The Curse of the Spirit Animal

So it seems I have been cursed by one of the many spirit animals I am. After many heavy insomniac nights, I have tried to come to terms with the simple fact that I am not a very good sleeper- for a Gemini-EarthDragon.

I went further to research my spirit animal. Which will be a bonus for my already hereditary African totem - the great black and white - the zebra.

My first search was many months ago, a sleepless night that got me wondering if I had perhaps inherited some animal instinct which kept me up most of my nights. I was paired with the owl. It all clicked and made sense then but not as much sense as it makes now.

The past week and few days have been nothing but hell for me. Namibia has become so unforgiving. The heat startles the country by seven in the morning, like the drunk uncle at the Christmas party who gets his kick by telling the children horror stories about Santa! The day starts to become murky and everything is labored. Tans are on special this time of year it seems, it took less than an hour to get my tan upgraded to Navy blue!

The alcohol business is booming, the addiction seemingly predestined to anyone who lives in this BBQ. The first beer in this holiday season is on average around 9am and a beer has to be, without fail, drunk within 5minutes unless of course, you are the one for beer tea!

Given this ungodly situation, I keep the days to myself, alone, mumbling away cursing the heat. If I were in the street I'd be the sister to the woman who wears the paper bag on her head pulling a trolley full of metallic abstract works of art! I struggle through the heat wishing to be nothing more than a squid or jellyfish. It crosses my mind that maybe jellyfish are sick and tired of being in the water and perhaps they float around cursing King Triton.

Anyway, as the long agonizing desert day draws to a close,  the sun setting in such a deliberate speed - only around 8pm, I slowly begin to find some of my sanity. I mumble less, think more and start a never ending battle with the African Blood suckers - the mosquitoes!

In an act of terrorism, I empty a bottle of bug spray on the thin sons of B!*%#'s and pray God has a mosquito hell.

I spend good time just trying to breathe. In the stillness of the young night i stand out looking into the darkening skies and wonder why the wind has been given a vacation. The timing of course is perfect! Not! I slowly collect some of my thoughts and jot them down in an unusual organised fashion which is a complete contradiction of my unorganized simplicity. I fight with words and thoughts and have never ending conversations with myself as the clock ticks away.

By midnight I am convinced I am nothing like the majestic owl that sits in the night hooting into the echoes of silence. Big bald eyes and a 270° spin on its head, I barely meet the wise creature's hobby characteristics.

I decided it was time for a second and third opinion on my so called spirit animal. It couldn't have made more sense when I was done. My spirit self was full of too much baggage hence the crazy act. It turns out I'm a whale, a spider and wolverine! No biggie, that makes me a
Gemini-EarthDragon-OwlEbra-WolvWhalPider.

That sounds like a medical condition… that makes sense!

Year-End Speech

Its end of year, we have reached another December. Yet again the time to start stating our resolutions, updating our wishlists and feeling proud of our our achievements thus far. I sit worrying about my year end post. What to say and how it is I should say it.

  To most, my words are nothing but rants of life from another one of the billion souls that exist on this planet. Mere doodles. To me, they are silence. Perhaps I use words that have been used entirely to perfection that they have become meaningless.  As the case may be, I have used words so ancient they translate to silence.

It is probably what is best. For a long time I have thought for a person who has been through what I have, when given a chance should be able to translate the emotions into a text that most will read and somehow my suffering and anguish would not have been in vain. It only made sense that an education to the masses of one existence would awaken a humanity that we are on the brink of losing.

I have tried, believe you me. Endless drafts sit in all devices that I use, every journal I have owned and subsequently burned. I have been searching for that moment. The beginning of self realisation. How do I start my story? Does it go back to the point I was consciously aware of the stone that sat on the bottommost of my stomach? Does it start with my unconscious memories of existing instead of living?

Imaginably there is no start. It just begins. Begins with the first memory. Life is after all not a collection of years but a collection of memories.

I have no words for a beginning, my endless flirtings with blank canvases for a start have been unsuccessful. I have barely achieved second base let alone foreplay with an introduction. That is, for all one knows, the answer. The unwritten clue.

