I said once that my favourite t-shirt says "Beam me up, Scotty, there's no intelligent life down here". No kidding!!!
It's been a few weeks of rain (no surprises there), and goodbyes: I feel like I've been paroled. I've been discharged from all the physiotherapy, and the dietician, and a few other clinics, and I am finally well and truly on my own. Yay. Scary, but a good thing: now I have to continue to do all the exercises and all the other stuff, or I won't get any better. The buck stops here.
People ask me why I take the mickey out of the Brits. Are they really as dumb as I paint them? Aw, yes they are. Read on, blogees, read on and you will understand why my hair is so grey!!
I listen to a radio station that plays a good mixture of old and new, and I like the music, but (there is always a "but") they have competition after competition in the morning, so there seems to be more talk than music. But - for someone to win a radio station mug, for example, they have to answer various questions in 20 seconds.
These are absolutely true, as are all my stories-and I've got loads, I have lived in this country that long. First question: what is the number 66 divided by 2? Please don't screw this up, I will forever lose faith in you! The answer should be 33 (the answer, the DJ said, starts with a "t"). The answer given was --- 12. dim-witted or what??
On another morning-and another caller- the question was "starting with the letter "M". What is the fifth month of the year? The answer was: March. I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee. What can anyone say to that caller-apart from the obvious?
I need to start writing these down, because they simply beggar belief. Is there anyone still breathing who is that stupid? Well--obviously.
And here is the prize I saved for last. It happened recently, and I did manage to write it down, as I was choking on my breakfast, I was laughing that hard. The question was: name the human rights activist and hero who just passed away recently-the name begins with an M. No prizes, guys, for guessing that one. You would have to live on a different planet to escape all the media coverage.
The caller's answer was- Hitler.
Any questions as to why I say the cumulative IQ in this country must be no more than 80?
I rest my case.
Friday 31 January 2014
Thursday 23 January 2014
Transformers: Rise of the Braindead
I decided that I wouldn't make any New Year's Resolutions-because I always break them, usually on January 2nd. So I thought of things I want to accomplish in 2014-and, because I didn't make a written list, I also decided that a list in my head doesn't count. So if I don't do it, I didn't break any resolutions. And that is so lame! But it is the only excuse I've got, and I'm sticking to it.
I decided that I will be nice to people this year. Of course, that doesn't mean all people. I exclude the rude, obnoxious, brain-dead (trust me, there are a lot of those!), the deranged. I also must exclude doctors called Bright, Grigoriadou, and Longhurst, known as the three cripplers. In fact, I was at the hospital last week, and one of the patients told me that Longhurst broke her wrist. Honestly, before I could stop myself, I replied "she should have broken her neck". Oops! So much for forgiveness...
I also exclude politicians, lawyers, policemen, accountants, and anyone else who deserves to be named and shamed. Oh, and I must add anyone who works for the tabloids: the Sun, Mirror, Daily Mail, Express, Star, and anyone else I've missed. Really, with such a high percentage of morons in this country, it isn't surprising to know that people really believe what they read. Example: my neighbour stopped me the other day and said that the Obamas were going to divorce. Apparently Obama is so mediocre and disliked, and such a total oaf, that Michelle has had enough. Who first printed the story? The National Enquirer-and the Mail reprinted it. Of course. Everything these rags print must be true, right? I just laughed. What else can you do?
I calculated that 99.9% of the population is, as I said before, rude, obnoxious, brain-dead, and/or deranged, as well as lazy. So I figured out that, with a population of approximately 63,705,000 (isn't Google the greatest), that leaves approximately 63,000 (plus or minus a few hundred) who actually have functioning grey matter. So-where are they hiding?
I need to tell you two stories to illustrate my point (I'm such an anorak).
The first concerns my Pilates and Yoga acquaintance, Julia. She wanted to meet and go to the movies. So I suggested The Wolf of Wall Street. Off we went last Friday. Now-Julia is a very religious Catholic. She is also very evangelical. We don't discuss religion, and I always move the conversation away from anything religious. So-when the cursing started, Julia sprinted to the Ladies Room, to return ten minutes later. Less than thirty minutes (Probably twenty minutes into the film, Julia announced that she couldn't stand the language-and she got up and left, never to be heard from again (I tried to phone and text-I'm definitely the devil, I think).
