Stress!

No, not about you go away. I don't know why but its become habit whenever something upsets me I rush to write it down almost as though writing it somehow either cleanses or allows me to wallow who knows perhaps its both.

Maybe because change is inevitable where there was closeness any change must be distance. All I know is something happened, almost a nothing, but it upset me and so here I am whining about it. You see what it is may in one sense appear unimportant to me but in reality its a manifestation of something much deeper confirmation of something I didn't want to see or admit to myself.

Its a kind of writing blind or more accurately reading blind but unlike so much that tears me up inside this is honestly nothing like that. Its a recognition and because its recognised its an ending.

Oh, alright! I know I'm full of anxiety, regret, anger, disbelief and impotence but I'm honest enough to know I can't go back to the way it was. In effect what that means is I won't see them I'm not even sure I still like them I do know its not their fault, but I'm me and instinctively where I don't trust I don't go.

Anyone looking at the last five years would see the truth of ignoring that instinctive lack of trust, the extension into others is perhaps natural may even be a perfectly normal part of aging but it doesn't feel like it. It hurts I don't think I'll see much of them when/if I get home.

A Shrine a Day

Is something I've never created or used. I used to have an altar I had two one in my bedroom and one in the garden. I stopped not because I didn't believe in them both are my creations they contain whatever I endowed. No, I stopped using them because I felt my space had been invaded I was no longer comfortable and since neither are essential to belief I stopped.

I used to create the circle I stopped that when I stopped creating the altars. In a way it has been no hardship an altar is not for the Gods or the deities its for us to allow us to focus. The Gods don't need it and whilst I agree that if you create a shrine to them in what you imagine is their image and they should happen to glance at it and see something they dislike or consider incomplete then there might be a small accident and who knows it might be them letting you know you need to get such homage right.

Its not about shrines or altars its about what you bring to them that can't be bought in a shop or created on a bench and you need to ask yourself if a shrine as big as a shoe box and crammed in a smallish room with so many other shrines is what you want to do to honour your Gods.

I'm no expert all I know is what I've read and what I believe and what I believe is that its what you give of yourself that counts not what you put on a stool or a sideboard.

You also need to stop worrying about what others think of what you do or how you do it! You're an expert in your field and a very good historian, time you became more exclusive. Be exclusive become the one they seek.

Having said all that you play with fire when you bring children or extravagant unworkable ideas into things. Where children are concerned I don't give a fuck who you are when you post a picture albeit a drawing of a child being buggered by a devil you go too far, and when you advise that going naked is best and more fun in a world where such behaviour in general public is likely to get the exhibitionist arrested you are possibly putting young, naive people at risk and that too is going too far.; .

I Cooked Chicken

Again. I did consider alternatives, everything from salmon to beef to giving up and going oriental for Christmas dinner. I couldn't bring myself to do it all my life I've had turkey for Christmas but I couldn't bring myself to go as far as turkey either.

A turkey is too big for one person, a crown would be OK but that would leave cats and dogs with no treat at Christmas dinner: we all have to have a special Christmas dinner. I decided on chicken because chickens are so much smaller and still  have the legs and wings that the cats and dogs eat and I don't, and by pure coincidence Herself loved chicken best and she will have been gone a full three sad months tomorrow.

So chicken it was but I have I admit it made a mistake. I should have given them their main meal first, that's what I should have done. I didn't do that, instead they've been wolfing chicken as fast as I can cut it. and now I know they won't eat their dinner not because they're not hungry but because a tin of proper cat and dog food can't and won't be compared to chicken, they'll be trying to look half starved all night.

I'm not sure if good news is being signaled or if its more threats but tis the season to be hopeful so I'm hoping.

Its That Time Again

Even Santa needs a little light.

When I was a child we used to chant:

Christmas is coming the geese are getting fat
Please put a penny in the old mans hat
If you haven't got a penny
A ha'penny will do
If you haven't got a ha'penny?
Then GOD BLESS YOU

To all those who believe I wish you a very merry Christmas

The Addict

My beautiful Jezzie is an addict! To support her disgusting habit she has taken to stealing from the coffee table when she thinks I'm not looking. I know its her she and I are the only ones who even like them.

Yesterday we ran out OMG the fuss! In the end I had to give in and get on to Tesco for fresh supplies and this morning they arrived: Ten bags of chocolate eclairs.

Jezzie is very protective of her stash she has taken up an aggressive stance beside the coffee table, you must remember the coffee table its the one Freddie made for Mum and Dad it really doesn't need her paws all over it.

We now have enough eclairs to, I hope, see me and the addict through until after Christmas when she is going cold turkey and I am going on a diet. it was a big mistake to buy them at all after Christmas we are not having sweets in the house.

Do you know she eats her meat until she sees me go into the living room then she follows me in, sits in front of me and points her chin at the eclairs its unmistakable.

Ho hum the other two are in the garden the eclairs are on the table Jezzie is watching the eclairs, I'm watching her...and the eclairs...Naughty girl!

If She Stops and Thinks About it 2

And what of her? That's the killer proof isn't it, they'd leave her in one of those tiny boxes, knowing the harm they've done, knowing she wouldn't leave her cats and dogs and knowing she hated the place and couldn't trust the people.

None of that would matter would it her well being didn't even figure. All debate has been totally narcissistic among a gang who appear to honestly believe they have the right to blacklist, censor, of course she knows she's censored, injure and insult at will.

Her health and welfare were and still are irrelevant to them all. She doesn't mind that its as it should be right up to the point where it becomes criminal, a physical threat and increases her isolation and then she has no choice but to take action.

For why all this began? Because a complete newbie to the internet became a nuisance and they believe they have the right to decide who can be a blogger or a commenter and who can't.

In pursuit of securing their poisonous aims some very serious crimes were and are being committed and no it would not be hard to prove, and just think of the damage to really important worthwhile causes covering every area including child abuse, wild life preservation, the environment, social reform and politics.

If She Stops to Think About it

She’s almost certain, because he and his friends knew the situation was becoming impossible, that they thought all he needed to do was have a quiet word with his mates on St V de P and Bobs your uncle she’d be safely, painlessly and above all cheaply dumped in one of their dreadful hovels in town.

Problem if not solved then locked and he would even get added kudos from the kind way he helped her the strange English woman into ‘good’ accommodation, and maybe in time the house could be bought at a considerable discount and he would have the whole of the old farm.

