounds - voices that comfort, laughter sometimes, crying other times and behind some doors, a strange hush. It is along those corridors that you walk and stop to listen, itching to open the doors, but knowing you probably shouldn't.

Anyway, I digress. The whole thing freaked me out a bit because, as I've whinged repeatedly (see here, and here), I am so very unsure of the whole availability of this blog thing and it's lack of privacy. I do realise that that's the whole point and that it is, intrinsically, why I am forcing myself to do this, but... It just reiterated that, as I can easily stumble onto other people's blogs, so can they, onto mine. Thus my keeping my name off this, even though all three of you who read this know who I am anyway.

I really am waffling aren't I? (Mmm, waffles, yum). I think my point is, um, okay, I don't have one. I just needed to write about that. You see, there is a whole story here, in fact probably a few, but the privacy thing makes me not want to write it. God forbid I feel exposed. Oh, blegh.

In other news, I received the most hysterical e-mail from Stalkbook this morning. It deserves it's own post though so I'll get onto it later hopefully. It's raining so, logically, that means I should write more. Don't question my logic. It's just the way it is.

I wonder if they make waffles at the canteen at Real Work?

That privacy thing, again. And a sheep.

I've been tagged by the lovely Frank. The thing is, though, that I'm not sure I want to do it. Because I'm silly like that and am so conscious of my privacy. I say I'm silly because I know that the only people who read this, are people who know me anyway but, well, ja. It's Monday you see, and it's one of those Mondays where I'm feeling squirmy and unsure. Go figure.

So, what I'm supposed to do, is take a photo of myself, and then draw my version of it using the Paint application, in only 12 strokes. It's quite fun really, but nothing can convince me this morning to just blatantly reveal my identity. I like being Shiny in this sphere. Just Shiny.

I really like Frank though, and would hate to hurt his feelings so I drew a sheep using Paint instead. In 12 strokes. I like sheep and they're one thing I can draw to look (vaguely) as they should. While I've had many delusions of grandeur regarding my artistic talents, I have had to admit that I'm no Picasso. As simple as that. I'm okay with it though. Really, I am.

So there it is. A sheep, standing in the sunshine, on some lovely green grass, beneath a vast blue sky. I hope it satisfies Frank.

Other than that, I'm a bit sad today. A friend has moved away to a town on the other side of the land. And now it feels a bit empty here. And I don't feel like being in the place I am right now. And my sister was here visiting with all her joyous happenings and now she's gone back to The Big Smoke and I miss her and her joyous happenings already. I would say I'm pre-menstrual, but I'm hoping I'm not because, if I am, it's going to be a long haul!

I wonder if I should worry that I chose to draw a sheep?