The Wolf of Wall Street contains more than 500 references to the F word. That isn't F as in fart, either. For the benefit of those of you with a delicate constitution, I'll just say "F**k"- not that everyone doesn't use the word (I say it under my breath when some dimwit crashes into me-but loudly when I'm alone and something happens.
It was a review in the Times that mentioned either 505 or 530 times the F word was used. What I want to know is: WHO counts these? What do they do when they run out of fingers? Do they sit in the cinema and use a counter? Who is so nuts-so OCD-to actually sit there and count? It's a film, stupid! I read the article and thought this must have been made up. How asinine is that? And, by the way, I thought DiCaprio deserves an Oscar for his performance. He was sensational. But that is just me, I'm not the academy of whoever they are, and they rarely get it right-at least, in my book.
Story two: reality television shows. Eeeek! People ask me why I make fun of the people from Essex, and I say that it is because their collective IQs don't move into single figures, let alone double ones.Case in point: there is a reality show about people who live in Essex-although I don't know why anyone would care-and the "stars" do-whatever it is they do, all for the camera. I've never seen it. I don't watch reality shows, and they are cheap television: cooking shows, dancing, all kinds of competitions, and, of course, the show I just mentioned. The "breakout star" of this debacle is called - what else but Joey Essex? Well, duh-that is probably the only word he can spell, so that's his stage name. By his own admission-and I do mean his OWN admission, he cannot tell the time. But he collects expensive watches (Rolex, Patek Philippe, etc), and someone else has to tell him the time. He also can't add-or spell-in fact, there is very little he can do. And Essex girls (according to Joey) think he's hot. Hot? Excuse me?
I clearly come from an era where intelligence is sexy. Imbeciles are not sexy.
And-I have to tell you this: in this country, everyone who has a television set has to pay the BBC for a television license. It costs nearly £150-which is more than $250-per year. Even though there is so much absolute drivel on the telly, everyone has to pay-unless you are over 75 or blind (or dead). And there are investigators whose sole job is to visit every property that isn't registered to make sure the people either pay or don't have a television. And-the investigators have the legal right to enter your home without any notice, any written warrant, anything. They are allowed by law to thoroughly search your home, and they can come in at any time, day or night. If you are caught with a telly in your property, the fine is over a thousand pounds. Huh. I used to call them the telly police-until I was told by a friend that the license investigators have more power than the police. Now I call them the Gestapo. That would never happen in my country-at least, I hope not! Perhaps I've been here too long.
No wonder I don't have a television-and a lot of people I know are getting rid of theirs, just because they find it offensive to pay so much for so little. Someone asked me the other day what I do when I don't have a television. I said: I read. You should try it some time.
One thing I do have is lots of stories from my many years in this country. Hey-how did they ever become an empire? And-no wonder they needed us to win the war.
I decided that I will be nice to people this year. Of course, that doesn't mean all people. I exclude the rude, obnoxious, brain-dead (trust me, there are a lot of those!), the deranged. I also must exclude doctors called Bright, Grigoriadou, and Longhurst, known as the three cripplers. In fact, I was at the hospital last week, and one of the patients told me that Longhurst broke her wrist. Honestly, before I could stop myself, I replied "she should have broken her neck". Oops! So much for forgiveness...
I also exclude politicians, lawyers, policemen, accountants, and anyone else who deserves to be named and shamed. Oh, and I must add anyone who works for the tabloids: the Sun, Mirror, Daily Mail, Express, Star, and anyone else I've missed. Really, with such a high percentage of morons in this country, it isn't surprising to know that people really believe what they read. Example: my neighbour stopped me the other day and said that the Obamas were going to divorce. Apparently Obama is so mediocre and disliked, and such a total oaf, that Michelle has had enough. Who first printed the story? The National Enquirer-and the Mail reprinted it. Of course. Everything these rags print must be true, right? I just laughed. What else can you do?
I calculated that 99.9% of the population is, as I said before, rude, obnoxious, brain-dead, and/or deranged, as well as lazy. So I figured out that, with a population of approximately 63,705,000 (isn't Google the greatest), that leaves approximately 63,000 (plus or minus a few hundred) who actually have functioning grey matter. So-where are they hiding?
I need to tell you two stories to illustrate my point (I'm such an anorak).