For the new year to start, A year would have to end but perchance there is no need for a start instead, for a moment to collect with all the other moments of existence. Maybe now I can stop looking to the skies for a sign of the start  of the new year we all hope will be ''the year" for love, joys, happiness, the all out dream. The signs are and have been existing as we do-with each breathe we take and each moment we make.

So instead of the normal I'll be bold and live differently in this moment. Whomever you are, wherever you are and whatever you do…

Happy holidays and happy moments!!

Lady friend

Isn't it ironic that most often than not the one person we like is a perfect TV character, or the girl you meet a week before she has to leave the country. Or the man who is perfect but turns out married. Well, I've just walked into that same trap. Thanks universe, guess you really been lookin out huh?

Its not that I hadn't noticed her until today. Its that today I got to talk to her, exchange witty playful banter and joke about all the most inappropriate things. There were moments too when I let a sensitive detail slip into her ears. I couldn't be sure what she would do with that information but anyway. I received some of her most hidden thoughts too that provoked St Joan, the angel of true love.

Its was a normal day. I arrived after she did and I did not want to sit on my station, instead i sat with her. She smiled kindly, her eyes almost letting off how pleased she was to see me. Then again I could be reading too deep into it. I went straight for business to hide my interest. She is the cliché. The typical punch line to a perfect bad joke for lesbians. She's straight, has a man she's been dating for many years and has two kids with him. Great!

We got talking. Bad idea Joan! What are doing?

There are many moments I thought I should out her as interested in a woman. The conspiracy! A woman?

Well the day couldn't have gone slower, everything seemed to float by deliberately. More secrets, more moments. Goodbye seemed like it was off the cards. In a movie she would have come to my house, we'd share a glass or plenty of wine and sleep in each other's arms and plan to elope with the kids to Mauritius, buy a beach house and wake up happily ever after if the plane didn't crash of course. But this is earth 1.0, nothing is as Hollywood. I watched her take the bus to the small red sand town she belonged with her man and kids.

She is now a tale of human connection, a story for drunken gay parties. Another woman in my world and I've become part of the Ironic song. Thanks universe!

Fictional reality

I have always had the notion that I am not attracted to looks. I still hold that notion but i have now found the right character. I have fallen for a movie character.


In all the fiction, I actually realised how she is made in the most perfect way for me. I barely want to watch anything else on TV except if it to repeat this movie and watch her, My woman character enchanting me into this love sick puppy.


Its ironic, I watch the whole movie with a stupid smile on my face, listening to every word that flows out of her mouth, as if she's saying those words only to me. As far as I'm concerned, regardless that it was scripted, they are my words.


She is an older woman, French for that matter with a witty tongue and a gorgeous smile. I love her accent and that she doesn't hide that expression of pleasure, joy - she wears her smile when her heart wants to smile. She walks deliberately and has a very interesting perception of life and love.
She probably doesn't exist. Probably? Okay okay, she doesn't exist; but she is still that perfect idea that I wish not to tarnish with any other film. I don't want to forget, or to lose the enchantment she has bestowed on me.


I guess the one thing that this has proven is that if you stay single long enough, you will lose your mind! that's okay, all I have to do now is learn French.

Older women #101

things young women should know when it comes to dating older women, now pay attention you youngsters, this is very important.


#1 The Lady of Insecurities


Older women are very insecure most the time and "cant believe that a young woman like you
could love an old prick like me!" Boo hoo! Really?


Honestly the number of women in the world are way more than men; which is why Lesbians are
the most lucky beings on this earth. The sea is full of fish! Listen up honey when I choose you,
how about just letting me love you without the constant reminder that I am in fact 10years younger
than you?




This type of woman needs to be loved right. Take her out hold her hand so all the young eyes can
see you together. Maybe, just maybe she will feel like a queen.


#2 The Jealous Lady


This is the type of woman who cant stand seeing you talk to anyone else, especially women your age
(that you have absolutely no interest in by the way). You will most likely get the "am just
wondering what you doing talking to her, am I boring you?"


For this question I suggest that you don't answer! This type of woman is a little too hard to handle,
not many get over jealousy. its one of those things that just doesn't go away but if you love her
enough to take it, hold her in your arms and reassure your feelings for her.


Her type is usually the one that is afraid to lose you or that which they share with you.
Good luck with this type of woman!