How perfect is that? Out of sight, out of mind, a nice profit and best of all she would still be imprisoned close enough for them to know what she was doing at all times.

He and that creature he married are so respectable the town would believe anything he said, well they might not but this is Ireland no one would be interested in the truth particularly if it came from an English accent.

And so we've had the endless sick mind games from the guilty, those who so want to believe they've covered their tracks that they almost do believe it regardless of the facts and common sense.

She sits in the cold, miserable house fit for nothing more than demolition and what warms her is knowing that its her decision, as soon as she’s ready the whole thing blows wide open she’s almost reached the stage of looking forward to it.

The thing about psychological games is its hard to know what the result will be or when you've gone too far, taking pictures, going to and invading her home was far too far. It hurt her emotionally, psychologically and physically and why would anyone be surprised that was after all the intention. So well done now suffer the if everything is agreed really rather less than painful consequences

You think she's gaining anything? Think on this: she must have spent about fifty years looking forward to retiring to Ireland...Thanks again... 

Blogging

I doubt I'll ever really stop although any blog named Pippakin and any of mine on other sites may well be discontinued. It depends, is all according, in the lap of the Gods, particularly mine. I'm very fragile I might without going into too great detail attempt to explain what such anxiety feels like. How many people worry that their cats and dogs will come home safe even from their own gardens?

I don't know, what I do know is that it aint over until its agreed and I aint agreed nuffin, which is not surprising because I aint been offered nuffin.

It occurred to me that to do something or in this case to stop doing things that others don't want me to do anyway is, well, to put it bluntly, surrender and that no matter how fragile I am is not going to happen

Know what will go - and why

Snobbery

Is mostly unconscious the stupid woman who said poor people with little to eat were hungry because they had forgotten or never learned how to cook didn't I'm sure say it with the intention of hurting anyone, let alone the millions of people who are either on minimum wage, disabled or just can't get a job in this squeaky clean, high tech, no real industry world in which we live.

Sure it was ignorant but it was unconscious the most sincere form of ignorance is of things which we've genuinely never experienced and so we fill our heads with 'must be' and comfort ourselves with the time honoured 'its their own fault' which is really what the, to use another old fashioned phrase, 'good woman' was really saying.

You see I don't think there is much doubt that she does see herself as a 'good woman', convinced she is or was doing her bit to help all the uneducated, unwashed masses. Its also highly unlikely that until she made headlines she had any idea that what she said was ignorant in every possible interpretation of the word, and ignorant she still is excepting she may well have learned that in future she would do well to hide her honest opinions from the media..

Is that better or worse? For me I would far rather know and if she is as hard of learning as she appears to be drag her around the local cheap shop by her hair and give her a much needed lesson in the real difference between the cost of cooking compared to buying off the shelf.

Enough of her she meant what she said and taught all us uneducated, terrible cooks an important lesson. I hope her husband gets a similar lesson at the next General Election. Oh, and I've chosen not to name her because although she is easily identifiable she is not by any means alone in her ignorance.

Rolling

One hundred people, possibly more, took it upon themselves to talk about her, laugh at her and decide among themselves if she could be allowed to join their select little seances.

They took illegal pictures of her and shared them, they stalked her home and at least one used a key he denied having to enter her home when he knew she was out.

If it went to court careers would be wrecked, some would face criminal charges, all would face claims for compensation.

Divided among one hundred any amount is diminished to a slap on the wrist. A token and easy enough fine for the most miserly among them to pay.

Staying in that house upsets her almost more than anything. Its impossible as is moving anywhere else in the vicinity. She didn't do that it was done to her. She still and possibly always will feel a sense of shock at what has happened. She wants her life back.

Somedays

Are harder than others. Today has been one of those days. In my life I've made so many mistakes from the silly over or underestimating of people to serious wasting of time and cash, not often on myself more on others. I get some money? Well the dog needed a new hip, someone needed a tooth capped another a trip to Australia, and what's money for if not to help out and those whilst not entirely real mistakes were expensive even foolish anyway they were not the worst.  I don't regret them exactly but I do wish I had been a bit slower to rush to assist.

Most of my mistakes no matter how traumatic at the time were unimportant easily dismissed and that's from me with the intensely annoying ability to remember every grimace, they were gifts if you like expressions of trust and affection, not under any circumstances to be confused with cruelty, theft or fraud.

It wasn't until I got to Ireland that I experienced the real cruelty of people. The pain and shock of that is something I face everyday. I see it everywhere and I'm so tired of the everlasting pain of it. I never experienced blatant, aggressive dislike, never knew that people could be so easily cruel for fun.

I ask myself now where are they, all the people who owe me in kindness, time and money, where indeed. I never thought I would feel so isolated, and to be honest until I came here I never was even when I finally lived alone friends were always within easy reach and family wasn't far away.

All that is still true but it doesn't feel true. I tell myself I should go to the doctor get some happy pills but that would be to create an illusion and I don't like the idea of that, it wouldn't be real it would be camouflage and one way and another I've had enough camouflage to last what's left of my lifetime.

Oh, its nothing today has been a bad day its a treadmill and I can't get off. Funny thing I know what I could do, what I should have done long ago, maybe all this anxiety is a sign I'm getting close to dealing with it. Always been the way with me with anything personal. Push it away, push it away until I've pushed myself into a corner.

I've three times told people off and that's not like me, except it is its the cornered me I think when I do get away I will want to be away from family too. Its that close and that bad.

Day

Its heavy
Not a burden
A weight

A worry
Not a problem
A fear

Anticipation
Succumbing
Despair

Open wound
Gaping
Salt

Roger that from Liar are Us

Some apparently living, well breathing anyway, people have apparently reached the conclusion that I may not join their academic, intellectual and august company. As I understand it a vote was taken. I’m sceptical on this because the numbers vary from a couple of psycho loons who may have escaped from somewhere with bars, to six or seven not quite right in the head almost celebrities to one hundred certifiable if not all criminal cunts.

You see I’m not afraid to use the words I despise those who do the deed then hide behind their middle class, middle aged vocabulary to conceal it.

There have been several invasions of my space by those whose only interest was self preservation and a curiosity more often associated with adolescent sexual exploration. Why would some middle aged idiot and his presumably much younger friend stand outside my garden pointing and laughing.

Why would a middle aged woman approach me in Tesco’s of all places and to admire my hair! and why would someone of the cheap out of a bottle red head run into a farm lane at the very sight of my approach. The unexpected couple from the north, they served a purpose but that in no way excuses or diminishes their invasion, and nor does the mouthful I gave yet another intruder the next day and besides his was a second visit!