The first concerns my Pilates and Yoga acquaintance, Julia. She wanted to meet and go to the movies. So I suggested The Wolf of Wall Street. Off we went last Friday. Now-Julia is a very religious Catholic. She is also very evangelical. We don't discuss religion, and I always move the conversation away from anything religious. So-when the cursing started, Julia sprinted to the Ladies Room, to return ten minutes later. Less than thirty minutes (Probably twenty minutes into the film, Julia announced that she couldn't stand the language-and she got up and left, never to be heard from again (I tried to phone and text-I'm definitely the devil, I think).
The Wolf of Wall Street contains more than 500 references to the F word. That isn't F as in fart, either. For the benefit of those of you with a delicate constitution, I'll just say "F**k"- not that everyone doesn't use the word (I say it under my breath when some dimwit crashes into me-but loudly when I'm alone and something happens.
It was a review in the Times that mentioned either 505 or 530 times the F word was used. What I want to know is: WHO counts these? What do they do when they run out of fingers? Do they sit in the cinema and use a counter? Who is so nuts-so OCD-to actually sit there and count? It's a film, stupid! I read the article and thought this must have been made up. How asinine is that? And, by the way, I thought DiCaprio deserves an Oscar for his performance. He was sensational. But that is just me, I'm not the academy of whoever they are, and they rarely get it right-at least, in my book.
Story two: reality television shows. Eeeek! People ask me why I make fun of the people from Essex, and I say that it is because their collective IQs don't move into single figures, let alone double ones.Case in point: there is a reality show about people who live in Essex-although I don't know why anyone would care-and the "stars" do-whatever it is they do, all for the camera. I've never seen it. I don't watch reality shows, and they are cheap television: cooking shows, dancing, all kinds of competitions, and, of course, the show I just mentioned. The "breakout star" of this debacle is called - what else but Joey Essex? Well, duh-that is probably the only word he can spell, so that's his stage name. By his own admission-and I do mean his OWN admission, he cannot tell the time. But he collects expensive watches (Rolex, Patek Philippe, etc), and someone else has to tell him the time. He also can't add-or spell-in fact, there is very little he can do. And Essex girls (according to Joey) think he's hot. Hot? Excuse me?
I clearly come from an era where intelligence is sexy. Imbeciles are not sexy.
And-I have to tell you this: in this country, everyone who has a television set has to pay the BBC for a television license. It costs nearly £150-which is more than $250-per year. Even though there is so much absolute drivel on the telly, everyone has to pay-unless you are over 75 or blind (or dead). And there are investigators whose sole job is to visit every property that isn't registered to make sure the people either pay or don't have a television. And-the investigators have the legal right to enter your home without any notice, any written warrant, anything. They are allowed by law to thoroughly search your home, and they can come in at any time, day or night. If you are caught with a telly in your property, the fine is over a thousand pounds. Huh. I used to call them the telly police-until I was told by a friend that the license investigators have more power than the police. Now I call them the Gestapo. That would never happen in my country-at least, I hope not! Perhaps I've been here too long.
No wonder I don't have a television-and a lot of people I know are getting rid of theirs, just because they find it offensive to pay so much for so little. Someone asked me the other day what I do when I don't have a television. I said: I read. You should try it some time.
One thing I do have is lots of stories from my many years in this country. Hey-how did they ever become an empire? And-no wonder they needed us to win the war.
Sunday 12 January 2014
Darwin was right
Nope-not dead yet. Just keeping my head down and trying to stay out of trouble. And failing, too.
All the sales started the day after Christmas (Boxing Day). What amazes me-even after so many years in this country-is the way people turn into savages as soon as there are sales on. Really-talk about the evolutionary process reversing itself! People fight over everything. People even kill each other-I remember one teenager fatally stabbing another over a pair of Nikes. I like Nikes, but I wouldn't kill anyone over them. How insane is that? And there are stories about women fighting over an outfit and tearing it to shreds just to make sure that nobody gets it. Welcome to Britain, I say. So I keep well away from the sales. Of course, who realizes that everything is marked up by 400% (or thereabouts) during the year, only to be marked down (end of season items) by, say, 50%-dumb, isn't it?
So that is my take on the insanity that runs rampant during sale time. I'm busy doing my exercises and walking-I even met my friend at the museum on Wednesday. I finally got there, and I'm glad I did. That is one of my assignments: to stop in the middle of the Millennium Bridge and watch people pass me, and try not to get knocked over. Hey, whatever it takes to get the brain working for me.