#3 The Lady Runner


This type of woman I still do not understand but this is the typical older woman. One who meets
you and lets her heart and emotions run with you. You connect in so many levels than one then
she suddenly disappears. This usually happens in more ways that one for instance, a sudden
break­up/ or more creatively ­ just disappear for days weeks or months in a time.


You are supposed to be older...what the hell you running from?? Sheeeesh. This type of woman
sucks, not because they run but because they pop back in your life just when you have just met a
nice woman you like and have just moved on. Or after they break up with you they return and
want you back usually really confusing the little sanity you hold.


I still don't know what you could do with this woman and second chances are risky but what's life
without risk? But maybe sometimes its better for your heart to just let go. Your choice!


#4 The attached woman


Many older women when you get to know them are real cool and usually have great connection.
They is usually a catch. Many of these women have women they have in their lives­ girlfriends.


The really sucky thing about this type of woman is you find out late, this is one of the details they
leave for last. I guess there is something about watching a young woman's jaw drop and heart
stop that fascinates the older generation. See now this is quite a dilemma and many young
women when they have found what they have been searching for in this woman become the other
woman...then you know what happens after that. Lesbian Drama. Ok now listen real close young
ladies. Question one you should ask is "Are you single?" this should obviously come after
stressing your feelings on honesty etc...lol. Maybe you will be spared. And second thing ­ DO
NOT ever settle for second best! Don't be the other woman.


#5 The "mother"


Okay here is a woman easy to cheat on and or leave easily. the woman who constantly refers to
age...I know this woman! I see you are older everyday I look at you, now FFS SHUT UP!! lol. This is the most annoying of all types. The one who wont let you do anything because "its not wise" and
she "the wise OLDER one" knows best. Young women, here is one word for you... RUN!!!


#6 She
This woman is the one that knows she is older but doesnt really mind...she loves you like hell
anyway. This woman will be perfect for you! :)

“OMG i almost died – Lets do it again!!”

Posted on August 8, 2012

I walked into the largest theme park in Malaysia (Berjaya Times Square theme Park) and my eyes were instantly glued on the orange track running through the theme park space. It had twirls everywhere. I had to get on it..my body had no choice but to follow my excited mind to the check in counter. This is the one thing i was willing to enjoy without getting the heart involved on the decision. I walked in with my ticket bracelet and the pass to all the rides . what more could a girl want!? well except besides maybe another girl?

so alone i walked to my first ride, the roller-coaster and sat at the front. I had the whole train to myself, it felt like it had been reserved for me and i was supposed to take it for the first spin. “sure“,  i thought “How hard could it be?”. My seat-belt on and it slowly started to move. Then suddenly a burst of twisted motions, upside-downs and fast crazy speeds. My screams of exhilaration escaped my mouth. I loved the force of the train, the speed i could feel from under my feet and the way the air would part for it and i to pass. Sudden control…holding on to this daring machine for my life. trusting it with my life.

I got down still in disbelief i hadn’t fallen out or died. a smile was pasted onto my face until the thought about theme parks crossed my mind. Who the hell, in their right minds made these rides anyway? (lets create a scene here) Did she like sit there and thinking of her next great invention then she stands and walks to her window overlooking the dust of the old roads and her horse standing there bored. She’d start to say to herself, “you know, i want to make a place where we can all go and enjoy speed and danger. where our hearts will stop momentarily in fright and/or excitement. I want to create a place where adrenalin will be constantly released from the body. A place to almost die.” She would then return to her seat and pick up her pen before coming up with a brilliant idea she exclaims loudly. “I’ll make a theme park!”

Even though it was stupid to make these rides, i guess the up side it keeps this rowdy African kid on vacation from getting into trouble? I looked up at my next ride, to spice it up, they called it the DNA mixer. “DNA mixer?? really?” Yes! I walked in and took a seat right in the middle of the second row of its victim seats. Beside me a young man and his date show up. How romantic, i thought. I guess i’m bringing a woman here for our first date?? *insert evil wizard laugh here* this was perfect!

