So I have finally finished typing up the big box of poetry that I’ve had piling up for the last ten years, oh boy that an emotional trip down memory lane it has been.
So to celebrate I thought I would share one with you all:
I can feel your warmth
I can feel your naked body pressed against mine
As I lose all sense of time
I feel your breath
And your lips
On the back of my neck
I turn to stroke your chest
But you’re not there
I’m alone in my bed
All these feelings are in my head
I long to feel your soft lips pressing against mine
Is loving you really such a crime
As the sunrise draws closer
I quickly try to regain my composure
If I was stronger I might be able to get some closure
But for now I’m just a prisoner of time
When I read this week’s challenge was layers my brain went straight to the scene in Shrek when Shrek is trying to explain to Donkey that Ogres are like onions ‘they have layers’
Which got me thinking, I have layers and some so covered up hardly anyone has ever seen them.
So do I do a self-portrait or a photo of onions hmmmmmmm I tried to take a self-portrait, but I hated every photo I took, so I gave up and went into my pantry and found some onions.
During the lead up to my son’s birth I was trying to put together a family tree book for him and what followed was destroying my father’s belief that he had Italian heritage, sorry daddy.
My father picked up the name Luigi in his younger days because he looked like a wog. He was rather proud of this and so was I. I love Italian culture and thought it rather nice to have some Italian heritage.
Now my father is a short, active, quiet (unless under the influence of rum or red wine) and rather fit young looking 55 year old. It is really only in the last five years that he started to show his age and get some grey hair etc. When people used to pick on him saying he dyed his hair, he always used the line that it was his Italian blood. Now his vitality IS definitely in his blood, his mother now 85 is still globetrotting and in my memory has only had the one grey patch of hair nearly my entire life and no neither of them have ever dyed their hair. If I’m lucky I’ll be the same.
Now I had always been told by my father that his grandfather was Italian, so when doing my sons family tree I dug deeper. I sat down and asked my father where he got the idea his grandfather was Italian from and he told me a story which is what he believed to be true; that his Grandmother had got up to some mischief with a sexy Italian and thus his mother was born. The sexy Italian then got shipped back to Italy for shaming his family etc. etc. A lovely and touching story, I mean who wouldn’t want to have a fling with a sexy Italian. Now my dad’s story says that the Italians had a store and his grandmother worked there, nope no they didn’t no Italians had a store anywhere near, there is no record of Italians in the town in which his mother came from, on record there’s only French entrepreneurs, Englishmen and aborigines before the time of his mother’s birth.
Now the story of his Grandmother falling madly in love with a sexy dark grease ball and conceiving a child, then the sexy stud being forced to leave his beloved and return home never to see her again is wonderful stuff, someone spat him a rather good yarn as a kid and he soaked it up. I still wonder who told him that story, maybe he asked his grandmother one day why he didn’t have a grandfather and maybe it was his grandmother being cheeky that told him the story – he is rather vague in the memory department as to where he picked up the story from. I quizzed one of his sisters and she’d never heard it before but thought it was rather amusing.
My father is one of my favourite people on earth and I love him to bits. I didn’t want to break his heart and tell him after digging I had found out whom his grandfather really was and that he was plain and had no awesome wog-ness.
Now knowing the truth I’d just go with that back in 1928 my Great Grandmother wanted a baby, so she had herself one and that baby, MY grandmother, grew up to be one of the most amazing women I know.
Actually all the women in my dad’s family are kick arse independent awesome awesome beautiful powerful women. I grew up as a little girl with extremely strong females in my life on both my mother’s and father’s sides. Both of my grandmothers are amazing inspiring powerful women with amazing strength. Now this did instil in me that I can do anything (which is good) but that I don’t need anything from anybody and that no one needs to help me (not so good and gets me into strife from time to time) but never the less GIRL POWER – wait this went from being about my dad to girl power, hmmm well I don’t think he’d mind.
