Who Understands You?

Do you ever feel that no-one understands you?  As much as you try to articulate your argument, the words seem insufficient and dont quite come out as you would wish?

Okay, I know I`m in a lull, a depressive void, a stressy mood, whatever you want to call it, but what frustrates me more than anything is the fact that I seem unable to articulate properly or is it just that I do not have the ability or vocabularly to voice the true meaning of what I am trying to say?!  Do I really have to search out a fellow depressive to find someone who can actually understand me?

People say "surround yourself with positivity" - maybe they dont live in the real world.  Have they tried living one single day in my shoes?  Or there is always the very helpful suggestion that "maybe you shouldnt think about what you dont have and focus on what you do have".  Well, yes! -  on a positive day, that is possible.  But when you feel under attack from all angles it is not quite so easy and straight-forward to implement.

I have been accused of many things this week, some of which have emotionally bruised me and some that have left me wondering and indeed worrying just how my family perceive me.  Oh, we have our moments of great joy, love and fun - usually with me being the target of ridicule and mimicry - which I have learnt to take good-humouredly.  This week however, I feel as if my ideas have been misconstrued by my darling daughter and some of the things she said stung like the sting of a vicious bee.  After the initial pain, the feeling of despair deep in my soul is somewhat debilitating.  She didnt understand what I meant! And I dont have the emotional energy to correct it, to argue my point!

Oh, I`ll get over it - I always do!  But do I really?  No-one knows because no-one really understands me!

One of those days

What an utterly miserable day!  It was so miserable, it may well have been a Monday, but it wasnt, it was infact a Thursday.  The day started like any other day really and everything seemed to be ticking along at a reasonably normal pace until my son opened the car door outside his school in readiness to clamber out. 

 Instead of the usual, "Bye Mum, love you", I heard "Mum, where is my lunchbox"?

 I silently cursed to myself but outwardly smiled at my beloved as I didnt want to upset him for the day and said "No worries, I`ll pop back home for it - you go in now and I`ll drop it into the office in a little while for you".

Managing 0 - 60mph in under five seconds, I pointed the car in the direction of home, cursing loudly as the realisation hit me that I would not have time to "put my face on" in the car whilst parked up in the carpark at work, as I was now going to be late after the frantic lunchbox drop-off. 

Work did not improve my mood.  Several stressful incidents irritated me to the point of combustion and it was with a huge sigh of relief when the clock struck three.

I drove the five minute journey to my son`s school, the windows and sunroof open allowing the breeze to cool me down.  The radio was playing chronic sounds, so I drove in silence, a welcome break from the constant chatter and obscenities I endured in my workplace.  Relaxing in my car for a few treasured moments, the sun beating down on my face, slowly I began to unwind.  I parked the car a short walk from the school gates but even-so felt my legs and feet could not manage one more step when I eventually entered the playground.  In a few moments the children drifted out of the school building and I waved, almost energetically, at my son who was standing by his teacher straining to see me amongst the other mothers in the crowded playground.  Once he had reached me we hugged, asked each other how our day had been and walked slowly back to the car.

When you are so tired and fatigued it can take a while for something to register and this was the case as I pointed the fob with the keys attached, at my car.  I looked at it in confusion.  It didnt look right.  Then it struck me.  The back had come off it exposing a tiny spring and nothing else. 

 "Oh No" I thought, frantically trying to make sense of this latest mishap in my life. 
 "I cant open the car!" 
 After explaining the situation to my son, we began to re-trace my steps.  Nothing! 
Once again I entered the playground which by now was somewhat deserted except for the chatty mothers who stood around in groups talking about absolutely nothing of any interest to anyone but themselves and their boring friends.  I spotted the black back to the fob fairly quickly and was even more relieved when my son excitedly found the glinting battery nearby.  We both sighed a massive sigh of relief and once again trundled back to the car.  After placing the battery in the fob and screwing the back into place I pointed the fob in the direction of the car again and ....nothing!

"What now?"
 my anger and heat exposure symptoms were beginning to surface. My hands were sweaty, my fingers unable to grip the fob as I tried to unscrew the back of it.  Thinking that I may need to turn the battery over in order for it to work, it was imperative that I open the fob; eventually the awkward task was done.  It was then blatantly obvious to me that the device actually needed two batteries. Damn!

Deflated and totally exhausted with the searing heat of the afternoon sun, we headed back once again to the playground.  "How stupid can I be?" I silently berated myself.  My flagging son was beginning to show signs of dehydration as we searched once more in the dusty patch where we had found the first battery. 
 Nothing! Nothing but dried grass, pebbles, the odd twig and parched soil. 

After-school football had finished and some of my son`s friends came to join us on our quest for the missing battery.  One of the mothers whom I had known for some time and formed a reasonably friendly relationship with, offered to help search and after a while suggested we go into town where I could buy some more batteries for the damn fob.  With no bag, no purse, no energy and no money, I was reluctant to do so but finally accepted her kind offer of a short-term loan and a lift into town.  As my son`s lips now resembled the surface of the moon, I realised the futility of our search and felt an uncomfortable realisation that I might be abusing my child.