Topping all that of course is the neighbour who used the key he swore he didn’t have to go into my house without my permission and obviously when he knew I was out, and who is also responsible for giving the curious directions so they could what, appreciate the view?

The first thing they all have in common is a voyeuristic and illegal interest in someone they apparently consider so far beneath them she has no feeling and if she does by some slim chance have any feelings she is not entitled.

There is a kind of not just class but slave master attitude here. A slave free or not  was thought to be so far down the human evolutionary and social scale that they were not considered capable of feelings so of course abusing them was not only not a crime for many it was an enjoyable and satisfying hobby and that is what it seems I have to some become.

Which brings me to she of the interminable angst. It never stops, oh it did announce that it was going to or at least take itself off to pastures not so much new as elsewhere, but that momentous decision didn’t last as much as a day, within hours it was back with yet another tale of emotional woe. This would be after it appeared near my house.

I mention this one perhaps more frequently than some of the others because it so obviously knew about the illegal photography I have been subjected to, it dared to pose for a picture fully dressed but with no make up on and had the gall to suggest it was on a par with what was done to me. The implication being that her mug shot cancelled out the criminal invasion I had suffered.

Sisterhood? Fuck off woman if you can’t tell the truth don’t you dare try to convince me everything is alright with a lie.

Pictures of me have been passed around like audeurves before a main course which leads me to believe that none of the people who have joined together to make my life hell for so long have any experience outside their own narcissistic selves.

I hold all the women who are involved in invading and hurting me in absolute total contempt, and added to that is another reason for my suspicions about her with the interminable angst. I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about. You see I was assaulted.

There I was doing my usual walk and most importantly and regrettably not paying attention to my surroundings or anyone anywhere near me. The first I knew I was being attacked was when two black hands reached from behind me, round my throat and down to my breasts. Luckily I was dressed for weather and the assailant didn’t get anywhere near them. This is partly because of the heavy coat but also because in those days you needed a magnifying glass and a map.

Its also because of where I was: on my side of the road was a wide open debris but directly opposite me was a row of tumble down waiting to be demolished houses. I think maybe my assailant thought all the houses were empty. To my everlasting relief and gratitude at least one of the houses was occupied. As I resisted attempts to cover my mouth I was also screaming blue murder, a front door opened my assailant took to his heels and I glanced across to my rescuer who stood in the doorway not moving or saying a word.

I was beyond conversation! I straightened my clothes, looked at my rescuer and moved on.

Don’t write reams about assault if you have no idea what it really is or if you really can’t put yourself in that place without sounding as though its part of English Lit, and no I didn’t report it to the police I didn’t see my attacker all I saw were two black hands, and I wanted to go home. I have never wanted to go home as much as I did that day and would it surprise anyone as much as I do now.

I didn’t tell my family I didn’t tell anyone and I never went near that street again. In all the years since the assault this is the first time I’ve even mentioned it. It left a scar do you see? You don’t peel the scab off a wound unless you want it to bleed and you don’t treat sexual assault as an English lesson. Nor if you’ve got any sense do you leap to the defence of the fucking indefensible.

Roger and Out.

Blimey!

Or not. I don't want harm to befall anyone its not my way. The idea that someone is suffering and afraid upsets me.

I want reparation and apologies. I want to know that the perpetrators of the horrors of the last five years have learned their lesson, paid their debt and will never assault anyone in such a way again.

Changing the subject somewhat I believe in Witchcraft that doesn't mean I dance naked under a full or any other moon, nor does it mean that I must or will do anything other than be myself. The first and only real requirement to be a witch is that we be ourselves.

I have frequently said I don't believe curses should be chucked around like confetti at a wedding. A curse is a powerful and dangerous thing. It is magic and all magic is energy. No one would expect their car to run without petrol, no one should expect magic to work without energy.

A curse is in some ways the same as a spell we give some of ourselves to it, the energy of a spell or curse comes from us it is in a way the very essence of us and it is not confined to Witches or any other Pagan faith.

It is said that in Foxford Co Mayo in 1951 a priest was so disgusted by the antics of the winning GAA team that he raised his finger, pointed at the team and declared that Mayo would not win such a championship again until all the members of that particular team had died. No one knows the name of the priest or if the story is true or false but what we all know is that Mayo have not won the championship since the year the priest is said to have cursed the team.

When I was a child pointing was considered very rude none of us were allowed to point at anyone. Maybe its changed so many old courtesies have gone and no real harm done. Thing is in folklore pointing is a way of cursing. Lacking a wand a witch can point to the object of her ire and zap the offending thing or bastard.

You see you don't need an elaborate altar, fancy dress or cauldron they are merely for show. The essential thing all Witches must have for spells or curses is energy or as some would say magic. We are all energy and water. Ireland is practically drowning and its energy feels very low perhaps that's one of the reasons for its never ending malaise.

To me a spell is a wish and a deed, a curse though is very different. A curse is not a toy or a gun its the nuclear option. the fallout as raw and unexpected as the curse the old priest laid on Mayo and all the innocent people involved. Be careful what you wish for and remember first: Do No Harm.

American

Whisper it softly
Day and night
Let its echo be heard
In left and right

It searches you out
You cower and run
Its hard on your heels
The fights almost done

You're caught its a trap
A voice whispers be still
Nothing will harm you
This is my will

Be well be adventurous
Be brave be strong
Its time for the healing
You're where you belong

Blessings if you pass this way may you always know good health and happiness, sure its the American dream...

Not Immediately

 It had been a rather lovely morning I knew I had to go into town and so was ready in what for me was good time. Mind you preparation was not without incident, there I was in the shower when the gas man commeth, luckily he didn't see me, well he couldn't the tiny window in the bathroom is yet another example of piss poor do as they like Irish workmanship.

The gas man took himself off and I got dressed and left, there was but a short delay when Maggie escaped and I had to retrieve her, toss her inside with warnings of an early death if she ever did it again ringing in her ears. I doubt she paid much attention why should she this time when she never has before.

Aanyoldhow I walked into town, it was very pleasant, decent temperature, sun shining and enough of a breeze to make walking a pleasure.  Really I like the approach to town if I never get back to England there are two or three houses I could settle into with not much trouble at all and the neighbour from hell would only be visible if I happened to glance at the road as she or he drove into town. Its almost a good idea, except  I don't trust anyone or where here I want to return to England.

