Wed 8: It´s one of life´s curiosities that I was born on Groundhog Day. I seem to endure repeats on many levels - including why write a blog or indeed why anyone would read it. Well, to repeat myself (again!), I write it because it is a diary of my spiritual journey.
I suppose people read it for a wealth of different reasons. It´s not too dissimilar to a column and those journalists often get paid vast amounts for their maunderings. And did you know diaries sell well? Even those of long dead unknowns.
People empathise or are curious. Maybe there is even a kind of sharing in being alive - especially in the early hours when sleep eludes? Who knows.
The people who get mentioned have had an impact in some way. They can be people in positions of influence or power, those who have `close´ ties, or simply those with a fleeting presence. (See comment re cold callers!)
My mother had a huge influence on my life in many ways, some good, some less so: the fact I am single, and likely to remain so; my metaphysical beliefs; keeping my spiritual ideas hidden for fear of being thought mentally ill as well…
She knew I wrote about her and liked reading my writings even if she disagreed. Prior to moving to the nursing home, she often rang to ask me to send her more - although, in her final days, she was too tired to read them.
I have been taken to task about calling her Ma (my affectionate nickname for her - she was only Mum if I was cross with her) and for thinking aloud about her dying and how I felt. Yet this is supposed to be an honest account and it would be dishonest to hide the fact that my soul was getting weary. As weary as I feel now with criticism without self-awareness.
By all means criticise - once you have looked in the mirror first. Dad used to say that (before Michael Jackson!).
The anger I felt earlier today, at the slights and putdowns has dissipated somewhat, but even after all this time I cannot fathom why they keep coming. Do I really have to show anger to make my point?
You know another reason I write this is to be heard. Because I do not often mention it, it seems to be alright for me to be interrupted, even in the middle of a sentence. If, however, I try to reclaim it, I am told to hang on or wait a minute. Not the slightest hint of self-awareness that they too interrupted!
Can anyone blame me for wanting to be heard?
On second thoughts, I am still angry. I dislike unfairness, just as I dislike greed and inconsideration. I may be guilty of many things, but none of those, so if they crop up in Other People, they will get a mention.
Like, for example, I sent emails to all with plenty of advance notice about sorting out the estate property, should others wish to join me. I did not receive a similar courtesy, being told after the event.
And, having asked again, a couple of weeks ago, I was told today - with tomorrow being the date chosen. Considerate? Hardly. Small wonder I feel the way I do.
PS I was actually looking forward to today. How wrong I was.
PPS If I don´t answer the `phone, it´s because I am getting ENDLESS cold calls ("No, Ma´am, I am calling from the market research department about…´) and it is seriously annoying. They are invariably foreign. They hide their telephone numbers (against the law in this country). And they NEVER ask if it is convenient to call - which it rarely is.
So now I tell them get lost. Not in those words.
Euphrosene Labon Mind Body Spirit Artist Author Writer
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