Remember to smile people, it makes you live longer!!!!
So I’ve started the painful task of typing up all my poems and random rambles that I’ve been writing on scrap bits of paper and keeping in a box for the last ten years. Oh dear god what have I gotten myself into. I’m only bothering to type up and keep the ones I like or are meaningful to me, so a lot is going in the bin. It’s turning out to be sort of therapeutic, destroying my old fears and issues 🙂 any way here’s one I found, now I was obviously very angry at the time and I’m over what caused me to be so angry.
When I write angry sometimes my poems can tend not to flow and be rather odd, but I like this one and think it reads well, so here you go:
It’s not just you
You’re not that special
If you think it’s only you
Then you’re fucking mental
We’ve all got issues
We’ve all got pain
You think my excuses are not valid
I just think you’re simple and lame
It’s plain to see
Why you hate me
What’s not so simple
Is the fact
That’s as hard as I try
I can’t hate you back
Hanging onto bitterness isn’t good, best to get it out of your system – Remember to smile people, it makes you live longer!!!!
Sooooooo my mummy told me I had a couple of spelling mistakes in my last blog (I’m sure there’ll be mistakes in this one also, hmmmm, maybe I should send it to her to read first LOL she’s always been my editor and dictionary.
So my darling son has found a new love, pulling my hair and grabbing my glasses. The only hair pulling he used to do was his daddy’s chest hair and that was fine by me – but no Riley has come to the realisation that mummy’s hair is just as fun to play with and trying to pull her glasses off her face is a super fun game LOL.
The other day as my son was Crying and my husband was trying to soothing him, I found myself saying shhhhh under my breath and patting my leg, hmmmmm. I’ve noticed I do this before, someone else will be holding my son and if he starts to carry on I pat my leg involuntarily as I would pat his back if I was holding him – oh dear what has happened to me LOL.
I was delighted recently to find a whole world of people that use the word Blurb. I’ve used this word for a long as I can remember (hey can you write me a blurb on . . .) but on numerous occasions I’ve had to explain to people what the word meant. I had started to think that the word ‘Blurb’ was one of these words I’d picked up from spending five days a week with my grandfather for the past last ten years. I had assumed it was an old fashioned word, as it was always people my age or younger I’d find myself explaining his words to. The same goes for my Nanma (Grandmother) whenever I call myself a ‘silly git’ I laugh and think of her.
I’ve been thinking about going and doing Open Foundation at the Uni, been thinking about it for a couple of years, part time open foundation is approx 20 hours a week (6 on campus for lectures and tutorials at night) bub would be about eight months & I’d possibly be back at work full time hmmmmm, damn it should have done it before, the older my son gets the more of my time he’ll need. Oh Craptacular am I ever going to figure out just what to flipping do with my life. Never the less I’m going to go to the information session on the 10th of December and argue with myself and my husband about only returning to work part time.
I was tiding up my hard drive when I came across a story I had written back in 2005 for a few friends of mine and the spelling was so awful it was funny (but nearly unreadable), I had there for everything, no their or they’re and were was all around. The story isn’t every well written, it was only meant to be a joke between friends, but I fixed up the obvious spelling mistakes and re-saved the file (let’s hope in another eight years I’ll be that appalled that I delete the file lol).