In town I made the usual quick trip to the hole in the wall and from there to the lottery ticket shop where I bought this weeks winner and nothing else because I suddenly remembered I have no more room in the freezer. I have nearly fresh vegetables from last week, I have what passes for the larder full of tins of this and that.

I wandered to my local grocers and gave them the bad news that I wouldn't be doing much shopping, they were not too fussed because I still needed cigarettes and sweets Jezzie and I have become fiends for chocolate so obviously I had to stock up on the essential chocs and cigs. Oh, and bird food, there are those who think birds should only be given food in the sepulchral gloom of the Irish mid winter and then there's me who thinks I will damn well feed the birds whenever I feel like it.

So there I was strolling along with a not as light as air shopping bag, you would be amazed at how heavy chocolate eclairs and bird food can feel, but not to worry I was enjoying the stroll, looking at nothing I hadn't seen before and comparing it badly to everything anywhere else, and it was then in the depths of dour satisfaction that the entire town could do with a paint job, that I noticed the sky had darkened considerably. It wasn't cold but from the look of it the usual Irish damp was about to become the usual Irish downpour.

I walked on, the rain fell but I didn't bother trying to keep out of the drenching, it looked like it was there for the day and after six years I am if utterly dissatisfied and contemptuous - acclimatized. It wasn't a bad walk and I managed not to tell myself off for yet again not bothering with a rain coat. Its rain you get wet why worry.

At home I locked all doors against the elements put the kettle on and settled down for a nice cup of tea and that's when I realised that whatever I have oodles of I have almost run out of tea. I'm past caring I have coffee and I didn't get the Chinese meal I was thinking about on my way in to town. I have milk, I have coffee, I have cat and dog food and thanks to the gasman the heating is on full blast. Its been quite a good day.

A Wee Bit of a Rhyme

k what

I couldn't think who
I couldn't think why
Then I decided
Not even to try
The vicious and inbred
Can fuck off and die

I don't give a fuck
I don't give a shit
The days when I worried
About John and Mick

Are gone with the rain
The wind and the storm
I've reached the harbour
Where vengeance is born

Shoulda taken the hint

I've given enough warnings you all know what she dared to do and think was funny.

I'm Doing it!

I seldom do any kind of reviews I'm not good enough to do hit or miss and nor most of the time do I care if something is a hit or a miss. Reviews are for those who make comparisons which brings me to this post it maybe a kind of a review but if it is its comparing good health with serious illness.

I wasn't going to I kind of think its time he was thrown back with the rest of the minnows where I'm sure he would rather I left him, but saying that I also think he's one of the few with potential talent and rather too sensitive nature. Which before anyone gets carried away is not to say he isn't a cruel, sarcastic bastard because he is - in spades but that's the thing about cruelty and sarcasm we all see fast enough when we're receiving the blows but rarely at all when we're doing the punching.

OK enough of that. I thought it was good, very good, loved the setting and the sense of confidence not sure if its his or the directors but its strong. Looking good, fit (ish) and strong. Well done. I knew the piece from the first video isn't it the one where I thought he was dying? Anyone who saw that would surely have to say something about this just to acknowledge the physical improvement and say be well.

I know there are dozens of excellent new offerings scrawled all over everywhere. If there are not why not? Don't get too comfortable the death of potential is when you think you've reached it.

Cold Feet Warm Heart?

Perish bluster rigid blows
Lay waste dreams warm embrace

Leaves flutter dying breath
Rigor mortis every vein undead bud

Night dark unyielding conquest
Silence loud deafening roar

Winter implacable unblinking
unthinking unrelenting unforgiving

Cold barren night Frozen hold
Unerring staring trickle moon

Fear a timeless hunger
Of barren, endless night
None of your balmy breezes here

Triggers Again

I honestly don't know what causes them is it the really stupid reference to and misunderstanding of previous posts of mine? That shouldn't be a problem its just another massive fail of theirs. Is it the casual reference to a shaky left hand? That I'm convinced is part of the physical manifestation of the harm they've inflicted. Or could it be something more mundane an apparently normal daily event?

Truth is I can't walk out of my front door without worrying about who may be watching and since this laptop is at risk if I'm even being watched in my own home. The reference to a shaky left hand was - odd. It could be any or all of the above I don't know what or when something will trigger a reaction and I don't know how to stop it when it starts.

The gang share everything that is obvious and provable the one in Seattle appears to have a position of some authority among them which frankly shows how bad the gangs judgement can be. Yesterday I was amused then angry, how big a database must there be when this my blogger blog has more than fifteen hundred posts, and the database is not about this one alone it must contain posts from the other blogs. In other words its huge and its all me and there somewhere on the side and disregarded at the rear is me.

I don't know what causes a trigger all I know is that when it happens there is nothing that can be done or that I've ever found that can stop it.

From Elsewhere - Reality

I watched it, well why not I was curious and what’s three minutes in a lifetime? No time at all so why not watch.

I was horrified. I saw a boy so perfect, so handsome he was beautiful – until he spoke. He spoke of murder. He was clear, concise and very serious: when he grew up he was going to kill a soldier or presumably anyone PIRA told him to kill, and you see its important to make that distinction because I long ago decided that the leaders of PIRA are not Irish republicans they’re greedy thieves, murderers, rapists and paedophiles who took control of their communities with the gangland rule punishable by death of: ‘Never report any crime to the police’.

The nights would have been dark there how many street lamps were smashed I wonder. The talk would have been all heroes in a world where shooting a policeman in the back is heroic, gives the bone idle an excuse to remain unemployed and as an added bonus probably provides for a whisky or two on a regular basis for when, you know the children allowance has been pissed up the wall. How safe were those streets? Not at all for police, army or any form of bureaucracy nor for some young girls but the IRA could strut their stuff commandeer (steal) peoples cars and treat their neighbours as serfs.

Some thought it was right, some still do and some are the living image of what that meant and that was the clip I saw a day or two ago. I wasn’t going to write about it but one word used to describe it is stuck in my mind like a tick on a dog.

The word used to describe the man, his surroundings and his demeanor was ‘poignant’.

Fucking poignant me bollocks! What we saw in that dreadful, horrible clip was loss, betrayal, disillusion and heartbreak. That beautiful boy that dreadful, poor wee man is the result of forty or more years of PIRA lies. Its what you get from believing and learning the hard lessons the hard way. Its why so long ago I stopped supporting PIRA. Everyone could see where it was going but no PIRA supporter would acknowledge it.