Since the police issued the maniac upstairs with a harassment order (just before New Year's Day), he has been relatively quiet. I still look around before I go out, but I also carry a noxious substance in my pocket (mace). I would rather take my chances with the courts than feel like I need to fight the wacko upstairs. On Friday I was summoned to the housing office and had to repeat everything I told the police. Was it a total waste of time? Of course it was-and I told them so. This is what happens when someone goes into accommodation that is owned by the local authority-the first time in all the years I've lived here that I haven't been in privately owned or rented accommodation. First-and last, I hope. I understand now why people in public housing are so unhappy. Really, this block of flats isn't bad-and it is for disabled people-but living here is soul-destroying. Everyone else is old, decrepit, and every day there is an ambulance taking someone away.
It has served a purpose, though. When I had the gentamicin disaster, I couldn't stand up without falling over, and I couldn't walk up or down stairs, or even walk anywhere without ending up face first on the ground. So this place was okay for me. Now I'm reaching the point of looking for somewhere more suitable, so I don't feel like I am waiting for someone to cart me off to the cemetery. There is life in this old girl yet! I'm far from quitting, even though I go through stages of wanting to give up.
I was coming back from seeing the gastro consultant at the hospital on Thursday, and I looked out of the window of the taxi and watched all the people rushing past. It suddenly hit me: I don't have to do that anymore. I suppose I'm unemployable, given that I have the very annoying wobbling eyes and the even more annoying lack of balance (so flying a plane is out of the question, sadly). But the whole point is that I am now out of the rat race. I can leave it to the rats and get on with working to get back something resembling a life.
What really hit me during that taxi ride is: I'm free. I don't have to worry about who is doing what, and if everyone in my life is okay. I don't need to exert any control over anyone else. If I want to watch something on television at three in the morning, and eat Kettle Chips, or pistachio ice cream (yum), there is nobody to tell me off. What can be bad about that? I'm free. Hallelujah.
All the sales started the day after Christmas (Boxing Day). What amazes me-even after so many years in this country-is the way people turn into savages as soon as there are sales on. Really-talk about the evolutionary process reversing itself! People fight over everything. People even kill each other-I remember one teenager fatally stabbing another over a pair of Nikes. I like Nikes, but I wouldn't kill anyone over them. How insane is that? And there are stories about women fighting over an outfit and tearing it to shreds just to make sure that nobody gets it. Welcome to Britain, I say. So I keep well away from the sales. Of course, who realizes that everything is marked up by 400% (or thereabouts) during the year, only to be marked down (end of season items) by, say, 50%-dumb, isn't it?
So that is my take on the insanity that runs rampant during sale time. I'm busy doing my exercises and walking-I even met my friend at the museum on Wednesday. I finally got there, and I'm glad I did. That is one of my assignments: to stop in the middle of the Millennium Bridge and watch people pass me, and try not to get knocked over. Hey, whatever it takes to get the brain working for me.
Since the police issued the maniac upstairs with a harassment order (just before New Year's Day), he has been relatively quiet. I still look around before I go out, but I also carry a noxious substance in my pocket (mace). I would rather take my chances with the courts than feel like I need to fight the wacko upstairs. On Friday I was summoned to the housing office and had to repeat everything I told the police. Was it a total waste of time? Of course it was-and I told them so. This is what happens when someone goes into accommodation that is owned by the local authority-the first time in all the years I've lived here that I haven't been in privately owned or rented accommodation. First-and last, I hope. I understand now why people in public housing are so unhappy. Really, this block of flats isn't bad-and it is for disabled people-but living here is soul-destroying. Everyone else is old, decrepit, and every day there is an ambulance taking someone away.
It has served a purpose, though. When I had the gentamicin disaster, I couldn't stand up without falling over, and I couldn't walk up or down stairs, or even walk anywhere without ending up face first on the ground. So this place was okay for me. Now I'm reaching the point of looking for somewhere more suitable, so I don't feel like I am waiting for someone to cart me off to the cemetery. There is life in this old girl yet! I'm far from quitting, even though I go through stages of wanting to give up.
I was coming back from seeing the gastro consultant at the hospital on Thursday, and I looked out of the window of the taxi and watched all the people rushing past. It suddenly hit me: I don't have to do that anymore. I suppose I'm unemployable, given that I have the very annoying wobbling eyes and the even more annoying lack of balance (so flying a plane is out of the question, sadly). But the whole point is that I am now out of the rat race. I can leave it to the rats and get on with working to get back something resembling a life.
