What is it with women and regrets? Is it like a genetic thing or is it something we pick up as we go along? I mean, we make decisions where it concerns others and when it comes time to accept the consequences of our actions we backtrack and try to go 50 50 to make our selves feel like we made progress.
Take for example women and relationships. I am the type who would break up with someone and then sit down and analyse why I did it and what to do next only to come to the conclusion that I made a mistake and maybe we could work through it then get back on the horse only to realise why I broke it off in the first place.
Then there are the women who take it upon themselves to bring life into this world only to use it as an excuse to gain some kind of freedom and leeway out of situations where they can get pity and assistance only for it to run dry and then turn around and try to go back to the time when it just was and stable.
Let's not forget the fakers. The ones who stomp on people to maintain this image of being on top of it, being there in the mix of things. But of course there comes a time where a person's moxxy is tested and they can't dig themselves out of the hole because they have no substance and depth to pull it off so they crawl back to the people ho was genuine toward them. Kind and understanding, willing to be a friend.
These are things you always see portrayed by women.
Always regretting our actions and decisions , believing there is some magical way to make it better and everyone including ourselves better.
It's shameless really, just another thing that makes us IMPERFECT.
Saturday, 13 September 2014
The End and It's End
I always thought that when I die, the world would end with me. Such were The thinking of my young self. Just the thought of me leaving this world conjured up the image of everything else coming to a halt, a place with no continuation.
I mean, people die everyday, and this is something that took me a while to really figure out and let sink in. Mainly because in this life you see and hear of someone dying everyday and 2 minutes later it is a distant memory unless that person happened to cross your path when they were alive or you were related or connected somehow, then their sudden disappearance stirs something inside you that brings forth the emotions of sadness, grief, loneliness and misery.
Death, and what comes after?
Really nothing you do or who you talk to can answer that question now can they?
From reading my earlier blogs you can see that there was a time where ending my very existence was on top of my to do list on most days but now, the thought of closing my eyes and it not opening again scares the shit out of me.
I have so much to accomplish, so much to make for myself to the point that I can sit back and not worry because the creaking in my bones, the aches in my body and the callousness of my hands tells me everyday that did it. I accomplished what I set out to do so now I can close my eyes and go with the knowledge that Merlene Dunbar wasn't wasted, she used her 100 years to the fullest.
But this world isn't making it easy to fulfill this dream, everyday is new thing you have to look out or a new kind of crazy you have to avoid.
And the people, what is going on with the people? I thought that every generation produced a better brand of futuristics? A brand new set of thinkers whose goals aren't to appease but protect and heal?
I can't take it anymore, I can't take the constant struggle, this constant game of monopoly where everything is moved with money, made by money and has no cards that says STOP PLAYING: Games are for kids.
I mean, is it so bad for a person to want there to be an end?
The rules, the sucking up, the two-facing and the lies, just keeps getting longer and harder to maintain. But it is what the people want, what they crave to survive. Don't abide by it and you always find yourself at the end of the short stick.
So really, running around in a circle to find your niche while creating connections and trying to make a difference so that others can have a better chance at what you got is what 'life' is really about now isn't it.
Who ever looks you in the eye and says enjoying life to the fullest is what it is about is an ass and would probably be the one bad mouthing you at your funeral because stupid you would take their words to heart and go out and try to enjoy your life while ignoring the responsibilities handed down to you and somewhere or somehow they would catch up and you would be gone. With nothing to show for your life other than you 'lived it to the fullest'.
The end is the end and what can only change it is the end. Life is such a fickle thing, I wonder what is gonna happen tomorrow?
I mean, people die everyday, and this is something that took me a while to really figure out and let sink in. Mainly because in this life you see and hear of someone dying everyday and 2 minutes later it is a distant memory unless that person happened to cross your path when they were alive or you were related or connected somehow, then their sudden disappearance stirs something inside you that brings forth the emotions of sadness, grief, loneliness and misery.
Death, and what comes after?
Really nothing you do or who you talk to can answer that question now can they?
From reading my earlier blogs you can see that there was a time where ending my very existence was on top of my to do list on most days but now, the thought of closing my eyes and it not opening again scares the shit out of me.
I have so much to accomplish, so much to make for myself to the point that I can sit back and not worry because the creaking in my bones, the aches in my body and the callousness of my hands tells me everyday that did it. I accomplished what I set out to do so now I can close my eyes and go with the knowledge that Merlene Dunbar wasn't wasted, she used her 100 years to the fullest.
But this world isn't making it easy to fulfill this dream, everyday is new thing you have to look out or a new kind of crazy you have to avoid.
And the people, what is going on with the people? I thought that every generation produced a better brand of futuristics? A brand new set of thinkers whose goals aren't to appease but protect and heal?
I can't take it anymore, I can't take the constant struggle, this constant game of monopoly where everything is moved with money, made by money and has no cards that says STOP PLAYING: Games are for kids.
I mean, is it so bad for a person to want there to be an end?
The rules, the sucking up, the two-facing and the lies, just keeps getting longer and harder to maintain. But it is what the people want, what they crave to survive. Don't abide by it and you always find yourself at the end of the short stick.
So really, running around in a circle to find your niche while creating connections and trying to make a difference so that others can have a better chance at what you got is what 'life' is really about now isn't it.
Who ever looks you in the eye and says enjoying life to the fullest is what it is about is an ass and would probably be the one bad mouthing you at your funeral because stupid you would take their words to heart and go out and try to enjoy your life while ignoring the responsibilities handed down to you and somewhere or somehow they would catch up and you would be gone. With nothing to show for your life other than you 'lived it to the fullest'.
The end is the end and what can only change it is the end. Life is such a fickle thing, I wonder what is gonna happen tomorrow?