The man achieved the boys ambition he killed, he got caught and he spent time in prison because of it. He is and I don’t blame him unrepentant I would be too. Its all he has and anyone looking at him could taste the bitter gall of a loss he will never acknowledge. He found out too late that the troubles was not war and its too late now for him to do anything but believe.

The troubles was a gang fest and I don’t for a moment doubt that there are devoted loyalists in exactly the same position as this man, gangs don’t win, they don’t pay pensions and they don’t care.

I felt for that man in his decrepit hovel that’s depression showing and I know what that feels like. You could see it in his face even as he spoke of his trust and faith in PIRA leaders. Trust betrayed maybe because the truth could not be told to those raised on PIRA propaganda.

I wish the man well, hopefully he will receive the help he needs perhaps some bastard in PIRA rich on his lies and thuggery will go to see him and spend some of his ill gotten gains making sure an old ‘soldier’ has his pride, dusted, polished and put back on his shoulders where it belongs. If not social services need to get on with their job and make him as comfortable as possible.

Don’t talk to me of poignant. I never heard such a word used to describe losing something so precious it has no name only an understanding among those who know.

===

I’m not going to show the video clip a man who needs help doesn’t need inquisitive strangers gawping at him. He didn’t need a journalist looking for a big hit either. The truth is that interview could have happened in a restaurant or cafe. It didn’t need to be filmed in the mans home, the reason for doing so was that it makes good tv another feather in a journalists cap. I hope the journalist had the common decency to get some help for someone in need, but I doubt it.

Serendipitous? Not!!!

OK I know I’m feeling low but its the sequence, yesterday one of the usual suspects turned up with his friend and gave me a lift of the remaining half a mile or so to my house. Don’t underestimate how helpful that was I had been out all day and it felt like everything movable was aching.

Today, tonight at 23.50 Herself will have been gone a full week obviously this is a most important anniversary I’ve been hating it all day.

And then, just to put the tin lid on my week this!

Just as I was putting rubbish in the bin a car pulls up. My dear, sweet, courageous Tax was obviously watching events and had sent me not alone in the right direction but armed to the teeth as well! Of course I recognised the visitor immediately. I was so angry! First yesterdays little accidental? meeting and, just as it happened last time, it was quickly followed by what I suppose must be called a cold sales pitch. I was definitely cold. I burned with ice. I was rude! I’m hating that I was rude. He’s not the worst, bet he’s fuming now. I’ve a temper to match anyone and this time quite unexpectedly it escaped from me. I am never rude…..

Surely this is typical response to abusers? They make their victim feel guilty as if its their fault they caused their abuser to commit the crime. Its not like he was rude or did anything other than show off that worthless screen save picture. No matter! I was still recovering from yesterdays bare faced cheek and I let rip.

I hate that I feel guilty but I hate more that I may have attacked one who as far as I can tell is not by any means the worst of them. Why should I feel guilty!!!!? How many people have my address, how many are actively trying to hurt me and why when I lose it with one of them why am I the one feeling guilty cos you can bet your last penny that whatever rage he feels it has nothing to do with his guilt.

This is a very bad time for me don’t rely on my warmheartedness or my good nature it appears to have gone with Herself I don’t know when or if it will return.

Anyway forty Euros is still far too much for a screen print of my house even if I am at the horrible ould door. Last year the price was one hundred Euros which dropped to eighty in minutes. This time I all but told him where he could shove his screen print which probably means the price has shot up…

And yet, and yet there’s a part of me that’s pleased as punch that I did it at last I stood up for myself! I’ve had enough of anyone who dares to think he’s doing me a favour clicking a like, turning up here or wherever I am. Its going to get a lot worse before it gets better your socks better be piss proof because it won’t be rain you’re wading through.

From My Other One - Gratis

My back is giving me all this verbal and the hips keep joining in, very noisy and uncomfortable they are full of almost this and nearly that and interesting misses like my right hip giving way at the precise moment I was putting my right foot forward, no I didn’t fall over I’m accustomed to my right hips little foibles and anyway I was too busy trying to ignore my back which was yelling that no I could not stand up straight the very idea being painfully preposterous. Sigh. Its been that kind of a day.

I’ve been to Ballina, so pleased am I with the days experiences that I’m almost persuaded to think that were I to stay in this Godsforsaken boil on the backside of Poseidon I would stay in Ballina which does at least have its very own bus station and quite a lot of local authority offices by the look of it. I know this because people seemed to get confused with the exact location of the bus station, as soon as they recovered from the shock of discovering I don’t have a car they proceeded to send me in entirely the wrong direction. It actually took a very nice Polish woman to begin to point me the right way round. Who knows perhaps she liked my accent.

Not to worry I arrived at the bus station just in time to get my bus which would you Adam and Eve it leaves Ballina almost 30 minutes earlier than the time table says but this is not a problem because the bus to Ballina leaves my damp, dreary town almost thirty minutes earlier than the bus time table says.

The bus passes the top of my road and my aching feet, nagging hips and grumbling back kept insisting that a sane person would ask the driver to stop and let them off but not me with the feet, hips and back. Oh no I have to keep my mouth shut and stagger off at the bus stop in town. I didn’t even try to straighten my back and look I just started walking not slowly but not quickly either and not standing straight at all.

The good news is someone, a couple, stopped and offered me a lift. I think I smiled at them I’m sure her teeth were smiling, mine are never as forthcoming as that, well not unless I take them out they’re not. Of course I ignored the fact that they could have been Hindley and Brady or Fred and Rosemary needs must when your feet, hips and back are giving you gyp.

Have you noticed that Ireland has a significant lack of serial killers? Well it does if you don’t count nuns and priests. I suppose the lack is understandable most of em probably joined PIRA or the Loyalists and called murder, rape, incest and buggery politics, which in some parts of the UK it pretty much is or so it seems if you listen to Irish commentators on the subject.

Which reminds me of the couple they took me all the way to my door, can’t remember if they said much and it doesn't matter (you’d be a fool if you believe that!) He stopped when I told him to and for a second appeared shocked. I ignored that too I was trying to think who he reminded me of…

Oh! A little gem to share with you. Please don’t think I jump in any old car or that I don’t endeavor to explain I might be going in entirely the wrong direction for any passing Galahad. The very first thing I said to my would be chauffeurs was that I was going the wrong way for them and do you know what they said? They said it didn't matter. I call that – odd. Or not…

Herself

I heard rather than saw her make a dash to me. I looked and there she was was lying half under my chair. She had the strength to run to me but not the strength to move as I picked her up.