What really hit me during that taxi ride is: I'm free. I don't have to worry about who is doing what, and if everyone in my life is okay. I don't need to exert any control over anyone else. If I want to watch something on television at three in the morning, and eat Kettle Chips, or pistachio ice cream (yum), there is nobody to tell me off. What can be bad about that? I'm free. Hallelujah.
Wednesday 1 January 2014
Humpty Dumpty has a black eye
I know it's New Year's Day, and many of us are recovering from the excesses of the season (me included)- but yes, you are reading this correctly: I've got a really stunning shiner. And to add insult to injury, I've also go the flu. What a way to see out the old year
I wish I could say that the eye is from the deranged cretin who lives upstairs. At least that would be somewhat interesting. But no, the sad truth is that I did this to myself. It's self-inflicted!
On Wednesday, Christmas Day, I went out for a very nice Christmas dinner. That was fine-well, almost fine. I had some enlightenment that day-and I will tell you about it in a minute. First the eye!
By Friday I knew I was coming down with a virus: sore throat, sniffling, aches and pains, and so on. Honestly-too many people breathing!! And when I get sick, my voice goes very, very deep. I wish I could keep the deep voice without all the other nasty stuff, and I'm still trying to figure out how I can do that...
Well - my kitchen cabinets are at eye level, and I wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing; I was listening to music as I opened the cabinet door, a little too forcefully. I caught myself right in the eye. For a moment I was stunned; then I thought I'd lost my eye, there was so much pain. So I stumbled into the bathroom, swearing (I didn't know I knew so many swearwords). My eye was red and teary - but not missing!- and I was developing a huge lump under my eye-swollen, painful, red, turning to a shiner that made me look like someone had taken a swing at me.
On went an ice pack, on went the Arnica cream, and that was how I spent my weekend: nursing a flu and a black eye. Lovely. At least I kept out of trouble!!
But now it is 2014, and my eye is just a little bruised and painful, but nearly all the swelling has gone, although it does hurt when I blink (please don't tell me not to blink!). And the police were here-twice, once on the day before Christmas and again on the 31st. I have, at long last, with huge efforts and by perseverance and making a pain in the butt of myself, managed to get the police to issue a harassment order. This means that if he hurls abuse and threats again, he will be arrested and taken to the police station. And he will have to go to court. Will this do any good? I don't know, because the man is most definitely insane. Ever since my first noise complaint, he has been after me, and things have become so much worse that I wonder when-not if-he will snap, and what he will do when he does.
So it's a matter of wait and see, be very careful, stay out of his way, be prepared to seek a restraining order (from the court, and much better and more formal-and safer for me-than a harassment order).
And, of course, carry mace (illegal as hell, but who cares!!).
So that was my week. But at the Christmas dinner, I sat next to Jane, a woman from Trinidad originally. She was very nice, but very quiet. During the course of the meal (and after a couple of glasses of wine), Jane opened up and told me that she had been married to an abuser for nearly 30 years. He hadn't hit her, but he had shredded her self esteem until she had none left. He constantly threatened and belittled her, and mistreated her. And I could not help drawing a parallel between us; it was no coincidence that she sat next to me. I looked at her, face drawn and etched with sadness and misery, and also-defeat. She went on to tell me some of the things he'd done and said, and when I asked her when she was able to leave-she said that she had developed stomach cancer fifteen years ago, and he didn't seem to really care. He had no human feelings of caring and compassion at all. So she knew she had to leave in order to survive. And leave she did: with nothing, just as I did, only Jane left fifteen years ago! Yikes!! She has been on her own ever since. She had breast cancer a few years ago, and had to cope with that on her own, too. Amazing and brave woman, I told her.
But-and there is a "but"- she still feels anger and resentment, and bitterness at the ex and the way he treated her. He has remarried, too-and she can't understand why such a miserable, bullying bastard (her words) can have a good life, when she is so unhappy with her own.