When I left high school in 2002 just finishing year 10, I couldn’t spell to save my life, so it wasn’t a really surprise that the story was so bad. It wasn’t until I left school and got out into the big bad world that I found books and really began to write. I had started writing poetry back when I was fifteen (in year ten) but it’s was very bad and goes on about boys a lot, gives me shivers to read it. I destroyed most of it the other day and just kept a few poems from those days that mean something to me. I had kept all my poetry from then until now, but most of it before 2006 was total rubbish. Here I’m going to give a shout out to my high school drama teacher Mrs Island who encouraged the angry loud mothered fifteen year old Sarah to try reading. I had read as a child, school forced you to read LOL, but seriously some of my fondest child hood memories are of reading with my mum and my Nanma (grandmother) but somewhere in the self-absorbed ‘oh look at them boys’ teenage years I’d forgotten that love. So one day I’m having a conversation with Mrs Island about Wuthering heights (no idea how it started) and she said to me “If you could read that book, I’d be proud” so I did (she had spent the last four years trying to teach me and knew what a proper little beast I could be). So I read it, damn it was hard to read for a fifteen year old of my abilities, but I did and it’s always stuck with me – stuck with me as in I’d found my love of reading again (which has no doubt improved my writing and spelling), but also the book has stuck with me because of the freaky nasty f*#King characters and their freaky mean ways, yeah and there was the undying love part – I’ve never read it again, I still have a copy of and might read it again one day.
I really am still a very bad speller and writer, but at least I have improved, YAY me.
Damn did any of that make sense?
Oh oh oh so I tweeted Miguel Maestre about how I love him (on the living room TV) & his recipes lol and he re-tweeted it, made me smile, cause he must of actually read it to bother re-tweeting it lol I find him kinda adorable – wish he’s come cook for me 😛
Remember to smile people, it makes you live longer!!!!
So this is me attempting to start a blog, why you ask, well because It’s seems like a good idea at this present time and I’ve been advised to do so – hey maybe it’ll even be therapeutic LOL.
So I went to a Publishing workshop Run by the Hunter Writers Center on the weekend. I went because I thought it would be interesting and it was extremely so. On the day the HWC had managed to get Mark Maclean, Dionne Lister & Christine Bruderlin to come and talk – all very knowledgeable and interesting people in their own right.
I already knew before, but Dionne’s advice confirmed it – I NEED to learn how to write better. Now I don’t mean so much on the creative side just yet, but on the nuts and bolts of writing (as in punctuation skills etc LOL) – so I’m going to have to look into that.
I’ve recently become a mum. My little man turned a full four months old yesterday and oh wow how my life has changed – most of which for the better. I’m really really really not looking forward to trying to figure out how to work a 9-5 back into the mix though.
We had a fairly easy pregnancy, but the labour and his birth was anything but, I won’t go into details, but I think I will be mentally scared for the rest of my life. I’d go through the torment again for him (don’t think I’d do it for anyone else, so he might just stay an only child) but for him I would, he’s so amazing and awesome, I love this little man so much it hurts, I never thought I could love something so much, defiantly TRUE LOVE.
My son is nearly always with me so on the rare occasion he’s not, I always forget that he isn’t, as in; I’ll be talking to him and he’s not there, walking around to the other side of the car to get him out of his baby capsule (but he’s at home with his dad) or missing out on the few moments when I can turn my stereo up full-ball and make the whole car vibrate from the sub-woofer in the boot. That’s the one thing I’ve missed since having my son – I miss driving around with the music up as loud as I can before my ears feel like they’re going to pop. Now I’m not some little teenager, I’ve just got an addiction to LOUD music with lots of base. I’ve always been that way with music. I used to turn my stereo up so loud as a kid that the speakers would vibrate off of the shelves. I’ve always found music moves me in a way nothing else can, more like I can feel the music rather than hear it, but I think that’s just one of the awesome traits you get as an Aquarius.
Just thought of one other thing I miss LOL – I quit smoking when a found out I was pregnant and have stayed off the smokes as I don’t want to do anything that could harm my son, but I was at a friend’s wedding recently and I was having my first real drink since I found out I was pregnant (Obviously I’m no longer breastfeeding) anyways so I’m drinking, it’s a wonderful wedding, Amy looked amazing, but my goodness there was a lot of smokers there – it made me crave one soooooo bad, but I was a good girl and held out. Not sure what the point of telling you that was LOL.
Not sure what’s the point of telling you any of this LOL oh wait that’s the point – there is no point – awesome, glad we cleared that up – have a nice day :-P.