When the ride started i thought “hmmmm..not too bad“, but that was before my DNA started getting mixed up. LITERALLY! This thing was “smartly” designed to shake your body so hard until you get your DNA mixed up with the person next to you. Not only that, my necklace kept falling into my mouth every time i was upside-down. Picture this if you will…you’re upside down trying to spit something out of your mouth and you would not dare use your hands, they are saving your life at that moment. I choked laughing at my ridiculous acts. No wonder they don’t have this thing in Zimbabwe.

Next up was the one ride which is just plain fun to be on..no strings attached. It just takes you up and spins you around gently. Its a great ride if you enjoy heights and wind. I loved, i just let myself float through the air with crazy rock music playing and lights flashing. A decent ride might i add. safest of them all. I got down all giddy and happy. no broken bones, stopping heart or crazy thoughts.

Next to it was this machine with two arms that where like two swings. It started of perfect, a big ass swing..who wouldn’t enjoy that?? I spoke to soon, the next swing was combined with a rotation that caught me off guard. The next few times it was throwing me upside-down rightside-up, then reversing the rotations just to confuse my already spoilt system. i was trying to keep my eyes closed but my body seemed to want to watch in case – i don’t know – my mind needed to flash my life before my eyes from time to time? It was an exhilarating-frightening feeling falling towards the ground. Literally watching the ground come so close to you then suddenly you’re heading towards the ceiling with no sign of slowing down. I got off the ride feeling a little ill. It was just an overdose of fun, fright and relief. I had a good time, i was mixed up and had a headache to prove it.

“OMG, i almost died” i thought, “lets do it again!” so i went on the roller-coaster again

Broken nail

When was the last time you cried? I mean really cry? The kind of cry that the tears burn your eyes, turning them red, snot dripping, veins popping kind of cry?


Its funny because I watched a show one afternoon after I knocked of from work quite early and in the show Chasing life, April woke up one morning only to find that her new husband had died in his sleep right next to her. Her best friend though hadn't really cried for anyone, she explained that she hadn't cried because she hadn't lost anyone close to her. While helping April in a treasure hunt, they went looking for a clue in a hospital room. She broke a nail which made her burst into tears like she had had her hand cut off.


I understood that feeling of bottling up emotions, not living in the disappointment or anger, not wanting to let go of all you feel and just feel despite how bad you may look to the next person. Its in that moment that when the silliest things like banging your knee on a table could cause so many emotions to overtake you in one magically stupid instant.


I've had a few tough years...with a lot of good within that of course but its been a whirlwind of keeping myself together. I walk with a bounce and smile with a twinkle but every night alone in my bed I let my mind float into the darkness dreaming outside my head. I ponder and dissect my exact feelings with not much emotions involved. It took April's best friend's nail to make me realise that I hadn't cried in a while. .


But now that I did, I sigh and look to the heavens and smile. Everything will be alright after all. At least that is what I feel in this moment and that is what I need for now.

The Woodsman: Movie review

" Do you believe in fairy tales?"

I understand why many would have down voted this movie. No one wants to ever understand the sick mind of a child predator. No one wants to have a reason to forgive or excuse a person who harms others, especially our kids. Personally, I wanted to watch it and get into that mind, so I did. I watched it objectively with a somewhat open mind to try and understand the thoughts behind the act and even after watching, I have to admit, I still do not understand.

The story is about a man who was convicted for ten years for molesting little girls. It seems it started when he was younger, just a little boy who innocently napped with his sister who was two years younger than he was. In his first memory of these inappropriate thoughts, he remembers getting pleasure for smelling his little sister's hair while she slept. Later on in his life, this fantasy or maybe addiction turned to him stalking little girls and luring them into liking him with candy, chocolates, toys or whatever it is that he could do. Eventually he would ask them to sit of his lap and perhaps smell their hair while he "moved his legs funny." It became sexual gratification.

The movie plays out his struggle to get over these feeling which he recognised were inappropriate. He struggled to keep himself from acting on his sick obsessions and seemingly was fighting to be "normal". 

In his words: "Normal is when I can see a girl...be near a girl, even talk to a girl...and not think about...That's my idea of normal"

Regardless, it brought up the question: If it were true that there are people who want to be "better", who would rather not be this way, Are we willing to tolerate them? Give them a chance to be and forgive 

the acts of the past? Do we have the ability to, I guess, recognize their willingness to change? As humans we evolve everyday, we better ourselves daily. Should I dare then think that this is not the same for these predators?