I leapt from the vehicle, stumbled out is probably the correct description, and headed forthwith into the retail store that we all know and recognise as Halfords.  A man stood at the till discussing the life story of his motor car so I headed for the first assistant I could see who wasnt doing anything, which wasnt too difficult.  The young girl seemed only too happy to help and soon had the necessary batteries in her hand.  After paying for them I asked if she would kindly put them into the fob for me as I had shut my glasses in the car, along with everything else I needed at that time.  As she reached for the fob a woman, standing alongside her, who I had not noticed previously, stated in that tone that simulates running ones` fingers down a blackboard "No, she cant do that!"  I looked at her in total disbelief.  "I beg your pardon?" I responded, in a tone that simulates blood boiling.  "Head Office have said we arent to change batteries no more cos of the sulphur in em", she eloquently informed me.  I was ready to smack her, really hard!  I quickly explained the fact that my specs were locked inside my car, making me as blind as a bat and also gave her a brief account of the past hour and a half of my life.  "Nope"!  she wasnt going to shift, "Head Office.........blah blah blah". 
 I coaxed and urged the eastern european assistant to please do what I had asked, and to ignore the irritating "jobsworth" who was still spouting policies at me.
I made sure to thank the young lady for her assistance and refusing to explosively react to the woman`s verbal ranting, left the shop hotter than a burning furnace.

At last, after nearly two hours, we pulled onto the drive, unlocked the front door and headed for the fridge.

To add salt to the wound, a red flag to my bull etc; two days later I received my mobile phone bill and was infuriated to find that I had been billed £9.00 for the two calls I made to Morrisons` (to ask if they sold the batteries for my fob) and to Halfords to ensure they had them in stock! What a cruel world!

Accountability

Does being famous make one unaccountable?  Today on Twitter I had the misfortune of having a heated exchange of tweets with a struggling comedian by the name of Dom Joly.  The catalyst for me was a stupid comment he made about Stevie Wonder not being able to see him switching the TV over. 

"hope Stevie Wonder doesn't see this but...I'm turning over.... "
I responded by tweeting:
 @domjoly That was sooooo funny - NOT !!!
@domjoly Dont mock the afflicted - its NOT funny!!
This is what followed:

@JanSx who made you God?
 @domjoly Nobody made me God, but God made me caring.
@JanSx good for God....now let's hope he works on making you interesting
@JanSx thanks for the critique- especially enjoyed being dissed by a catchphrase last popular in about 1992
@domjoly You dont have a clue who I am, what I do or anything abt me. I have seen u on the tv and know a tad more abt you.....
@JanSx go away....you're boring....
@JanSx so.......why are you following me?
@JanSx still no answer as to why you're following me?
@domjoly Believe it or not, I asked myself the same question after seeing u on BB the other night! You made a complete twat of yrself!
@domjoly and what I have seen makes me realise ur desperate for public recognition for being a funny man.Well, I have news for u - You arent
@JanSx still following me.....would you like some help finding the unfollow button?
@domjoly and you are still irritating and nasty for picking on someone with a disability. Go find more material.
night everyone- Twitter freaks are busy- off to bed
I dont joke about blind people - you do!!!
@domjoly and dont call me a freak!!!
@jonathanwpurvis Thanks. I think he feels he has the right to say just about anything.@domjoly I hope his fans see what he is really like
@jonathanwpurvis He has no right to call me a freak.
@domjoly Run off when u have met yr match....lol Typical man!
@JanSx yeah....I've really met my match- you beat me hands down...well done.....

@domjoly The fact that u resort to insulting me and then running off shows that you are weak and incapable of negative feedback. Shame! I merely stated that I found the remark u made abt Stevie Wonder offensive. Instead of apologising, u attacked and insulted me
@domjoly You are pathetic
@JanSx I think you're a little lonely but I'm afraid I can't carry this on, I'm off- Samaritans are 24-7 though 
@domjoly How sad you really are. Go on - Jog On!
@domjoly I suggest u toddle off with that ridiculous phone of yrs and go and irritate someone else. Jog On!!
 @domjoly Coward!!!
@domjoly Why do u think all women are lonely on Twitter? I notice you accused someone of being lonely earlier! Whats that??

The incident has once again made me question the morality of some people in the public eye. I felt the whole tone of his remarks to me were nothing short of condescending and insulting.  It is something I have witnessed before and something that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable.

I love Twitter and happily admit to going on it virtually every day as do many others, I am sure. What really angers me is that people like Dom Joly feel they have every right to insult anyone that gives negative feedback or comments on their tweets. Admittedly, I know a little bit more about him as he is a public figure and I have seen him on several television programmes and by doing so have made a judgement of him as a comedian and performer.  I found his response all the more insulting as he tried to blight my character by calling me a "freak" and saying I was "lonely". What right does he have to make unfounded claims about me as a fellow tweeter and when does he stop being a performer and become an insulting and abusive tweeter?
Suffice to say, my opinion of him has been on a downward slope when I realised some time ago that he was a "one trip pony"; a failing comedian desperate for any kind of publicity. Indeed, I have recently seen him on dubious television programmes struggling for laughs in a bid to rekindle what may have been.  One successful series does not maketh the man and Dom Joly needs to be careful how he speaks to people who may have previously put food on his table.

