God Bless blogging, because it is proving to be my own form of yogic self discovery thingummy. I guess diaries did well enough for centuries, but I've never managed to keep a diary.
Sure, somewhere about the place I have an old suitcase full of my ballet certificates, the cards I got for my wedding(s) and my 18th Birthday, packed in tight amongst a wide variety of disjointed and angst ridden letters to God from my younger days. You know the sort - "Dear God, Samantha is a total bitch", "Dear God, nobody understands me" "Dear God I pray he finds out what a wanker he is and turns to you before he dies, only make it quick because I am that close to killing him" - all blatantly written by a self-involved teen or twenty something (hey, baaaad first marriage, hence the later missives), who only turned to paper in a fit of total well, total something or other. Nothing there along the lines of normal life; simply revelations and crises.
Procrastination aside (or directly above, actually), the point is that I see I am in exactly the same state as roughly this time last year. This is a comfort, as it means the situation is just a 'Spring thing' rather than the end of the world. I also now have the benefit of seeing my immediate reactions (which I acted on, last time) laid out in print.
The problem is this: I am failing to make myself clear in writing, failing to communicate effectively, in particular when I am trying to be tactful or magnanimous or generally jolly.
Whether my meaning is getting lost in translation between my brain and my fingertips, or between my choice of words and the perceptions of those they were meant for, I do not know. I am simply having a run of those perennial favourites, gut-knotting "oooooh shiiiiit" moments.
Last year I tied my self up in angst.
Nothing has changed, I'd never knowingly be crass or insensitive or offhand. Just this time, as it seems to be the time of year for this totally unconscious game of disastrous chinese whispers, I thought I'd just be up front about it and post a public health warning.
Here it is:
Hi. This is me. This week I have both feet firmly wedged in my mouth. It may seem that I am waggling my arse at you, but I'm not. Mon derierre is simply stuck up in the air until I can remove les pieds from la bouche. Dans cete moment they appear to be very, very firmly wedged. Its inconvenient and not by choice, so if you could think of me as temporarily disabled rather than asking for a pasting, that would be jolly well appreciated.
**Yeah, I know, I can't even get it right in just pictures. This is sort of what I mean, only the other way round. Just drop a cloth over me, pretend I'm not there.