Morality is highly subjective. Thieves, addicts, terrorists are given that chance to turn or change. Sexual predators though, we do not give them the time of day. Maybe then we fail to break the cycle of the molester molesting a kid who in turn molests other kids and so forth. What if that act of tolerance and forgiveness of one could break the cycle, could we consider it then?

I'm an aunt and I would possible turn violent towards anyone who touches my babies. I do not have the answers to all these questions. Hell, I do not even believe I have that "Christ-like" nature of giving second chances and forgiving all people regardless of the gravity of their sins. Its unforgivable tainting our little kids in such a way. Getting them to feel loved even appreciated, stealing their trust then violating them in what they might think to be 'okay'. They are kids, our world's future. Perhaps in another world where the cycle hasn't started we would find a way to avoid it. Perhaps in that world all sickening acts would have a cure. Perhaps then, the world wouldn't be full of perverts. Just perhaps, it would be worth giving a second chance.

a love warrior's return from battle

I wish it were like it is in the movies. A simple emotion acted upon by two people who realise that life is much better growing old with someone you love. But its not. We've developed it into an intangible emotion which is in its pre-extinction.

I should know, I've been in my fair share of relationships, shared many promises and cuddles and just as I start engraving the idea of forever, it fades as curiously as it blossoms. And yet again, I learn the lesson even I'm not sure I know to learn.

Wouldn't it be nice to have it? The real deal? Old love herself. She's a very rare phenomenon that I admire in gasps as she screams across me so rarely. Couples who have understood the sacrifice of love and dare I say the simplicity. Their relationships seem to be carried by an emotion that many people in this age have forgotten.

I look back - in my memories and experiences, my observations and perceptions - at the number of couples that have spent more than 10 years together and it seems when we got rid of wars and the fear of dying at any moment, we lost a reason to love truly in a deeper level. Now, embedded into our kids are safe sex and status-quo. Quickies, all the temporary pleasures of friends with benefits and booty calls.

What I would give to find that little joy, simple joy of a partner who I can wake up next to for decades.

I Guess the one thing that I have learnt from all the falling and failing is that it is never guaranteed. Its like an idea, it floats, it lands and the only thing you can do is try. Afterwards you find a lesson of how not to do things, what to look out for and most importantly what mistakes to never make again. Then you take it as it is, happiness, sadness, pain, guilt, frustration, whatever it may be. And for a moment you feel it, indulge in it, take it all in like a breath of morning air and again, wait. You may never know, maybe next time you'll get it right and forever can become, I'm hoping, a very long slow ride.

I've never written about her

I've never written about her. TP. I hope that from wherever she is after her soul vacated, leaving her container barren and bald, that she smiles knowing that she does exist in my memory.
I don't know about her family, not much. I don't know if they speak of her while they sit out by the fire or during dinner. After 14 years of silent whispers, I write for all to see.

Who was she?
Well, she was my first. The first girl to really look at me. We were young, teenage love in boarding school. She was my senior, three years older and was my first hug when I was scared of being alone, away from home in another city.

She possessed a glow which hid a sorrow I had never seen. She was an amazing vocalist. The most beautiful singing in the school, they told me.

We connected in the most unusual ways. She'd lay in her bed, ill - "another attack" they said calmly. Not for me though, I was a panic-stricken chicken. I wanted to help, needed to help. She'd ask me to sing her a song from the 90s until her asthma attack calmed down. I'd hold her hand and smile with her as we played song games.

Its probably an insignificant love affair considering I was only 13, but its definitely worth remembering. The days in the dining hall where she would walk across the overcrowded hall to bring me an extra piece of chicken from her plate. Sunset watching from the balcony of the 'sickbay'. The times I'd be ill in my bed and she's the first to come make sure i was warm, and the last to leave even if she was risking detention.The little love words scribbled on a torn page from exercise book, and the perfume on valentine's day. She was my first kiss and realisation of what seemed at the time a curse. the simple pleasures at the smallest gestures of love.

It was a few months and a fewer days. Then a phone call - she was dead.

