Thursday, January 18, 2007

Thanks for the invite

I got a letter inviting me to go out for a meal with my ex-colleagues. Nothing wrong in that, I hear you say. Yet, still it was a surprise because I was never popular with my ex-colleagues. I was never in with the 'in crowd' or ever a part of any particular social cloister. I was a loner. My choice and theirs. We never mingled, so to receive an invitation out of the blue I have to ask myself, why?
I'd thought I was rid of them that I could finally live my life without feeling I owed an explanation for my choices or my beliefs. They suffocated me, and now I breathe. But, do my ex-colleagues interest me enough to seek their company? I don't think so. To accept this invitation for the one or two I would like to see and be saddled with the ten or more I utterly could do without is no longer a compulsion. I'm no longer that person. I am able to say no, and it feels great.
Still, I could go and wax lyrical about my upcoming book release. Nah! Even that incentive isn't enough to get me in the same room as my ex-colleagues. I no longer work with them, I don't care for quite a few and the rest I find uninspiring and dull. So, thanks for the invite, but no thanks!

Saturday, January 13, 2007


Today was my first taekwon-do lesson after the holidays. Great! It was fantastic to punch, kick and sweat out all the frustrations, stress and flu symptoms picked up over the last few weeks. My joints ache but my mind is clear. Now is the time to write.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Read the question!

How many times have I told my children to always be sure to read questions carefully? One careless mistake, a misread word or two could completely alter the context and meaning of said question. I really should take my own advice.
I'm fortunate to have found a publisher for my novel and always wanting to make a good impression I diligently fill out their forms only to be requested to correct one part. I'd messed up! What a prize idiot!
Right now I need to go look up the meaning of excerpt and blurb- and learn the difference! Good impression, huh? Not!!!!

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

(Oh, allright then)- The Comedy

What a stupid and neurotic thing to do! Literally climbing the wall to escape him. Him was a young man I knew at college and worshipped from afar. He, tall, gorgeous in all the right places, intelligent, popular. Me, short, pleasantly plump in all the wrong places, intelligent, nerd. It would have never worked. I knew that, not that I truly wanted it to but I had to tell my friends, didn’t I? I forgot friends, for all their best intentions, find it enormously difficult to keep, what they referred to as, ‘juicy gossip’, to themselves. It defied all the scientific realms of will power and the unspoken bond of trust and loyalty.
Anyway they told him and I withered. It was as if his very knowing he had an admirer in me was enough to devoid me of my wits. And then having the entire college discover the object of my affection, my senses quickly followed.
My friends had no idea what to make of me. One minute we were talking quite amicably, comfortable in the knowledge my idol was nowhere in sight, when before they realised it I was attempting to scale the wall next to us. The windows above led to the library. The sight must have been comical certainly when I hastily said to the bemused faces gazing at me,
‘I wonder if that book’s in.’ But the reason for my apparent panic became obvious as tall, gorgeous in all the right places, intelligent and popular walked-by. He barely looked at me, gave me no acknowledgement. Even at the pinnacle of my humiliation I couldn’t grab his attention! How demoralising!
That my friends didn’t desert me at that moment is a miracle but I did notice later on I was seemingly always the last to learn about parties or happening social events. When I recall that moment I can’t help but cringe and be grateful I will never see anyone from college ever again. In fact it was this thought that dragged me through my remaining two years. The embarrassing years.
But now years later, it’s a new me, though it took quite sometime to reach the level of confidence I now have. Now and again it is but pure bravado what I feel but at such times I am reminded I could have been an older version of timid and insecure.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

The Tragedy

The telephone was swirled through the air before being struck with force against John’s head. Had it been a modern telephone constructed from light synthetic materials I’ve no doubt the result would have not been fatal but this telephone was of the generation that were solid, heavy and cumbersome with old-fashioned dials accessible only to finger nails or pencils, you know, the sort of telephones seen in old black and white films from the ‘40’s. As one of the few telephones in the vicinity it was frequently in use, though I can never remember it being anything but polished and pristine sitting high on a table in the living room like a statue on its pedestal. Except, of course, when it was used to bludgeon John to death. The sound it made as it connected to bone has never left me, or the horror on my grandmother’s face as realisation dawned through her drunken stupor at what she had done. They were both drunk. My grandmother and John. Fights were not uncommon. And this, quite simply, was a fight which ended in a tragedy.
But a tragedy for whom? John? Undoubtedly. A violent death, I suppose, can’t be considered anything other than tragic. Yet I have neither grieved his, nor considered it tragic. That’s because John’s death never really distressed me. I mean nothing emotional. No tears, no anger, no dramatic cry of ‘Why? Why? Why?’ Not then, not now. But how can I remain so unemotional knowing what I know? From the perception of a seven-year-old child watching her grandmother strike a fatal blow a certain numbness is expected, but I am no longer a child. I am an adult, forty something- old, and my numbness to those events has changed to impassiveness. I am older, wiser, capable of objective thought yet why can’t I pinpoint the emotion that would help me to close this chapter in my life.
Perhaps the tragedy is mine. Witnessing death at an early age and being left with its legacy of images and memories that demand a reaction I cannot give. Memories that in the course of time have not faded to nothing but remain persistent and haunting as the images in the darkness, that despite my best intentions, do succeed in making me wince.
I have feelings after all, even if it is of guilt.

Explains why I don't do comedy, huh?