Speechless

"Speechless, Speechless

Thats how you make me feel.

When I`m with you I am lost for words

Nothing is for real.

Speechless!"

Brave Hayley

I want to dedicate this post to a very brave little girl by the name of Hayley Okines, after seeing a truly touching documentary on television this evening.
  Hayley is a twelve year old British girl who suffers from the debilitating and life-threatening disease called Progeria.  There is only one more child in Britain who suffers from the same disease and an estimated one in eight million chance of anyone being born with it.  Please read on to learn more about this incredible girl and be inspired by her bravery.

"Her parents from Bexhill, East Sussex, were horribly aware that the average lifespan for a child with progeria is only 13 years old and Hayley was devastated when she lost her best friend to the disease in 2006.

Hayley is one of the first progeria children to try a new class of drug called FTIs (farnesyltransferase inhibitors). These were found to reverse an abnormality in progeria cells in the laboratory and also prevented symptoms developing in progeria mice.


The family were well aware of the risks involved so early on in the trial. However Kerry, 36, said: 'At the end of the day we have got nothing to lose."


Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-1286481/Progeria-schoolgirl-Hayley-Okines-body-96-year-old-refuses-let-rapid-aging-disease-win.html?ITO=1490#ixzz0qrehPLwP

More information on Hayley can be seen on her page http://www.hayleyspage.com/ or www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=25772240351

World Cup 2010

International Football involving England is definitely not for the weak hearted.  Oh, the game started reasonably well, we even managed a goal in the fourth minute.  A stunner from our own captain, no less; then the game took on the familiar pattern of Englishmen abroad.  The commentator described it brilliantly when he called it a "rollercoaster" game. 

I sat in my daughter`s lounge willing our team to do well.  When Gerrards` shot hit the back of the net, myself my son and my son-in-law cheered loudly and sprang to our feet.  The baby screamed in shock and my daughter yelled in annoyance as we three grabbed our horns and blew them loudly in celebration.  We just couldnt contain our excitement at the prospect of winning this first game of the championship. 

Our celebration was short-lived as we returned to our seats to continue watching the game.   Exasperation led to annoyance as each opportunity to score again was scuppered  by a misskick, a failed attempt at passing the ball accurately to another team member, or sloppy footwork. 

Half time was only five minutes away when disaster struck.  Our goalie fluffed what appeared to be an easy attempt at scoring by the Americans, and the ball rolled agonisingly slowly across the line behind him.  Again we yelled - this time in total dismay and disbelief.  Again the baby cried.

We kidded ourselves that the second half would produce more goals from our lads in South Africa, but it was not to be and the truth and reality of our swift demise was soon evident.  We willed our players to score again, offering advice at the television as if we were football managers ourselves, but to no avail.  By the end of the match our previously high spirits were broken, our hopes in tatters.

The red and white wig my son had proudly worn for most of the day was ripped off his head and unceremoniously dumped behind him on the sofa. He was so disappointed.  The horns we had blown so loudly and energetically stood untouched on the dining table.  I seriously considered removing the St George flag from my car as we left to go home, such was our dismay.

"See you on Friday for the next match" called my daughter as I opened the car door.  My eyes rolled skyward.  "Okay Honey", I replied. "Dont forget the horns!".  Well, we can only live in hope!

I Have a Plan

I have an idea that I am really excited about.  I cannot divulge exactly what it is, suffice to say it will be thrilling to do and well worth the effort needed to make it successful.  I am however allowing myself to say that it has to do with writing. 

I have been writing my autobiography for some time now and need to knuckle down more and focus on completing it.  I never realised how difficult and emotionally draining it would be but am determined one day to be satisfied that it is complete and as perfect as it is possible to be.  I want to make sure all the pieces of my life puzzle are in place and the overall picture is as true to life as it should be. 

Creatively I have hit the proverbial wall recently and have struggled in most areas of my creativity.  Although it can indeed be cathartic, by its nature and because of my own expectations, it has to be as good and fresh as it can be, using the best words, choosing the best colours, producing the best I can achieve.

  With art, the paint needs to flow, the sketching needs to create the image I have in my mind; the photograph as stunning, or even stronger than the original vision.  With writing, the words also need to flow, to make sense and be as coherently correct in their meaning and comprehension.  It`s a hard task that can be undertaken and developed into something special if attempted and executed at the right time. 

My best work has always been achieved when I feel unchallenged by lack of ideas, be it songwriting, writing, poetry or producing artwork.  Struggling for the next part,  next word or next line,  hinders my creativity, stemming my natural flow.  It`s almost as if my mindset says if it doesn`t come naturally it wont feel right, so dont do it.  Strange how our unconscious thoughts govern and determine our emotions and self assurance.