She lay in my arms looking at me her eyes half closed and she smiled, anyone who knows cats know they smile. She smiled as I held her, told her it would be alright, that we were and would always be together.

I told her not to worry I would do that for both of us and I cuddled my beautiful Tax and cried and sobbed for us both and she lay smiling in my arms. She died with that unmistakable smile for me, for us and I sobbed as my heart broke in so many pieces.

There's so much chicken! I've been giving the cooked chicken to the terrible five I know they will eat it, we got to the stage that they wouldn't eat whatever Tax wasn't eating and fresh is better than tinned or dried every cat and dog knows that. 

I really don't want to cook chicken, well not for a very long time. I roasted it, curried it, stewed it, grilled it, braised it and boiled it and I never once ate it. It was hers I got the soup.....And the laughter of the shopkeeper when they asked did I really buy the chicken for my cat.....

I don't care I want to move I want to start thinking about that again. 

Strange from Trixie she went straight into the bathroom and used the litter tray, then so long at the foot of the couch moved to the top and lay there. It had belonged to Tax and now it belongs to Trixie that is very clear. Pippa is indifferent the only one she really likes is Ollie the going of Tax hardly seems to have registered. I can't say the dogs have noticed either but nor have they gone anywhere near her grave.

Its the law of the jungle we live, we die. I don't cry now. I turned her radiator off. She has gone and I will miss her forever.

Her Name is TAX 26/09/2014 @ 11/50pm

She has gone. One day I will write and tell how she ran, quite literally ran to me, and as I picked my beautiful girl up she left me. One day.

Its Almost Time

She has always been so strong my beautiful adventurous girl, climbing trees, leaping fences, chasing magpies and other birds as big as Herself. So small, so brave she rules this house still but now its one step removed. I rule on Her behalf nothing and no one goes or is before Her.

I know I should let Her go. Damned if I'll take her to the vet she who hates cars and vets! She needs it to be over. I watch her heart beat and it is visible and wish it were over for Her.

Twenty years and I watch her heart beat and wish it were over.

Spoiled for Choice! A rambling I Will go...

I have more than one blog this one is still my favourite but others are catching up! Well, one or two of them are.

I’ve been reading up on Scotland again. I say reading up but really I rarely finish anything I start on this subject. Its all either or and cast in stone and so much of it is lies it really deserves to sink without trace.

In particular blogging is running away with itself. I understand that some bloggers need to project themselves as though they speak to and for the whole of their subject be it, ethnicity, art, faith or toilet habits but I’m disappointed frankly back in the days when I began blogging I used to think all blogging was above deliberate lies.

I didn’t dream it was full of frustrated teachers, unemployed journalists, with the very odd professor and the occasional discredited author thrown at it to supervise what I think really should be called the industry. Blogging it seems to me is big business.

We all learn I read the one with the interminable angst, she who was moving her blog because she could no longer stand the stress, remember? I said I’d give it a day, a week tops. The lie didn’t even last twenty four hours. I don’t think stress is the problem I think its subject matter, which in her case appears to be emotions. Having to deliver so many words on so many aspects of the vast array of our emotions must indeed be stressful and to make it worse it all has to be done in so many hours, sometimes using a completely different pseudonym and that if we but knew it is probably the real cause assuming that is that any angst actually exists. You know unless you suffer it you’re unlikely to have any idea of the depths of either depression or anxiety. I could tell her but it’d be water off the old clucks back.

Returning to Scotland: the election is tomorrow Salmond is telling his usual lies but not to worry because Cameron, Clegg and Milliband are giving him a run for his money. Oddly and I do find it odd, the only one I actually agree with is George Galloway. OK he’s old Labour and that is bound to attract me but he’s for the union and I’m not, even so he’s still the only one who makes a kind of sense. I guess the difference between him and me is that I’m sick to the back teeth of Irish and Scottish whining and he poor devil is all Scot.

Oh and how could I forget! There is the endless woe of poly this, pagan that and a sub something or other called heathen. I don’t mind the way Americans try and usually succeed in Americanizing everything but paganism is a bit close to home. Its not unlike the silly and still bald creature who insists Satanism is only two hundred years old. So a bit younger maybe, can’t be arsed to check, than America itself. But! be fair Anton Le whatsit was American and I guess that means some Yanks think they can claim Satan as theirs and to confirm it there are a few million Islamic extremists who fully agree with them. I can hardly be bothered with them but I do take an interest in the alopecia. One of its major causes is stress you know…

Very Professional

Very good.

Looking back its easy, in fact its impossible not to see the great improvement.
Growing confidence and if not quite glowing good health then a fair facsimile.

Well done.  

I've Written

About the latest crazy challenge raising funds for what Americans call ALS and what in the UK comes under the heading of Motor Neuron Disease.  Famous actors, singers and other celebrities, politicians and leaders of big business all getting drenched and/or signing a cheque to help what is a very good cause.

Today I was pleased to see members of my family getting drenched in the cause. Everyone knows the special feeling when you see your own family contributing. Its not the first time for us I think it was last year that the no make up thing happened and even I contributed and posted a picture, mind you that was a stroke of luck one of the few pictures of me and no make up.

This time it was the turn of a couple of the men in the family they got ritually soaked and were rightly praised for their efforts, then  later two little girls had a go as the icy cold water flowed one howled torn between laughter and shock the younger one she cried out but she had completed it such brave, beautiful girls.

So proud of them all.

YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!!!

I don't see how you can be, such a daft set of questions for a scheme the only attraction to which is that you would be going to places you want to visit and since the bastards make you pay anyway what under heaven is the point?

The answer is a very firm unequivocal fuck off.

Having said that I do think a period in Europe would be beneficial. There's a smallish island just off the coast of Europe with for all its acknowledged faults an excellent health service, and would you believe the even smaller, really quite minuscule, and not entirely right in the head island next door, has not exactly great healthcare but at least healthcare does exist.

Thinking about it its fair to say that most of the countries in the EU have better healthcare provision than the USA. If you like French wine, and who doesn't? The French are said to have excellent healthcare and I doubt the Germans or Scandinavian countries lag behind.

