Sit with me on the couch and put your head on my lap. Breathe. There’s a movie playing on TV as I start massaging your scalp. Watch it. Just be. Your day was filled with dread and anxiety. But now you are here with me. And you are safe. Feel my fingers in your hair. I will always keep you safe in my arms and in my soul. Even when I get angry with you, I will keep your secrets safe in my heart. I feel the weight drop off your shoulder, and you take a deep breath. That’s right. You are relaxing underneath my fingertips. And when it seems as if the whole world is turning against you, I am here. Because I love you, and I will always take care of you.
Every important moment of my life is connected to music. Songs that made me feel this or that emotion. Lyrics that felt as if they were written for me. Songs that made me cry because they felt like home. Lyrics that made me angry because they made no sense. Songs that remind me of people – alive and dead. Yes, my life is music. When I was young, and when nothing was right, I found comfort in music. I found a safe home. Not many understand this. And that is okay. It is just another one of my oddities.
Everything in me is music. Music is magical.
My tastes are eclectic and not very mainstream. Many of the artists that touched me deeply are not widely known. And I kind of like that. Little hidden gems; written by part-time musicians who can’t afford to live off their art. Or by people who dropped out of school at 16, promising their headmaster that one day, they would be as big as Pink Floyd.
Today, I listened to a song that makes me cry sometimes. Today it made me smile. It made me relaxed. Happy. And wow… That’s the magic I mentioned before. The same song can trigger so many emotions. I love that.
A melody on the piano, a guitar solo. A female voice and a male voice. And so very simple and repetitive lyrics.
Music and lyrics. Memories and meaning. And I am a bit afraid that if I share the song here, you will not like it. (And I think I am sure that I shared it before. Maybe more than once.) For me, it is a powerful song, and I think it is the simplicity of it that gets to me.
Work work work work work… Or, Look at me, I am asking for attention and admiring words. LOL
This picture was taken this morning for our poster introducing every educator in our group. It was my third early shift in a row (6am-3pm), I had already 3 hours down, and I tried to smile underneath my mask.
So, anyway… I am growing into my job. I was very concerned about it in the beginning. I was afraid that the job was not for me after all. But I am getting there. Working with teenage girls that are pumped with hormones because of pregnancies is not easiest. The girls are quite agreeable with me, for now.
I am soon off to bed soon and up again timely, as I will work my 4th early shift in a row. 😊
Last September, I saw a picture on an artist’s Twitter of something he had drawn. I loved it and got in touch with the man, but unfortunately, the painting was already sold. But, he offered to make something similar for me, and if I liked it, he would sell it to me. I agreed. But since I liked the original so much, my hopes were low.
This is the picture in question:
The artist is Lee Zimmerman and the poet calls himself Vincent Van Gone
But then he sent this:
It’s the same picture with a different interpretation.
And let me tell you, I like the second one even better than the original, and I am grateful to Lee that he gave it another try. I love it. After ten months, I still love it a lot. It has a special place in a frame on my wall.
I see a lot of myself in this unique painting, and maybe it had to be like that. The first one did not mirror me as much as the second does.
I like unique pieces of art and large canvas prints.
Most of the art on my walls is by an American photographer and great friend: Josh Bulriss. This is my favourite: it is called “let me in.”
I saw this picture when Josh shared it on Twitter. He was one of my first followers there, and we have been supporting each other for almost ten years now. I can honestly say that we became friends during that time. But more about the picture… I saw it and was flashed. Completely taken aback by how much it made me feel, how deeply I was affected. No picture had ever done that to me. And so I asked Josh if he was interested in selling it as a canvas print to me. Of course, he was. But he had ever sold and shipped anything to Europe, and I had never bought anything this big from anywhere. But, we found out together about invoices and customs and all that. It was a fun time. I even got Josh to promise not to sell a copy of this one ever again. I cannot be sure if he even remembers the promise, but he never shares it on his social media anymore.
The day the picture arrived, I was nervous. But when I unpacked it and saw that the colours were even better than on the screen, my nerves settled.
I put it up on a wall and caught myself getting lost in the picture. I was completely immersed. Back then, I lived in a different house, and the picture was hidden away in the guestroom. When we moved in 2017, it got a new place in the kitchen/living room area. And it inspired many conversations.
At first glance, it is a big black something with some light. At second glance, it is like life. Sometimes we are standing in the dark looking into the light. And sometimes, we are standing in the light looking into the dark.
After seven years, I have not stopped admiring this picture. And I guess that’s what art should do. It doesn’t matter if other people like it or not; it has to awake emotions inside us.
My head hits the pillow and it whispers dreams into my ear until I fade from my conscious being and end in my fantasy lover’s arms.
