Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Living on mussel guts and luck

You know how life can throw a googly? And how, even during the train wreck, you can sit back and survey the carnage, muse on the part you played and decide that you didn't chuck the curve ball. It just happened to you. There are two parts to this scenario: accepting that even though you did not create it, it's definitely got something to do with you now. The other part is how you deal with it. 

Back to the first one. It can be quite nice knowing that you didn't create the chaos. It just swirls around like that rocket I set off at the rifle range as a kid. I thought I'd aimed it at the targets but it hit the iron barriers and ricocheted back into the shed, bouncing off corrugated iron, muzzle loaders and flasks of gun powder, sending grown men running for their lives.

... no no hang on, I must have had something to do with that.
And there is the rub. We are always connected to shit going down in our lives. Hindsight, now she's a bitch because she will point out this fact just as we are heading into a poor bugga me polemic.

So, it's late. I've just lost badly at scrabble.
"Well, it was a close game!" (for everyone but me, who lost by well over thirty points. But I did help 007 put down a kickass Qi and win, if that means anything ...)

How you deal with a curve ball probably depends on where you choose to sit during the chaos. Some float. Some act too soon. Some drink. Some sift their icons. Some Zen it. And some dance the whole way through.
Myself, I'd like to be locked in a cupboard and let out when the dramas are over.
"Oh, wasn't I available to take the blame/console/counsel/cook/keep your secrets/feed the dog/ answer the phone/liaise with family? Damn. I was locked in a cupboard at the time."

'tis interesting though; the energy that is gleaned and drained from drama. Kyabla asked how I was travelling tonight and I replied that I felt both ferocious and exhausted. He said, yes. I can see all of it in your face.

I remember a few years ago when I had a stall at a popular riverside market. I was selling tie-dyed petticoats and crystal necklaces next to folk selling handmade wooden spoons. Two men started a fight in the pub across the road and eventually the fight rolled through the green grass, along the aisles between the stalls. These guys seemed to want to kill each other. They fought like pit bulls with a fugue of rum steaming around their bodies. Their shirts were torn off and they were both bleeding. The fight began and ended quickly but the stench of the alcohol stayed rank in the air above the tie dyed silk scarves, felted beanies, ylang ylang candles and tofu burgers. Afterwards, the stall holders looked at each other, quite shell-shocked. Then the discussion started about how they would have dealt with it ... next time.

That scene is my definition of one of life's leg spin googlies.


  1. Mysterious, but you are gonna have to tell us WTF is going on girl. I'm concerned! XX

  2. It is turning into a kind of a perfect storm, MF but nothing too permanent or awful. What I'm trying to express is my bewilderment at the apparent random elements. I know that later everything will make more sense. Clear as mud, eh?

  3. We seem to be in the same kind of space! I have just checked my numerology year and all is on track. Just venting! Hope you can sort out your spaghetti too!

  4. This is probably wholly inappropriate but when the bills come in and there isn't enough to pay them and the Final Notices follow, I stop opening the mail. During my other life, when I accepted the devil's pay cheque, when the email pile became insurmountable, when the deadlines passed, the arrows pointed the wrong way and people in the corridor didn't quite make enough room for me to pass, I went home, or to lunch, and just waited. Often enough the dreaded phone-call or hand on the shoulder came and I did one of two things; told it to fuck off or just listened in silence. Neither changed the end result and neither made me feel any different. The storms did pass though, with the aid of a few sleeping tablets and a half dozen dawn walks maybe, and yes there was change, but I'm okay.

    I was thinking the other day about the difference between confidence and belief, how confidence was a transitory thing, how it shifted all the time and rarely acted as a true measure, more often than not positioning you one step too far either side of the middle; and how belief was a quiet, understated thing that lay beneath the surface, like an underground lake, or something. A still body of water anyway. The thing being, that dark lake knows what it is and where it is and seems kind of untroubled about being there. Sometimes, probably not enough or for long enough, I go for swims in it and it always feels the same..

  5. Is there room for me in that cupboard of yours, ST?