The bigger, small island simply oozes history, the minuscule one also but since it held absolutely no interest to the Romans or as far as I know the Greeks, probably couldn't stand the rain or the bogs, anything Roman or Grecian to be found there probably fell off the back of a lorry or slave drawn carriage on its way to or from the rest of Europe.

No. Its a silly question. Go by yourself or with a like minded friend and pore over the artifacts to your hearts content.

Years ago when I was on a judo course the teacher said that teaching as good and enjoyable as it was actually prevented him learning and I don't think there can be much doubt that teaching done properly, how rare is that, must be a major distraction to further education.

I am as ever not entirely convinced that you're serious. The good thing though is I am entirely convinced that my opinion is the last one you would seek on any subject. Tough! Life's a bitch and then you meet one...

One of the 'good' things about teaching in either the bigger or smaller of the islands is that the cost of the teachers trip is usually factored into the overall cost the students pay. You can't seriously imagine any of the teachers on either of those islands would for one second consider paying for themselves...

What Now

What now

Don’t talk to me in riddles

Don’t bother me with rhymes

Name it, shake it, fake it

But make sure you know its mine

I can’t

Hear the thunder roar

See the waves crash over

fear it, shame it, fake it

But be sure I know you lied

So What

The fear is yours

The pain is mine

The endless to and fro

Angry tears down weary years

A database of sorrow

Someone

A very good looking boy and from what I read a popular one, and the two don't necessarily go together encountered serious health problems and - somewhere someone is having some sort of procedure related to diabetes.

That suggests the diabetes could have been around a while.  It also says very strongly that if medical insurance is insufficient a move to a smallish island off Europe might be advisable.

A witch casts a circle of health
She had a dream
And it was good

---

The gods reach us,
Hold us to them
Complete us within them
.
May the Gods be with him,
May they encircle him
In strong embrace

Hold him steady
Through all times
May his gods
Keep him safe

---

And having said all that let no mother fucker read more into it than there is...

So it is

That a lot of stuff still begins here, more is brought here to feel at home or just to play with words.

This is where my blogging began and like a pair of old slippers its where I am most comfortable or would be if the stats worked properly.

I don't trust the stats here, but not to worry I'm damn sure they can't be trusted anywhere else, WordPress! either.

Stats are an avenue I must explore further I mean what's with the tumblr millions and the sudden loss of seven million the moment Yahoo take over. Hmm? And getting back to WordPress where exactly do they get their stats from?

To be explored and exposed is what comes next I think...

Interesting

Reaction. It indicates that if nothing else they recognise how offensive such a thing is.

Unique Value Proposition

So what is my ‘unique value proposition’? Yes, I do have one but If I told you I’d have to get the lawyers involved.

How many people do have or regardless of talent, creativity and plain old fashioned hard work can produce their very own UVP?  I would argue that most people don’t have a UVP and can’t create one that is even an endangered species let alone unique. Its about presentation is the correct if too easily understood phrase: are you a good salesperson? I am or I was when I was working. I’m out of practice perhaps its gone because being able to sell anything takes practice and continued use. If you stop or change career your sales technique, that’s what it is, can disappear.

All and there are thousands if not millions of these so called ‘self help’ books are trying to do is ‘self help’ the author and publisher the muggins who purchase the book come a very poor third and that’s not to say that some won’t be helped but that is not the primary object of any of the books, seminars or courses we may be persuaded to pay to take part in.

Some weeks ago I watched a video in varying shades of amusement, contempt and disbelief, the conversation, not necessarily the right word, was pointing out that not being published was not necessarily a bad thing, that having your work rejected was kind of normal, which it is. Of course I began, as we all do and are intended to do, to think of it from my own perspective. When had I offered or asked for anything of mine to be accepted anywhere. The one time someone offered me the opportunity to write something I declined in what I thought were no uncertain terms. Perhaps the meaning of that didn't sink in, some people need more than a subtle hint gift wrapped in a brick to get the message,  for them a sledge-hammer across the back of the head is the only thing that might, just might, work.

Everything I do is either on my blogs here or held elsewhere. I don’t write to please anyone but me, I have not asked anyone to like, dislike or publish anything of mine beyond my own blogs.

The subject of blogs is interesting and brings me back to the old sales spiel, which in regard to blogging is that anyone can its all free unless you choose to upgrade to something more professional which presumably means you get more of whatever it is, I have no idea and I’m not interested in pursuing it. How could a free service available to everyone decide that someone is either not good enough, or what, some other misdemeanor or 'crime'? I don’t know or care but I do know a witch hunt when I’m the victim.

On another and often very long-winded blog, the wretched author seems to think he’s got to write War and Peace every day, there was actually a post about how sad he is to have to refuse someone. Really, who applied? No doubt the application form can be produced for verification purposes.

As far as I can tell no one applies to blog they simply take the opportunity available free to everyone to start their own blog and then get on with creating their own style, some may need help that’s for them to decide and request.

I’ve never attempted to upgrade although saying that I did consider it for one of my blogs, not because I wanted more visitors although I must admit in a way maybe I did or would tolerate them for that particular blog. The whole point would have been to highlight the main subject matter which is child abuse. I changed my mind for reasons I will go into in more depth another time, but suffice to say they were serious and have since been reconfirmed. I also discovered  that the subject of child abuse is as much at the mercy of ambitious, callous people as any other subject. I found that depressing.

I think my problems began because I don’t pay lip service to lies and phrases like UVP irritate me, they are nothing more than ridiculous ‘college brat’ sales spiel, that they appear to be believed by a lot of people is another aspect that irritates me because it suggests there are an amazing number of very gullible people out there. I thank the Gods I’ve never met them which is not to say I haven't been gullible. My Gods have I ! But not about this or most subject the 'poor me' patter I fell for is another one for later .

Phrases like UVP assume everyone wants to be famous, we all want thousands of ‘hits’ and if we say we don’t we’re pretentious, lying cheats who won’t or are too thick to know how to play the ‘game’. People need to think very carefully about what that means, think what is involved particularly if their next step is parting with any cash.

Some bloggers appear to blog because they can’t get published, now there is nothing wrong with that, I happen to believe that the best books ever written have never been published because in every case in order to get published you have to get past self-important arty farty, college brat publishers. I wouldn't be surprised if blogging is becoming much the same but rather more surreptitiously.