It was as if someone had shot an arrow into my own heart, because I thought I had dealt with my feelings of anger and bitterness-and then I received that LinkedIn invitation (sent deliberately, just to piss me off, I'm sure: a classic Bob tactic. That worked). I said to Jane that for fifteen years she has been free of a very insecure and evil man, and that everything he did to her will come back to him one day. Don't wait, I said, don't wait to be happy. You will wait forever if you wait for justice. Screw him, let him be happy. Leopards don't change their spots. And I said that the best revenge she could take would be to be happy, healthy and successful. Don't waste another minute on him, I said. And I also told her that some parts of her story parallel my own. She asked me to tell her my story-and, to my surprise, I heard myself say that I'm not going back to that terrible time anymore. I'm not discussing it. I need to let it go, and so does she, if she wants to be happy.
When we were all leaving, I said goodbye and good luck, and wished her a happy Christmas and New Year, and said be happy in spite of him-and because she's rid of him. I hope that got through. It certainly got through to me!!
I usually don't make resolutions for the new year, because I break them almost immediately-like, within the first week. Or the first day...and they are the ones everyone seems to make: more exercise, lose weight, eat a good diet, sleep better, meditate, less stress, be nicer to people (okay, well that last one is one of mine..ha..).
This year I made one resolution, and it really covers all those listed above. It is to go into 2014 with a different mind-set, a different attitude, a different way of doing things and thinking about things, to go into 2014 with a clean slate, with a consciousness that is different from (and more evolved than) my consciousness in 2013, which I decided I want to leave with last year: in the past.
The past belongs just there: in the past. So that means I need to work on my forgiveness: not only do I need to forgive the ex, but also the three cripplers (I still call them that, clearly I've got some more work to do!). I don't forgive them for them, because what they all did was inexcusable and disgraceful. But not one of them cares what I think, or feels badly about what they did to ruin my life. So I am carrying all this negative stuff around for nothing-and it is all hurting me, not them, because I'm the one who is affected.
It sounds good, anyway. It may be difficult to forgive, to move forward, to dump the anger and resentment - but I don't want to end up like Jane, wasting fifteen years over someone who couldn't give a rat's patootie. Did she want him back after she left him? No, she said, absolutely not. And did I even entertain the thought myself? I think the words "hell", "freezing" and "over" spring immediately to mind. So let them - all of them - bugger off, I'm a lot stronger than I ever believed-and I never would have even suspected that if all this hadn't happened (I would still rather it hadn't happened!).
I'm still walking, exercising (boring, but necessary!), and I won't stop until I get that 80% back, no matter how long it takes. I may be a pain in the butt of certain people, but that will never stop me. I refuse to give up. I will not quit. I'm funny that way! Just watch me.
Happy New Year. Health is more important than anything else (ask me, I'm an expert on that), so I wish you all the best of health, and happiness, and peace, don't take prisoners, and always carry mace.
I wish I could say that the eye is from the deranged cretin who lives upstairs. At least that would be somewhat interesting. But no, the sad truth is that I did this to myself. It's self-inflicted!
On Wednesday, Christmas Day, I went out for a very nice Christmas dinner. That was fine-well, almost fine. I had some enlightenment that day-and I will tell you about it in a minute. First the eye!
By Friday I knew I was coming down with a virus: sore throat, sniffling, aches and pains, and so on. Honestly-too many people breathing!! And when I get sick, my voice goes very, very deep. I wish I could keep the deep voice without all the other nasty stuff, and I'm still trying to figure out how I can do that...
Well - my kitchen cabinets are at eye level, and I wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing; I was listening to music as I opened the cabinet door, a little too forcefully. I caught myself right in the eye. For a moment I was stunned; then I thought I'd lost my eye, there was so much pain. So I stumbled into the bathroom, swearing (I didn't know I knew so many swearwords). My eye was red and teary - but not missing!- and I was developing a huge lump under my eye-swollen, painful, red, turning to a shiner that made me look like someone had taken a swing at me.
On went an ice pack, on went the Arnica cream, and that was how I spent my weekend: nursing a flu and a black eye. Lovely. At least I kept out of trouble!!
But now it is 2014, and my eye is just a little bruised and painful, but nearly all the swelling has gone, although it does hurt when I blink (please don't tell me not to blink!). And the police were here-twice, once on the day before Christmas and again on the 31st. I have, at long last, with huge efforts and by perseverance and making a pain in the butt of myself, managed to get the police to issue a harassment order. This means that if he hurls abuse and threats again, he will be arrested and taken to the police station. And he will have to go to court. Will this do any good? I don't know, because the man is most definitely insane. Ever since my first noise complaint, he has been after me, and things have become so much worse that I wonder when-not if-he will snap, and what he will do when he does.
