Clubbing

When I was younger, healthier, fitter, 20 kilos lighter and studying, we used to let our hair down every so often by going out on the piss. It usually involved copious amounts of alcohol, lots of weed, overwhelmingly loud music and putting on our Glad Rags. Then we partied our studies and our stresses and our failures and our victories away to another place, another time. At 2 or 3 in the morning we would roll off out to the Strand and grab a taxi home in a group. Usually, we did it at the end of term or after graduation, and on a Friday night. Occasionally, we would have an impromptu session with a few people, some good weed, a bottle or two and a pack of cards. We, quite unintentionally got Tigger "pebbled" one night playing Euchre, when the poor non drinking, non smoking girl was too close when the joint was going around. Her usually reasonable card playing went right out the window after that. She was hilarious. Some times we wandered into class hungover, sometimes we even wandered into class stoned; a few of us did it in Stefan's Multimedia class one day after puffing up large under an umbrella in the rain on the roof, even though he was the one tutor you couldn't afford to be dozing at the wheel with. I am quite certain he is far too astute a man not to have noticed. Once, we wandered out of Murray's OS exam and off down the road to a student's house for a wee "break" then went back to class. Stress relief was really in short supply by the time exam week rolled around.

So we had a wee club of sorts, a group of students, a couple of resident tutors and we became peers outside the venerable walls of Bongard, just for a while. We would go dance at a club or a pub, or have a party here for a birthday or St Pat's Day or Mid Winter Feast, it became a regular "thing"; the Green theme, the Bizarre theme, Hawaiian Shirt Nite... I used to really enjoy the get togethers here at home because it meant I could combine my "inside Bongard" friends with my "outside Bongard" friends and simply enjoy everyone at once. And slowly but surely, the two groups blended together and now there isn't much definition to the seam. It also meant I could get pissed as a chook and not have to worry about getting home. And because I usually started drinking when I started cooking, I wasn't always a lot of use by the time it came to serve the meal. Just another good reason to invite women to parties.

I belong to another club, too. It's a group of people in a small web community run by two terrific ladies called Lorna and Cindi. It's populated mainly by women and is called MSMOMS. The clientele is small and exclusive and the price of admission is exorbitant. To belong, you either have, or know someone who has Multiple Sclerosis. And once you have MS, you are automatically entitled to membership.

No one's dying to get in, but we are all dying to get out.

The party club here has all but disbanded, now. There haven't been any parties in a long time, we don't share a work or study environment any more and everyone has moved on and up and gone their own way.

We don't go clubbing any more, either.

~~ "I have the body of an eighteen year old. I keep it in the fridge." Spike Milligan ~~

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Love's Labours Lost

It's Friday.

It's a s l o w Friday at that.

I hate Friday; it's inevitably followed by Saturday and Sunday which means no-one around, no-one to talk to and no emails. Not even much junk mail. The whole world vanishes on Friday night, to magically reappear about Monday lunchtime when they have caught up with their routine again, their routine that occasionally includes remembering I am here.

I am always here; I'm the only one that is.

I spent a lot of yesterday crying. I spent most of the evening and the night doing the same. This morning saw little variation on this theme. My heart has been shattered into a million pieces all over again and no one even knows.

How unusual.

Sharp twinkling fragments thickly blanket the ground
Settling in silver without making a sound
Destroying the gold wherever it was found
There's not enough glue that can fix this.

~~ When you can't have what you want, it's time to start wanting what you have ~~

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Up Hill and Down Dale

Some days are just a rollercoaster. That's all they are.

I started off my day feeling like Death, too tired to roll over in bed let alone get out of it. I am finishing it comfortably trashed on the last of my weed, brain working, legs working, cough abating and feeling really good, except for the burning. Oh, the burning is very bad. I'd better grab those small mercies today brought and tie them up before they run away. It wouldn't do to appear ungrateful.

A dear friend rang me earlier to tell me she was off to the States to be with her mother who is dying. She is about to embark on a journey of tears and laughter and bittersweet moments that will, hopefully, lead her to a destination called Acceptance.

Another friend visited me tonight, one who has very recently been visited by suicide within the extended family. There aren't many words to say for that.

Both have served to remind me that Life is too short, and sometimes it's too long, but for all it must be endured and embraced until the day comes that it exists no more. That's Life, isn't it?

I was embraced by a special piece of Life tonight, and it was nice.