To say that in the beginning I didn't understand is true to a degree but its inaccurate, its more accurate to say I didn't even know or care that such a thing as ambitious blogging existed, why would I? I’d been in Ireland for almost a year, realised that unemployment was not a temporary situation for a couple of months but would probably last right into retirement, before coming to Ireland as much as I used computers I never bothered with the internet. I literally had zero experience of the internet and blogging. Some might think that’s something to be ashamed of I think its still true for the vast majority of my generation.

When I began blogging I was writing my days, a kind of spastic, sporadic journal. Not a diary or even really a blog, just the occasional jotting down of thoughts on subjects that interested me. I think I was trying to find a writing style that didn't begin with Dear Mr or Ms and end in yours sincerely. I’ve maybe become stuck in a rather youthful some might say juvenile style but I don’t mind that I like it. Its a form of defence and its all that’s left of my anonymity.

My amateurism knew no bounds! I used to think that when commenting we shouldn't take up too much space on another blog so if there was a longish subject I would link to whatever I had already written on my own blog, and that really does show how naive I was. I didn’t think anyone would be interested I still don’t. If anyone shows up on my blog the last thing I think, the very last, is that they want to read what I’ve written.

As a complete newbie when the blurb said link to twitter I did, I’d been on twitter a few months but again why not? Its not as if I had many followers and none who I thought would run to my blog to read my little gems, that was obvious by my reaction when someone did. I was astonished and thrilled, too bad because I’ve since learned that the visitor would become a major cause of all the ensuing problems. I hope we never meet. I mean that.

I don’t even want a unique value proposition, why should I? Why should anyone.  I’m supposed to want to increase visitors and followers but why? Because its what most people want? I’m not most people I don’t mean that as a criticism of anyone or their work its completely personal the result of both my  character and events I will enlarge on elsewhere.  I will only say that I sincerely hope that most people are completely lacking in my experiences.

I don’t want to be chasing a self publishing nightmare and that is what I fear a lot of bloggers seem to do. I can imagine the heartache they put themselves through as they spend money perhaps they can’t afford to publish their precious book and then torn between hope and fear watch every sale or far more likely the conspicuous and heart breaking lack of sales. To me its obvious I’m not that person I lack their courage.

To all those, however many or few there are, who think I’m just another typical would be famous author whining because of my own lack of success? You couldn't be more wrong. I write because I like to write, once it was lovely if someone read something of mine even if they didn't like it I thought it a compliment that they even bothered to visit the blog I still do but now until I know they mean no harm I’m anxious. My lack of interest in ‘professional’ blogging is visible in the way I return time and again to ‘play’ with everything I write. Do you not see?  Its written for me.

Having said all that I’m probably one of the few who really do have a unique value proposition and not yet another variation on a theme. The good news is I’m inching closer to opening that big (I was stunned! Again) ugly can of wriggling worms it will as they say blow your mind…

Herself & the Others

Herself has a poorly eye unlike my own poorly eye of recent days (more than a week and still here!) hers may have been leaking actual blood instead of merely being bloodshot, also she has been limping I don’t know why. I am paying close attention but I don’t want to take her to the vet or call him in. I have a very bad feeling that I know what he will say. I don’t want to hear it.

And she’s not so bad! she is eating well, going outside for short walks in the early spring sunshine and sleeping happily by her radiator, which is always left on, when she’s home. How is that a bad life?

In other news the pup currently renamed ‘Naughty Baby!’ is doing well so far three of my shoes have been stolen and vandalized. I do try to hide them and keep doors shut but the evidence suggests I am singularly unsuccessful I now have odd shoes. I consider myself lucky not to have matching odd socks I only just caught her at the laundry basket in time!

Jezzie is wonderful her patience is endless!  She plays with the little villain all the time. hardly ever snaps unless something she wants is threatened. Its a pity she didn’t want my shoes. She would be a great mum and I thank whatever gods there be that she is not. I doubt, seriously doubt, that I could cope.

My handsome Olly is indifferent to all of it he sleeps at my feet, runs in his garden and pays no attention to Naughty Baby! unless she tries to take something of his in which case an ominous growl is heard and Naughty Baby! no fool, does a runner.

Pippa and Trixie could care less about pups, I have noticed that they try to push herself out of the way this I will not allow but I am reminded of the law of the jungle I think in their opinion my beautiful old girl should be gone. Its not my opinion however and on this subject my opinion is law!

Pretty Baby Maggie

I may have made a small, infinitesimal mistake. If appearances are anything to go by my little baby Maggie may be more of a Peke than I originally thought perhaps she is the cousin of a Peke. Its the ears, eyes colouring, etc. etc. etc. she is beautiful and growing in confidence every day.

If I’m in it she now likes the garden especially if I’m feeding the birds it being a well known fact even to little baby almost Pekes that when big people feed the birds some food gets dropped on the ground and this little baby like all babies has an irresistible urge to taste things.

Maggie has this post all to herself today because at the moment her place in life is to be right at the tail end of the other five and I feel sorry for all the pushing and shoving she suffers from the others. Looking on the bright side it is only pushing and shoving so far neither teeth or claws are involved, apart that is from the nasty incident with Herself the first few days Maggie was here but that is all over now and its not all bad news Jezzie has discovered her maternal instinct. She never growls at Maggie, has been seen giving her an occasional  affectionate lick, sometimes she even joins in the little ones games.

Life has become a wonderful adventure for brave little Maggie, and, speaking of tails? hers rarely stops wagging…..

Tails

It has taken, what, five, six days? But maybe that’s not too long for a baby to discover she has a bit at the end she can wag. Her tail is up her voice is ferocious! and Maggie is learning to chase said tail in the time honoured way of all puppies.

Herself has reclaimed her radiator, discretion is not only the better part of valour its also warmer and anyway no one is more aware than she that nothing and no one takes anything of hers.

Jezzie and Olly far from acclimatizing to their new reality have taken to demanding whatever ‘she’ has including cuddles, they both jealously watch every move the baby makes paying particular attention to anything edible. Its interesting because now that there’s a Maggie in the house Jezzie and Olly have discovered they have no problem cuddling each other its her! they can’t stand.

Pippa is indifferent, totally. Trixie is inclined to indifference except when it comes to food, always her favourite subject, and not under any circumstances to be shared with anyone or pup.

And so we progress.  A frightened, shocked and possibly neglected pup begins to feel at home and all us old hands watch in varying degrees of amusement, amazement, anger and envy.

I want to move and can’t see the difference between five and six. I think they will be happy if we ever get to our new home. I need to be there I’m not safe or free here,