03 May 2006

Lost In Translation

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.

Message ends

**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.


zilla said...

Hi. This is me. This lifetime I have head floating loftily in clouds. It may seem that I no longer want to play with you or that I no longer like you, but my head is simply stuck up in the air until I can come back down to earth and cope with things like feelings instead of, you know, feelings's less demanding, cloud-dwelling cousin, ideas. In this moment, my head appears to be approaching the outer atmosphere, where the air becomes quite cold and thin, and I'm constantly shivering, on the brink of losing consciousness. It's inconvenient and not by choice, so if you could think of me as permanently disabled rather than asking for a pasting, that would be jolly well appreciated.

(What's a pasting? If it involves vodka, I'll take two.)

Cheryl said...



Firstly: A pasting is a thumping, a knocking about.

Secondly: I hope all the references in your comment to 'you' mean 'people in general', or else I am going to have to go and hide under a rock! You and me, we have an understanding, I talk bollocks and you tell me about it. This makes me happy.

Thirdly: I think I am a liar. I did briefly realise that some of my statements today could have been taken a couple of ways, but then real friends would challenge that up front, hopefully safe in the knowledge that it was just crossed wires. I think the whole world is being a bit odd / super-touchy, not just me.

Fourthly - ooh an icy faint from climbing philosophical heights - nasty. I tend to avoid that by consciously not thinking at all, whenever possible.*

*Doesn't stop the yabbering however.

Stegbeetle said...

Drop a cloth over you and pretend you're not there!? Absolutely not!
I'm obviously missing something here but...
any form of communication by the written word (e-mail, text messaging, letters, comments on blogs) is open to misinterpretation because one can't pick up on all the subtle nuances that people give out during conversation. Anybody who comments on someone else's blog will have an "ohhh shiiiit" moment from time to time. I know I have and the last one wasn't that long ago.
Obviously I don't know you personally or well but I do think that I've picked up enough about you to know you'd "never knowingly be crass or insensitive or offhand" without being told. So there!
It's a vivid positional picture you paint of yourself, I have to say. Is that your party trick?

Cheryl said...


jane said...

You crack me up Cheryl. It's hard for me to convey humor in writing too. Sometimes I try to write something funny, but people end up feeling bad for me. (perhaps cuz my humor sucks?)

Interesting that you've found a seasonal trend in your blogging. As for me, I love, love, love your writing!

She Weevil said...

Ditto Steggy .... I'm now feeling incredibly thick and am reading and rereading in an effort to discover something pasting worthy.

Maybe that's what the indie virus really was, a nasty case of blog sensitization.