The Life of Riley

It’s another long, hot weekend. I’m sitting at the desk, occasionally skipping screens, waiting for the local lotto jackpot results to be updated on their website.

Lost in the Milky Way,

smile at the empty sky and wait for

the moment a million chances may all collide.

I'll be the guiding light,

swim to me through stars that shine down,

and call to the sleeping World as they fall to Earth.

Time sure does flies. In about 28 hours of so, June would enter our lives, tho the summer-type weather announced its arrival way before the calendars days did. And as the days wind down, I am beginning to feel more and more like Ishmael, the lead character in the book Man Gone Down (by Michael Thomas). Only, he had 4 days. I am more fortunate – I have about 14.

From cradles and sleepless nights,

you breathe in life forever,

and stare at the World from deep under eiderdown.

Although this World is a crazy ride,

you just take your seat and hold on tight.

I must say I am glad to see last week end, tho I am not grateful for the way it ended. Two days on, the bitter aftertaste is still very much present at the back of throat. And I am filled with dread when I think forward to Monday, and then there’s Tuesday, etc, etc, etc. In short – I am not looking forward to going to work. And unless I can wrap my head around it, cast the issue aside, I am gonna be hating work till... such-and-such a time when...

Blowing bubbles

A whole night of talking in circles,

searching for the reasons to save us,

and keep it all painless.

All the lies you've had to swallow,

just to face the World tomorrow.

The Bear asked today if I was okay. I am not. But it’s a round-hole, square-peg situation. I.e. What can I do about it? Tender my resignation in these glum economic climates? Throw away a possibility that tho fading in its brightness is still my closest shot by far? This is no ordinary situation. And so I cannot respond in my ordinary ways ~ packing it in and calling it a day.

Blowing bubbles it's the final straw,

they never last too long but for a moment

there's perfection floating through an open door,

but if you try to hold it

then it turns to nothing.

The page has loaded, another tenner wasted. I have yet one more shot at Lady Luck – as Ben says: Hang on to that buck of hope! Alas, faith is wearing thin. Seriously and dangerously thin. So much so, I am threatening to unravel these thin threads of sanity and well, ... just well.

Your whole world...

can turn on a moment,

some things can come back and haunt you,

but they're too late to warn you.

I’m trying my damnest best not to make a mountain out of a mole-hill. And in all honesty, I rarely rant – unless it is matters that truly deserve ranting. I do not rave about not having the right car, nor do I take the piss at someone better than. Yet for this one individual – I can find no words to fit as the right adjective. Cos I simply cannot understand nor comprehend.

Drinking in the dead of night,

tobacco clouds that sting your eyes,

you've locked your feelings deep inside,

growing pains that never die.

You need to sweep the picture clean,

and start to dream another dream,

and end this foggy yesterday that still reminds you...

All the lies you've had to swallow,

just to face the World tomorrow... 

I cannot let this happen. I have to wait my time even if it kills me. Cos it is the ticket out of this never ending misery of finding the right place, the right time and the right job. I have to find a way to believe in the opinions of those that matters. To cast aside the opinions of those that don’t. I am not a parasite, feeding on the pats on heads from my circle of friends whom I trust. And so, I have to even learn how to cast aside the lil voice in my head that says “Perhaps I’m truly not the ONE.” In.All.Instances.Of.Life.

So here's your life,

we'll find our way, we're sailing blind,

but it's certain nothing's certain.

I don't mind,

I get the feeling you'll be fine,

I still believe that in this World,

we've got to find the time...

for the Life of Riley.

Someday, the Life of Riley would be mine - a carefree, comfortable, and thoroughly enjoyable way of living! It might not be today (Yups - the last buck of hope gone in a flash!) And I bet you his life didn't have no psycho in it that veers from one extreme to the other, and redefining the phrase "I hate you" in the process!

I just need to get that voice in my head to Shut the F**K Up till then!

The Big Bad "P" Word - Part II

"#5 has been filled. #6 should come in any day now," I texted to Ben last night before turning in. "Tho it's progressing, the slowness and wait is killing me!" I added as a rant to close.

My cousin Paul, said in one of his postings ~ "in one typical sale setting, there are 19 "no's" for every one sale" and it is very true in almost all instances of sales. With the key word being of course Patience.

As Ben said in his reply ~ "See! Patience! Wonderful!" I get the "see" and "patience" bit. As to the "wonderful" I'm still deciding if he meant that it's great that I'm moving closer to my 1st milestone or that I'm bearing down on my teeth and wading thru it without breaking x-number of bones and / or glasses.

Patience - has to be applied in watching the hands of the clock tick by. And in my case, also in kids who can't decide if one set of island is better than another.

Oh well. If you can't beat them, guess you'll just have to join em.

Patience - wonderful! Simply wonderful!