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Goodnight
Bonne nuit
Gute Nacht
Buona Notte
Gudd Nuecht.
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“Don’t let the bedbugs bite you” is a phrase a British Twitter pal used to say to me. And every time he did, I slept badly. I wonder what happened to him… Tomorrow.
And sometimes, I get angry and rant. Most often, the anger I feel is more toward myself and less toward the other party.
Earlier, I posted the above pic on IG with a caption that said, “idiots stay idiots and assholes stay assholes (…)”. I deleted the picture a couple of minutes ago. I could have changed the caption, but some people had already read and reacted. Thank you, Jeff.* Jeff asked what brought the rant on. And the truth is: people. People who pretend to be friends to get what they want and then drop you and ghost you. This happened at the end of last year, and since I like to torture or hurt myself (or because I simply don’t get a clue), I check in on those people I cared about all those months ago. And I get angry and frustrated when I am treated like someone who does not exist in their world. (Less cryptic: I got in touch, we shared a handful of messages, and they made a post tagging the people who checked in – without mentioning me. Ouch, that hurt my ego.) My first impression of those two was that something was off, already back in September 2020. But the similarities made me ignore the red flags.
I should trust my instincts more. I have good people skills, but I don’t have many friends, and that fact, and the euphoria of making a connection made me careless.
I cooled down considerably now. I just feel a bit sad about it all. Hurt, knowing full well that it is petty and unimportant. You know, I don’t have many friends I meet regularly. I pushed them all away when I was at my lowest in 2018 – when I was suicidal and had depression. They all left the sinking ship without a glance back. After that, there was no one I physically knew that I called friend until that September 2020. And that made me happy. I let down my guard the moment we hugged when we met. Great people. Or so I thought. It doesn’t matter. But it does.
I wish all the people who used to be my friends lots of love and happiness. I wish them no harm. But selfishly, I also want them to remember me with a fond smile. The thing is: if people get under my skin (in real life or online), it is hard for me to let them go and stop caring for their well-being. What does that make me? I don’t know.
I may seem lonely. But I am not. I am in a good place. I have friends that I love. Not many, and still very carefully, but they exist. I have a fantastic family. The one I founded, not the one I was born into. And I have a job, a career, doing something that matters and changes lives.
Why does the past make me angry? I don’t have regrets, and I would not change a thing. Might it be jealousy? That’s an ugly trait. I don’t want to feel that way – but maybe, just maybe, indeed, I feel jealous.
To the people reading this: thank you. I am not asking for attention or advice, or clever words. I just want to say thank you for popping by and understanding these very human feelings.
*go check out Jeff‘s blog. It is filled with music and reviews. You will not regret spending some time browsing that site. Promised.
Three years ago this week, I published my first book under my own name. It is a collection of poems about life, love, loss… The book is available on Amazon as paperback or ebook. Personally, I have 1 copy left to sell. I took the cover picture myself, and it might not be what you are expecting. It is a soap bubble with many filters and most notably a negative filter. I am still very proud of this one. Unquiet Minds.
Your silence is too loud It scares me. I feel your sadness In the dark. The wind in the trees Tells your story. And I wait on clouds To hear a whisper. I cannot rest until You are awake, Sleepless Next to me.
Time is running out. The sandglass is emptying itself, but the time that slips through our fingers now can never be retrieved again. We stand on the sidelines watching it happen. Listening to the paroles that have been ingrained in our souls, in our minds since we were helpless children. I dare you to stand out and live your own life far away from the usual conventions. Far away from the judging looks of the self-proclaimed elite. Who are they to tell me what should make me happy? And yet, we are all kept in line, silenced, living in invisible shackles. I admire those who are free. Those who live. Those who are seen as misfits, dropouts, freaks, weirdos, punks, hippies… I could never live that way, even if I wanted to. I’ve been brainwashed into living in shame. Hiding my true colors so that society keeps on loving me. Since my earliest years, I tried to be a rebel. But I was only ever ridiculed. The latest target I make is playing at being a writer. Ah, but it’s water under the bridge. At least that’s what I pretend. I am not fazed by their words. It’s a hopeless lie. As time is running out and slips through my fingers, I understand that I am who I am and only I have the power to be me. I live a life without regrets. I try too. I know that the past can’t change, but it shaped the person I am today. All of it. I am not perfect, not flawless. I have qualities and I have quirks. Everyone has. Now I am working on becoming my friend again. We should stop the self-sabotaging and the undiscerning following. If we can’t see things differently, we will grow old in our stink. And we will wonder what life could have been if we had danced when we had the chance. What life would we have had if we had taken the time to live? (July 20st, 2015)