So it's a matter of wait and see, be very careful, stay out of his way, be prepared to seek a restraining order (from the court, and much better and more formal-and safer for me-than a harassment order).
And, of course, carry mace (illegal as hell, but who cares!!).
So that was my week. But at the Christmas dinner, I sat next to Jane, a woman from Trinidad originally. She was very nice, but very quiet. During the course of the meal (and after a couple of glasses of wine), Jane opened up and told me that she had been married to an abuser for nearly 30 years. He hadn't hit her, but he had shredded her self esteem until she had none left. He constantly threatened and belittled her, and mistreated her. And I could not help drawing a parallel between us; it was no coincidence that she sat next to me. I looked at her, face drawn and etched with sadness and misery, and also-defeat. She went on to tell me some of the things he'd done and said, and when I asked her when she was able to leave-she said that she had developed stomach cancer fifteen years ago, and he didn't seem to really care. He had no human feelings of caring and compassion at all. So she knew she had to leave in order to survive. And leave she did: with nothing, just as I did, only Jane left fifteen years ago! Yikes!! She has been on her own ever since. She had breast cancer a few years ago, and had to cope with that on her own, too. Amazing and brave woman, I told her.
But-and there is a "but"- she still feels anger and resentment, and bitterness at the ex and the way he treated her. He has remarried, too-and she can't understand why such a miserable, bullying bastard (her words) can have a good life, when she is so unhappy with her own.
It was as if someone had shot an arrow into my own heart, because I thought I had dealt with my feelings of anger and bitterness-and then I received that LinkedIn invitation (sent deliberately, just to piss me off, I'm sure: a classic Bob tactic. That worked). I said to Jane that for fifteen years she has been free of a very insecure and evil man, and that everything he did to her will come back to him one day. Don't wait, I said, don't wait to be happy. You will wait forever if you wait for justice. Screw him, let him be happy. Leopards don't change their spots. And I said that the best revenge she could take would be to be happy, healthy and successful. Don't waste another minute on him, I said. And I also told her that some parts of her story parallel my own. She asked me to tell her my story-and, to my surprise, I heard myself say that I'm not going back to that terrible time anymore. I'm not discussing it. I need to let it go, and so does she, if she wants to be happy.
When we were all leaving, I said goodbye and good luck, and wished her a happy Christmas and New Year, and said be happy in spite of him-and because she's rid of him. I hope that got through. It certainly got through to me!!
I usually don't make resolutions for the new year, because I break them almost immediately-like, within the first week. Or the first day...and they are the ones everyone seems to make: more exercise, lose weight, eat a good diet, sleep better, meditate, less stress, be nicer to people (okay, well that last one is one of mine..ha..).
This year I made one resolution, and it really covers all those listed above. It is to go into 2014 with a different mind-set, a different attitude, a different way of doing things and thinking about things, to go into 2014 with a clean slate, with a consciousness that is different from (and more evolved than) my consciousness in 2013, which I decided I want to leave with last year: in the past.
The past belongs just there: in the past. So that means I need to work on my forgiveness: not only do I need to forgive the ex, but also the three cripplers (I still call them that, clearly I've got some more work to do!). I don't forgive them for them, because what they all did was inexcusable and disgraceful. But not one of them cares what I think, or feels badly about what they did to ruin my life. So I am carrying all this negative stuff around for nothing-and it is all hurting me, not them, because I'm the one who is affected.
It sounds good, anyway. It may be difficult to forgive, to move forward, to dump the anger and resentment - but I don't want to end up like Jane, wasting fifteen years over someone who couldn't give a rat's patootie. Did she want him back after she left him? No, she said, absolutely not. And did I even entertain the thought myself? I think the words "hell", "freezing" and "over" spring immediately to mind. So let them - all of them - bugger off, I'm a lot stronger than I ever believed-and I never would have even suspected that if all this hadn't happened (I would still rather it hadn't happened!).
I'm still walking, exercising (boring, but necessary!), and I won't stop until I get that 80% back, no matter how long it takes. I may be a pain in the butt of certain people, but that will never stop me. I refuse to give up. I will not quit. I'm funny that way! Just watch me.
Happy New Year. Health is more important than anything else (ask me, I'm an expert on that), so I wish you all the best of health, and happiness, and peace, don't take prisoners, and always carry mace.
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