P to the J

Ben and I had this long debate not too many days ago on the subject matter of "passion" IN THE CONTEXT of the work-environment, of course. "I hate it when people use this word," he ranted. And off we went down the rabbit-hole of me putting forth the definition and him, dissecting it as would be his job as an analyst. 

pas·sion  ~ noun

1. A powerful emotion, such as love, joy, hatred, or anger.
2. Boundless enthusiasm
3. An abandoned display of emotion, especially of anger

I have to state, here and now, that I am a great fan of Passion. I firmly believe that if one does something with passion, you're really doing it with both your best feet forward. Ben, on the other hand, thinks that emotions have no place in the work-environment. Hence, passion should not exist at all, particularly in carrying out a task, a job, a role, a position. 

I do see the rationale and logic behind his stand ~ after all, you can't be a boss and a friend in the same instance. But I do beg to differ when it comes down to the its place in carrying out a task or a job ~ there really is not much point in doing anything at all, if you're going to be putting in less than.

Perhaps its cos he deals with facts, figures and papers while I deal with people, their thought process and their emotions. And if you don't put your heart into it, treating each part of the job process as important and executing it with enthusiasm - then you really have to sit and re-think if you should be in this type of position after all.

Of course, I have to qualify that passion does not need to equate to an abundant display of rah-rah-ness. But certainly, some form of initiative and enthusiasm would be present. 

in⋅i⋅ti⋅a⋅tive ~ noun

1. The power or ability to begin or to follow through energetically with a plan or task; enterprise and determination.
2. A beginning or introductory step; an opening move

If you are passionate about your role, your job(s), dawdling would not come into play. You would be a contributor and not a worker. Tasks would be carried out without delay, ideas offered at the first opportunity and solutions shared at the first bump. 

en·thu·si·asm ~ noun

1. Great excitement for or interest in a subject or cause.
2. A source or cause of great excitement or interest.

If you are passionate about your role, your job(s), what's going on in your client's head (if you are in the field of service that I am in) would be of great interest to you. Each encounter would be treated with some form of reverence and joy - transmitting the feeling of "How great it is to see you again!" and not "Sigh, not you again!" Sure, sometimes it may be hard to evoke these sentiments, particularly if the client is a terribly naggy one, but that said - the lacklustre feeling should be an exception, not the norm.

Passion has, and would remain to be, a key driver in determining if someone is worth having on my side of the court, my team. And I don't have a rocket science formula in measuring that - all I need to do is weigh your initiatives and your enthusiasm towards your job, your role on your good days. Sure, it wouldn't hinder your execution of the tasks at hand, but it sure would not mean jack to the growth of the team, the organisation. 

In conclusion, it's a team-sport, this emotion. You can't teach it. You can't learn it. You may try to inspire it. But you most certainly can't cover up someone else's shortfall of it. And if it ain't there when your sun is shinning - it just tells me loud and clear that you're not passionate about your place on the team, and would unlikely ever be.

Stan

stalk ~ verb (used without object)

1. To pursue or approach prey, quarry, etc.,
2. To walk with measured, stiff, or haughty strides
3. To proceed in a steady, deliberate, or sinister manner

I never thought I would see the day when I conclude that I am being stalked. Thankfully not physically but electronically and digitally is enough for this girl.

I have not one but TWO electronic stalkers. And they do not go away no matter what I have done. Most surprisingly, both as professed "professionals" so you would think that their grey matter has some level of depth and substance to process No and GO AWAY to be as such.

Sadly, judging by the latest email that had popped into my inbox, perhaps by having to use their brains consistently thru out the work day, they do not know of any way of processing words without excluding its literal sense anymore.

Short of changing my mobile number and deleting my long-standing web-mail account, it looks as if these two jokers are not going anywhere. And I for one am not going to stoop to their level by having thugs call them out, breaking their mobile phones and laptops in the process.

I am not intimidated. I am merely pissed. Pissed that there are such jokers out there. And pissed that because of a brief moment of folly, I have been plagued and unfortunately would continue to be plagued by the two valley idiots who can't read.

What a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into Stan!

The Art of ... Dying?

I do not fear death. I do not fear the end of life, my life. I do not fear the unknown that lies awaiting on the other side, nor the Grim Reaper's image as painted by countless artists as well as one of my favourite authors - Terry Prachett. 

I do not think about death. About when I will draw my last breath, nor about how. I do not think of the number that the coroner would put in the space that says 'age' on my death certificate. Nor do I think about what it would state as 'cause of death.'

Like I said - I do not fear death.

But I do think about life without my key persons in them. And in that stand, I do fear death. I do think about death. I do think about the age at which death would come, and the manner in which it would present its gleaming scythe. But it is not of my own end of life that these thoughts are associated with. It is of those I count as my people.

I boldly stated two nights ago how someone is "not permitted to kick the bucket at 53 as per his prediction, cos I would only be 49 and my grand plan to get a cat to have endless conversations with, would only come into play when I turn 50." Even as I typed out those words, I knew that I could disallow, command, demand, stomp-my-foot and bawl like a baby, when the time comes, there is no way in hell that I could stop it.

