There's something to be said for going through some tough emotional times without having to reach for a bottle to fuzz the edges of my reality, or a bottle of pills to soften the blows that continue to rain down upon me until I wonder if I will be able to get up again.
I often joke about something 'driving me to drink' or 'reaching for the valium', when in reality I don't do either.
The past couple of days have been rough, and if they haven't driven me to drink, nothing will.
Go me.
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In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God...
1 Thessalonians 5:8
This is my attempt to be more vocal in my gratitude for the blessings in my life.
This Is Me
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6 comments:
Go you, indeed. The lure of an edge-softening fix is horribly powerful. I've only got coffee to help me through the days - and that just makes me fidgety. And narky. And ill, sometimes.
I've only just realised (oops) that you have another blog. I hope that this is not a private space I've been trampling about it? I'll divert my gaze towards the other place from now on in. See you there.
Kind regards etc....
The "it" should, of course, be "in". These things matter. So...the new (improved) sentence reads: "I hope that this is not a private space I've been trampling about IN?"
And I hope it isn't.
Tally-ho
No, this is not a private space. If it was, I'd not have listed it publicly.
I know what you mean about caffeine. I don't drink coffee, never did like the taste of it. The smell is heavenly though.
Very, very, good point. I take solace in my stupidity at times like these - I can hardly be expected to do better etc.
I suppose what I meant to say was that it feels quite private in here - like a series of messages sent to yourself almost. Does that make any sense? I've got a few "private" blogs on the go, and I'm not entirely sure why. The comments are disabled and they have no links and all I do is talk to myself, really. I very often forget where I keep them - they just seem useful at the time. A means of chivvying myself along. That sort of thing.
Man alive. I came in here to sort this tragedy out and have only succeeded in telling you that I talk to myself. The horror. The horror. I promise I'll see a shrink tomorrow.
But coffee does smell beautiful, yes. We can at least agree on that. Phew.
Kind regards etc...
I've tried to comment on your blog, but you have the comments disabled.
Talking to yourself can be quite therapuetic, right?
Talking to yourself can be very therapeutic, right. I do it more than even I had imagined, it seems. The blog you tried to comment on (thanks, by the way) has had the comments disabled for a while. I just wanted to satisfy myself that blogging without (at least the option of) feedback is fairly pointless. I don't mean the personal diaries/notes etc, no. But the other kind of stuff. This is going well, I feel.
Here is some boring news for you: we had snow this morning. It didn't lie, but it was beautiful to see it again - I miss Scotland sometimes. Emma - my dog - went totally loopy and was catching it as it fell. These things make me feel momentarily happy.
I would send you some, but I think maybe it might melt in transit. Maybe.
Kind regards etc
Oh - I like the effect you have used in the photos - the ones that look dated. In fact, is the bottom picture you as a girl? It has the authentic feel of a picture from yesteryear. I hate that word - in fact, is it even a word? Anyway, I like the pictures.
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