I've spoken about her in gasps, whispers, in the evening night secretly among only the closest people that i know would never dare utter my words to anyone.

Its 14years now and i finally realise that love is that innocence, that connection and that lesson she taught me before she finished dying and started living. For we are born to die, that means she's finally alive.

So my words today, to whomever will read, is a dedication to an unspoken hero, a lost love a teacher, my long lost best friend. A girl who hadn't become a woman - a lady of my past.

Dear T.P. 

Your memory is embedded in my being... for as long as i continue dying i will keep your memory alive.

 Love

Joan

somebody change the world. . .

my heart sits at the bottom of my stomach,
everything i live for means nothing,
my pellucid heart heart seeks understanding from humanity-
even though my mind knows that the men that partake in my sentencing know not of such. Before it is said, my condemnation has been stated
i hold my children's hands and bid them goodbye
i smiled as if tomorrow would be no different.
i swallowed the lump in my throat sending tears to burn my eyelids,
i’ve known not of any such freedom,
death is on surprise when judgement is passed
i hold my hijab tightly to my face,
my heart longing to seek some grace
non of it matters when a whimper escapes my mouth as tears roll down my cheek,
their echoes deafen my ears,
“she shouldn’t be this way, she should be left to die”
i say my last prayer right before the first stone hits my eye. . .

For Soraya M. (The Stoning of Soraya M.)

Ohhhh...

most times you don’t realise shit is wild until you have realised that you have realised that shit is wild. it always impacts in an “ohhhh. . .” sorta kinda way.

i recently journeyed to South Africa. I love travelling by bus going long distances because well i get to view life in a different way and get to enjoy the silent vibrations ascending from under the bus.

oh yeah? lets not go there. . .

by JOAN on NOVEMBER 9, 2011 in UNCATEGORIZED

On the front row, right window was my seat on the double deck sleep-liner. i was sitting next to a woman who was seemingly young but acting old and cold, literally, could have easily been my last stroll. she whined most the way and kept begging me to give up my seat for her husband who sat in the seat behind mine.

as if!

Why do you think i went days before the trip to secure the front top seat, lazy bum?? She slowly started getting on my nerves but when i looked outside though, and watch the trees running past my window and spotting wild animals in wild Africa i felt as though i belong on the road. i love the thought of travelling through weird lands and meeting the strangely beautiful and capturing it all.

So overall, i had a really fantastic trip. i love bonding with my cousin and talking about things i’d rather we hadn’t. Meeting her beautiful little girls. Laughing and having such a great time. Thats when i realised that i’ve realized i indeed don’t have a place to call home. i’m a nomad!

ohhhh. .

motherhood…?

THE FOLLOWING CONTENT IS BASED ON A TRUE STORY. IT CONTAINS SEENS THAT HAVE BEEN A NIGHTMARE SINCE ITS OCCURENCE. READ AT OWN RISK

A long time ago, maybe 5 – 4 years ago i was walking home after a tough day at work, or was is school? i had my friend invite me for dinner which i accepted quickly, i wasn’t in the mood of cooking for myself on this particular day. On my way down the hill was a woman laying on the side of the road seemingly in pain, next to her was a face i recognised. It was my friend, the same friend i was going to have dinner with. At the sight of me an in one long word it seemed she yelled “pleasestayhere-gottago-berightback!”. I was obviously confused about these instructions but i figured she’d be back and was going for help since there is a woman rolling around in what seemed to be pain. Walking closer i asked the one man amoung many of the all-male spectators that had gathered around what was wrong with the woman. He told me she was pregnant.

Great! Pregnant! how hard could this be?