Perhaps this is where my selfish side presents ugly self. Perhaps this is where my inner most fear bops its head over the surface of the dark waters where it lay in wait. 

I do not want to be the recipient of a phone call, saying that one has passed on. I do not want to be asked to identify if the cold lifeless corpse, made colder by the hard steel table top, is that of one I had known and love. I do not want to have to live by the memory of one, as captured in my mind's eye or in what we call a photograph. I do not want to whisper questions or thoughts into the light or dark, hoping to have a familiar voice answer it from another life.

I do not want to have to do all these, after one has gone on before me, and so I fear death and all it represents, despite being told that it really should be something to be feared. Life has been lived, and cliché as it may be ~ what's done is done. You can't go back and undo it at that point in time.

As it was said by someone I know who seem, to my utter disgust, to embrace wholeheartedly the art of dying ~ the only justifiable fear would be that you no longer can complete any more of the same good things that you have been doing. And I have been told over and over again, that if I live my own life along that thought, I would have no base, no grounds, to have the fears that I have when it comes to death. 

For the art of dying, is simply one that is not executed at the very end... but one that is done from the day you were born. I fully understand that, I do. If I didn't, I would truly defy all logic and go tell my dad that he should have really used protection that night some 34 years ago just so that I wouldn't be existing today.

Still... as with an excellent book that has absorbed me into its inked words... as with a moving musical with notes that lifted me up and across an astral plane... as with a meal offering dishes that made me want to contain each morsel whole in my mouth so the taste would go on forever... There will always be that pang of angst when you know something is drawing to an end.

And it is that 'pang' that I dread, do not look towards. 

But having said that, if among my people, one knew that the hands of their clock has been marked, the alarm has been set, yet choose to spare me of this 'pang' by withholding the possible departure time, it would be the most unforgivable act in my books of people-etiquette, despite all its plausible good intent.

For there is nothing more painful for one who has not mastered the art of dying, than having someone die on them before they've learnt the first lesson of living.

 

Bare, Naked Ladies

The day after, my head always feels as if it is in danger of bursting. Random thoughts... snippets of conversations... they swim in a circle all day long 

Leaving me... in a surreal sense of time and space.

Leaving me... wanting more of the same, served up in the exact same manner from start to finish.

Leaving me... with a deep sense of dread as to how the hours, days and quite possibly weeks would have to be spent to make up for the gaping hole now left wide open.

Leaving me... looking forward to the next time the phone beeps, or the doorbell rings, knowing it would again lead to yet another life-changing, mind-boggling night that is both intimate yet innocent at the same time.

Can you really fault me, for feeling this way... especially when I try so hard not to ride the waves of "letting it rip".. especially when I try so hard to stay clear of all things "ME" ... yet I get taken apart without realising it, slowly drawn, dissected, analysed and put back together again to see things in a different light?

And can you really fault me, for thinking that this is one long 24-hour dream... when despite coming to the conclusion that I can only see the Ws and the Ts in myself, I am not condemned to be "dark and twisted" but told that the truth that I fight so hard to hide is a beautiful sight, and that there's hope that I would be able to see it for myself?

How can someone believe that I can be other than what I make myself out to be, when I myself won't buy it?

Equations

"Why do you feel the need to want to do this?" was the question asked when I 'announced' my intent to complete the Road to Santiago in summer 2010.

My reply to those I told has been "It is one of the most apt thing to do considering 2010 is a monumental year." But evidently this did not fly tonight. For some strange reason, the person asking the question felt that yes, it is a monumental year but it was not reason enough to wanna go walk some 100+ km over a course of 1 week.

And he chose to follow up that question with this "What is the fundamental basis of you?" To which I could only say I am ME cos I really didn't want another slap on the wrist.

Oh sure, we've been asked many times before - Who are you? And most certainly have asked our own reflection - Who am I? And while we have listed many "I am...", the list would have either seem too definitive or too short, in some instances as well. Almost always, we would have ended up asking "Is this ALL that I am?"

And in those 3 simple words - it's really as simple as that. I am ME. And it doesn't matter if ME consisted of 3 things, or 300 things or even 3 million things - it is who I am and that itself suffices.

One of the things about this RtS that caught my attention was the comments from former pilgrimers that "you would discover answers you have been seeking" during this journey. And that, in truth, was the main reason why I thought I should go do something out of this world like this. And I have not had the guts to mention it here, or to anyone else spoken to about this subject, tho it has been hinted upon elsewhere.

And so, as I count that there is only another 5 hours before the alarm clock goes off to signal the start of another week, I also sit here and realise that I do not need to take a stroll thru north of Spain to discover who I am and why I am the way I am.

I am ME. 

Perhaps then, I should then do my stroll for the simple reason of enjoying the sights and live of another country, another continent. And not for anything else.