Don’t Take it Personally…



Every time someone says that the next thing out of their mouths can ONLY be taken personally.


But I’m trying to shift focus from the real issue.


So, err…


I’ve had a nasty cough from Friday until Tuesday and now I’m managing a spotlight for a show at my university; sketches, songs, silly small film clips that sort of thing. It’s really fun, but it takes a lot of time out of my days. Also, they borrowed my computer to program the lights for the show. (Yes, I m updating from a foreign computer.)


So I didn’t meet my deadline Wednesday.


I feel a bit weird about writing about what I’ve been doing instead of just fiction. It’s almost like writing about my personal life. And you might say: “Aren’t blogs always personal?”


And for the most part I guess, they are. Very personal even. And I don’t mind reading about other people’s personal lives; I read Widdershin’s blog often which includes a good deal of personal stuff and sometimes I take a trip to the Dimwit Diary which seems to be exclusively stories from his personal life.


However, as soon as I have to write about myself, I scratch my nose, adjust my glasses and still feel uncomfortable. Even if it’s just what I’ve been doing for the past few days. I read on How to Live in Denmark that Danes have a passion for protecting their private life, maybe it’s true for some.


Anyway there you have it.


And now you also have an update. (Sort of)

How do you feel about writing about your personal life?

Big Sister is Watching

Big Sister's Watching

Big Sister’s Watching (Photo credit: Chris Smith/Out of Chicago)

Big sister is watching me.

All the time.

My parents told me that as if it were a good thing; they think I feel safer with her watching me. I can’t make myself tell them that I really don’t. I’m afraid to do anything she might think is gross, or that she might just not like, because mum and dad talk to her often and I can’t hear her replies. Also, she might have made other friends up there in the sky who are even worse bullies than the ones she had when she was alive.

It is Just a Mask

just a mask

It’s just a mask.

It’s just a mask you see.

It’s not me.

It’s my façade towards the world,

And it works just fine

Most of the time.

I hate when they say that my personality is only skin deep.

Then I want to rip the mask off and toss it far out to sea.

But then I’m afraid that the face underneath is too different.

Then I’m afraid it’s identical.

Then I’m afraid that the face underneath is just another mask,

And the face beneath it

Is blank.

Having a Cold

Ice Dragon

Ice Dragon (Photo credit: Gerry Balding)

He blew his nose and got a nosebleed. With a ball of cotton pressed against one nostril, he leant back and sighed. He could not smell the hot cocoa beside him, but the taste was still in his mouth and he felt that it had helped slightly. As he shivered, he considered reading a bit more, only his eyelids were getting so heavy, and he was still waiting for the dragons.

The sound of cars driving past his window turned into a nondescript rushing in his ears. Then things began moving behind his eyelids and he saw them, dragons, blue ice dragons with breath that smelt of hot cocoa but turned one into an icicle. And he felt like he had been waiting for the dragons all his life.


This image was selected as a picture of the we...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There is thunder in my ears.

I hope someone else hears it too; I hate being alone during a storm.

Arthur and his Driver’s license

Driving Licences

Driving Licences (Photo credit: brizzle born and bred)

Arthur and his driver’s license expired in May.

Some might try to look on the bright side and say that at least Arthur would not have to worry about renewing his license. However, his license just happened to expire on May the third while he did not shuffle off this mortal coil until the tenth. If Arthur had been told this in advance he would have called it typical.

He died while in a car driven by his brother on the motorway. His brother was at least twenty kilometers per hour below the speed limit. Which Arthur would also have called typical.

They were hit by an elderly lady driving at least twenty kilometers above the speed limit when she attempted to slip past them while they were changing lanes. The woman herself survived with a broken hip. Arthur died in the hospital about an hour after the crash. His last word was: ‘typical.’

Cassandra (version 2)

Cassandra (centre) drawing lots with her right...

Cassandra (centre) drawing lots with her right hand predicts the downfall of Troy in front of Priam (seated, on the left), Paris (holding the apple of discord) and a warrior leaning on a spear, presumably Hector.(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Cleanliness is next to godliness, it is said. Still, I find myself wishing more and more often that the snakes had left at least a little dirt in my ears. I already know who Paris will bring home with him, and already I hear Hector’s last breath, but everyone is deaf to my warnings.

Sometimes I hear the voices of my children telling me that Troy fell ages ago.

Sometimes I hear my grandchildren’s voices, and those must be my imagination, because I will never have grandchildren, and those voices tell me that I never even experienced the fall of Troy.

I always wish I could believe them.

Do You Remember?

Bananas !!

Bananas (Photo credit: Max xx)

Do you remember the flowers?

Oh, they were wonderful weren’t they?

Their bright contrast of blue and yellow and red and green. I especially liked the green flowers. It was so hard to see where the stem ended and the flower began.

Their scent rolled out over the field and it was so thick. I could taste the sweet artificial banana flavour on the air. Do you think they were made to smell like that or did someone spray the banana stuff over them later?

You did not care much for it as I recall. You just barfed and wanted new shoes.

But you always hated bananas.

Why do you always ruin my memories?

I was having a great time remembering until you came along.

Just go away.

Leave me with my flowers.

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