I stepped closer to her and she was rolling uncomfotably and obviously in pain. Instantly she started yelling she’s hungry and thirsty and needed to poop. I felt the blood rushing to my head, my brain was obviously not processing the information correctly and was in overtime as i was trying to recall any episode of ER or Greys Anatomy, for fucks sake, any medical show that had labour pains and giving birth in the twist. All i got was “breathe and push!”. Ii wasn’t ready for her to push!? Why no thank you, i was hoping to keep my appetite for dinner. She like charlie’s next angel took off her underwear effortlessly in a sleeping position. I smiled at her, pretty amazed at her ability. I am thinking how sexy that could be if i’d pull that one off in bed…*insert one brow raise + smirk here*

I’m nudged back to reality when she starts to push. Somehow in it all, she starts trying to close her legs while pushing. *PAUSE* Now who in their right minds close their legs when their pushing?? The baby needs a door, open it! But then again she wasn’t really in her right mind. *PLAY* I’m speaking in tongues trying to stop her from crossing her legs and not show my disgust to the audience who had now made themselves comfortble to watch the reality show. Real life labour on the side of the road…no pressure to perform now! Well since i was the midwife i then told her to breathe and push and she seemed to be doing well. Finaly i gained the courage to look at the horrors of childbirth, there i saw the crown – the top of the baby’s head – covered in a white paste. a deep red colored blood trickled down the side and the flow was met by – wait for it – POOP!

Dinner? No thank you i think i’ll pass.

 So i’m gag-instructing, the thought of poop, blood and probably sperm? *insert gag here* I began desperately looking for an older woman, anyone older. Anyone to take this baby out. The head was half way out by now, i’m now in omplete panic when i saw the woman, a much older woman…*insert cloudy heavenly pictures of smiling older woman with orchestra soundtrack*

So after the dificult odeal, the baby was out. The older lady arrived in the nick of time and finished the delivery just as the head popped out. She had turned to me and joyfully and declared that i will be a midwife one day! ermmm no thank you, i like my dinner everynight! where was i taking this? oh yeah. I think i would want a child of my own one day, I could just about raise a kid now, i have it all, experience and patience. and lots love for those little buggers! lol

mmmmeditate. . .

by JOAN on DECEMBER 28, 2011 in UNCATEGORIZED

when i woke today i was in one of those random ‘me time’ moods. yeah, i know i’m surprised too. this is almost as impossible as saying Michael Jackson is a white man! or maybe. . .

the result was my staying in bed in an attempt to sleep late. i fondled my laptop for things to do, ended up working. i know its against the code of conduct. i am not supposed to be working on me time day.

so i suddenly came up with a brilliant idea to meditate. after googling a few techniques i lay on my bed, slowly taking deep breathes. my body actually reacting to my sorry attempts. i was kicking ass at this.

suddenly my door violently opened jerking me up. my 1year old nephew walks in, feet slapping the floor as cute as ever. he pointed to his jacket.
“wow josh, thats a great jacket!”

he smiles and leaves satisfied. i lay on my back, closed my eyes and started taking deep breathes and relaxing. my heart rate was slowing down. i figured any slower i’d be meeting st paul. i suppressed a giggle with a frown of disapproval. i had to be serious to nail this.

i must have done it all too well, i figured, when i turned over to my side and pulled the blanket over my shoulder. . .

zzZzz

voices

They say the first step of healing is accepting you have a problem. I find myself sometimes trying to admit to things I don’t understand I do. I’ve often been left behind by time and I miss on saying things I needed to say or do in the moment, or sometimes I say it too fast for my brain. . .

by JOAN on JULY 2, 2014 in UNCATEGORIZED

Would this be an opportune time to say I have heard voices. I know the first thing you will think is “oh my goodness she’s a nutjob.” Perhaps. For the record, the voices haven’t told me to steal or do anything drastic. It just seemed to be instructions I was telling myself to do, except I heard it so loud it hurt. Its like being in my own mind instructing myself to take the next step and the next and the next. I literally told myself to walk, turn, switch the light on, and even pee! What would it mean if I am somewhat insane? If I had a piece of me wired the wrong way. I wonder if my acceptance of that hinders acceptance from all else around me.

The voices haven’t really been back that loud. They appear in gasps, creativity flows in trickles sometimes, in floods and most times it floats just out but in reach and it keeps me up at night. I toss and turn waiting for it, whatever IT is. and when I wake up, if I sleep, I wake up looking for something, anything. things to hold on to. I guess I am okay being weird, not wanting to talk when I have to, not needing to connect unless I want to. keeping to myself, living in myself. maybe thats what the voices are, me looking to me, being in me. or maybe not. . .

Maybe voices arent as bad as having a scar on your face…a brown spot that publicly shows your impurities. Maybe i think them a better companion than everyone i’ve ever met?