Thursday, 4 September 2014
If Animals Could Talk
This is something that has always bothered me. Why it is that cats don't like me? That and babies but that is a story for another time.
See I have always had this silent war going on with cats, it's like in my past life I promised to have cats babies with a certain male cat but then like a typical female I changed my mind when he was in heat and went with his brother or something and now the whole cat nation is trying to kill me because my before self went against the code.
Anyway, it all started with a cat called Pussin. Now Pussin was my grandmothers cat and the first cat I had ever made contact with, mainly because my father didn't like stray or any other animal around the house so it was like going to the zoo for my brothers and I any time we saw a new street animal.
Pussin and I met the night my mother left my father, while I was camping out the drawing room he came sauntering in like he owned the place, scratched my leg because I was blocking his was to under the couch and then sauntered off. It only went downhill after that. He would literally jump on my lamp like a ninja, steal the meat off my plate, run 2 meters away from me, sit on his behind and proceed to swallow it whole so that I saw. Then he would jump on the bed at night while I slept and stick his tail in my nose causing me to sneeze all night or pass his tail all over my face making me slap my forehead thinking it was a mosquito.
This may sound cartoonish to the average person but I lie to you not, this cat was as evil as its owner.
When he died if I was able to make a bonfire I would have danced around it all night eating chicken and ripping his favorite cushion to shreds.
Then there was a Misty, a female black and white cat that caught my fathers heart. Don't know how she did it, but she got admission into the man's home. When I had spent the summer vacation with him that year she was there, lying in the back room as she pleased just poppin out kittens and drinking up my milk. And to add insult to injury she would let my brothers play all soughts of acrobatic games with the kittens but when I just wanted to pet them she basically ran me down until I made it to the other side of the house.
Last but not least FAT SHIT. Fat Shit has been the bane of my existence since 2010. He reminds me of an Italian Mob boss with a long scar across his right eye given to him during a gang fight.
At night when I had projects he would sneakily climb onto my windowsil and just plaster his face onto the glass until I get that tingly feeling that someone is watching me, turn and scream my ass off.
At night he walks back and forth on my roof making creaking noises until I start to beg for him to stop or climb onto the roof and start a fight with him and his crew. Me with a broom against 6 big ass cats with claws, its a sight I tell you.
But that is not what this article is about, I have told you about their actions but sometimes I catch myself talking to them, having literal conversations. They don't talk back it's just their expressions talk for them, it's down right scary.
Every time I get super angry with the noise and I go on the roof to confront them, 4 of them have this look on their faces like they are laughing at me, 1 just sits there with this overly bored look on his face and FAT SHIT puts a paw out and cocks his head to side as if asking me 'what cha gone do pussy?'
People treat these animals like they are just decoration but I see them plotting, don't be surprised if you open the papers to the obits and see Merlene Dunbar 1993 - 2014 Death by Cat Assassination.
But it would be awesome if they could talk, at least I would know which one of them poops in front of my door every Friday night and covers it with fallen leaves.
See I have always had this silent war going on with cats, it's like in my past life I promised to have cats babies with a certain male cat but then like a typical female I changed my mind when he was in heat and went with his brother or something and now the whole cat nation is trying to kill me because my before self went against the code.
Anyway, it all started with a cat called Pussin. Now Pussin was my grandmothers cat and the first cat I had ever made contact with, mainly because my father didn't like stray or any other animal around the house so it was like going to the zoo for my brothers and I any time we saw a new street animal.
Pussin and I met the night my mother left my father, while I was camping out the drawing room he came sauntering in like he owned the place, scratched my leg because I was blocking his was to under the couch and then sauntered off. It only went downhill after that. He would literally jump on my lamp like a ninja, steal the meat off my plate, run 2 meters away from me, sit on his behind and proceed to swallow it whole so that I saw. Then he would jump on the bed at night while I slept and stick his tail in my nose causing me to sneeze all night or pass his tail all over my face making me slap my forehead thinking it was a mosquito.
This may sound cartoonish to the average person but I lie to you not, this cat was as evil as its owner.
When he died if I was able to make a bonfire I would have danced around it all night eating chicken and ripping his favorite cushion to shreds.
Then there was a Misty, a female black and white cat that caught my fathers heart. Don't know how she did it, but she got admission into the man's home. When I had spent the summer vacation with him that year she was there, lying in the back room as she pleased just poppin out kittens and drinking up my milk. And to add insult to injury she would let my brothers play all soughts of acrobatic games with the kittens but when I just wanted to pet them she basically ran me down until I made it to the other side of the house.
Last but not least FAT SHIT. Fat Shit has been the bane of my existence since 2010. He reminds me of an Italian Mob boss with a long scar across his right eye given to him during a gang fight.
At night when I had projects he would sneakily climb onto my windowsil and just plaster his face onto the glass until I get that tingly feeling that someone is watching me, turn and scream my ass off.
At night he walks back and forth on my roof making creaking noises until I start to beg for him to stop or climb onto the roof and start a fight with him and his crew. Me with a broom against 6 big ass cats with claws, its a sight I tell you.
But that is not what this article is about, I have told you about their actions but sometimes I catch myself talking to them, having literal conversations. They don't talk back it's just their expressions talk for them, it's down right scary.
Every time I get super angry with the noise and I go on the roof to confront them, 4 of them have this look on their faces like they are laughing at me, 1 just sits there with this overly bored look on his face and FAT SHIT puts a paw out and cocks his head to side as if asking me 'what cha gone do pussy?'
People treat these animals like they are just decoration but I see them plotting, don't be surprised if you open the papers to the obits and see Merlene Dunbar 1993 - 2014 Death by Cat Assassination.
But it would be awesome if they could talk, at least I would know which one of them poops in front of my door every Friday night and covers it with fallen leaves.
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