~~ The most important of life's battles is the one we fight daily
in the silent chambers of the soul. - David O. McKay ~~

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I fell in love with a cold round moon
That bathed the darkscape of my room
I fell in love with a pounding surf
That roared existence of rebirth
I fell in love with sweet-scented air
In a garden setting that all could share
I fell in love with a howling gale
Lightning, thunder, beating hail
I fell in love with the gentle rain
Hoping it could wash away my pain
I fell in love with a stranger's voice
Whose song could make my heart rejoice
I fell in love with a newborn's cry
And knew it would own me 'til I die
I fell in love with a man so deep
That what I sowed I will never reap
I fell in love for friendship's sake
For without my friends my heart would break
I fell in love, that's what I do
My Soul to honour, a lifetime through


~~ People don't care how much you know, until they know how much you care - Unknown ~~

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Lost

We lost the kitten, today. He totally vanished from mid morning until after dinner tonight. The dog was inconsolable. She became a gloomy little misery guts for hours, curled up in a ball on her blanket heaving great sighs of woe. I think she would have slit her throat if she had been able to hold the knife. If the kitten hadn't shown up, I might have helped her. It just goes to show how damned smart she is - she walked past where he was half a dozen times. How many ways can I say "ditzy bitch"?

I said redheads were only blondes in disguise...

I don't know what she is going to do when she has to take a trip up to the farm for her next heat. I think she is going to drive Debbie nuts. Ok, more nuts.

~~ "I think animal testing is a terrible idea; they get all nervous and give the wrong answers." ~~

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Speaking the Lingo

Most evenings, we are treated to the sight of the animals playing in the hallway. It's a real scream, watching them. It always begins with the kitten chasing Merlin. Then the dog gets in on the act and chases the kitten. Then they turn around in the hallway and race back the other way. It never ceases to amaze me how well these three animals get along together, it's like they must talk to each other. I think they must depend heavily on deciphering body language, as well. I also think there are several dynamics that make it work. The first is that Merlin was already a cat in his prime when he came to live with us as an only pet two years ago. A year later, when we got Nushka, he was not prepared to be usurped from his position of Ruler by a mere dog, no matter how ancient her lineage, and as a dog that had no idea what cats were she was happy to be put in a position of subservience and make that her place in her new pack. When the kitten came along, his natural feline arrogance made sure he was aware of the importance of hierarchy, and therefore his place within it; that is, behind Merlin and way ahead of the dog. Now, the battle will be fought between the Cats, the cocky young upstart and the seasoned veteran. The dog will maintain her place, bringing up the rear.

We all need to know our place in the pack.

I wish I knew if animals all speak the same language. People don't speak the same language. I think we just interpret what we hear or see, run through our own inner "translator" and come up with what we think the other person is saying based on what we would like to hear. The less you listen, the more likely that the message will not be conveyed accurately. You couldn't even translate it into a visual form. A picture may well paint a thousand words, but my peach will always be someone else's apricot. And vice versa. Soap manufacturers have an awful lot to answer for.

Our language structure feels like it's becoming harsher, uglier, more angular. More functional. Text message shorthand is becoming a communication norm. People don't compose a missive any more, they don't respond with an epistle; they key in a few short characters to convey a complete electronic message that's delivered in the blink of an eye. It's no wonder the message gets lost, is misinterpreted so easily. The beauty of the written language conveyed the meaning, the intention behind the words. It padded out the bony skeleton with flesh and feeling and character. People don't write any more and they don't read, either. I think true comprehension is dwindling, too. Nobody wants to read a full page of text or a long email anymore; they want a short potted version, bullet points, no frills and all functionality. Make it simple and make it quick. They might have to respond in kind, otherwise.

One of my friends calls me a wordsmith. I don't feel she is correct; I just love language, love the words, the varied landscape the writer can create with a picture in their mind of what they want to say and all the tools that words provide in abundance. I love the beauty and richness of nuance, the many ways that one small concept can be represented to show the truth, or lack of it, inside.

I guess that's why I feel writing this journal is so appropriate as a part of my "therapy". It lets me polish my treasures, stretch my brain, lubricate the wheels of cognizance that are in such peril from the havoc being wreaked upon me by MS. It also lets me say things that I need to say when there is no one there to listen. There is another journal runs alongside this one; it carries all the nasty stuff that I dare not show to most others. It's called "Burning the Witch". I save the really ugly, hurting stuff for that one.

Maybe one has to be truly ugly to appreciate other less obvious, endangered forms of beauty.

There is a poem that Jon used to recite bits of when he was in one of his voluable moods - it was T.S Eliot's "The Naming of Cats". It always tickled me. It is rich and round and paints me a picture.

That's what the well-written word should do.

The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey -
All of them sensible everyday names.

There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter -
But all of them sensible everyday names.

But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?

Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum -
Names that never belong to more than one cat.

But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.

When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

T.S. Eliot
(from "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats")

If you do not listen, you cannot hear
If you cannot hear, you will not understand
If you do not understand, you cannot find acceptance
And if you cannot find acceptance, you will never feel real compassion.

Compassion is another language that is becoming spoken less and less.

~~For a list of all the ways technology has failed to improve the quality of life, please press three~~

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