Crying when I sing is an embarrassing and somewhat funny affliction, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
Singing season is nearly upon us which makes me seven kinds of happy.
I’m not gifted or talented in this arena but I am happy and enthusiastic.
With a running start and a lot of help I can get through most songs.
However, I cannot get through some songs without crying.
It is getting ridiculous.
Even the choir point and laugh now 🙂
My daughter, all 5’10” of her, will bend down and kiss me on the forehead saying “awhhh, you’re so sweet”.
I have been giving a lot of thought to what is doing this, why am I reacting this way, what can I do to stop it?
I don’t cry particularly at songs on the radio, or just general songs.
Some bands make me switch off the radio (Coldplay).
Half a phrase, if pertinent to a life experience, can “do me up like a kipper” as they’d say in London where I grew up.
Continue reading “Crying when I sing; Even the choir point and laugh.”
Being charitable with ourselves might prove to be the best thing we could ever do.
I was chatting with a friend this evening and the subject turned to charity.
We talked about how charity is love in action, it fosters a desire to understand others, to avoid being easily offended, to not be overly disappointed when someone doesn’t meet out expectations, to basically cut someone some slack and see their attributes rather than what is immediately apparent.
We talked about how it is a skill acquired over time.
We talked about how it is sometimes easier to go easier on others than ourselves, that we can expect a lot and be our own harshest critics and learning to give ourselves a little breathing space is a priority.
On the way home I asked myself “if I am being kind to myself, what’s in it for me?”
An original to me thought popped into this ol’ noggin.
If I know I am going to cut myself some slack, I am free try new things without fear of a personal berating session.
What’s in it for me is the freedom to embrace a dash of uncertainty.
There will be one fewer critic in the stands because I shall try to be graceful when things go right and also when they don’t.
To be on the field with mud and sweat on your face is an opportunity not to be missed.
Learning to become your own coach, your own cheerleader, your own binkie rather than your own worst enemy and critic is worthy of the time and investment to make it work.
I would not give it up for all the tea in the APAC region!
Your company gathers all the staff together simultaneously at 0900hrs. It’s not fun.
We have known this was coming for months.
We have been pep talking eachother and ourselves for weeks, nay, months.
After hours today a meeting request was sent to every employee to be in a company wide, simultaneous meeting at 0900hrs to discuss the next stages of the reorganisation.
Each discipline to go to their assigned area and receive instruction.
Bile filled the pit of my stomach.
I still have a bit if trauma left over from the last time this happened.
Having recently had a very good managerial review, I came to the determination on the drive home that nothing is personal, this is just shaping the company the way the new boss wants it for continued success and growth.
I have tried to relax tonight as best I can.
Depression, like war, is only understood by those who’ve lived it… unless you have my handy guide.
Depression. Ahhh, what a neurological gift, a total cluster, fubar and snafu.
Fatigue makes things worse.
Worry about things real or possible future clusters.
But what is it like to be in a depressive episode?
For me it is like having the snuffles in your brain.
It varies in degree, some times you barely notice other than to give a little sniff, other times you might feel wretched but know that if you grit your emotional teeth you can go to work, get your stuff done, get home, get the kids fed bathed and in bed, you can go to that function, you can wear the frock heels and lippy and when you get home you will be too tired to sleep like a fractious baby but you didn’t let anyone down today.
Other times it is like the mental serious cold, you hunker down for a day or two to protect others from catching it or turn your face or warn people nicely you have the snuffles so they can protect themselves too.
Different times it feels like mental flu, so bad you don’t know how you can be up and about, and when people see you they kindly enquire after your wellbeing or tell you that you look like death.
So that is a 2 minute insight in to mental snuffles.
What is the difference between a migraine and a headache? Let me tell you.
I get asked often
“How is a migraine different from a headache?”
Well, let me tell ya…
You know when you leave a cupboard door open and then crack your head on it?
Or the pain of the first few seconds of a properly stubbed toe that makes you screech and you cannot breathe properly afterward?
How you can hardly think of anything other than the cracked head, or the stubbed toe.
That is a little like a migraine but the acute pain lasts for days and doesn’t disperse.
I’ve found a gel pack ice cap on t’internet to alleviate the first signs of said Migraine, will be picking up one of those bad boys and trying them out on our next dance around the park.
I can handle everything except everything + cooking
Victory Or Death!
There is no aspect of my life right now where I couldn’t stand on a table and yell this whilst brandishing some kind of implement like a Warrior Queen of ancient tales.
I’m made for it, built for it, vulcanised in the furnace of life, I’m like “meh, what you gonna do?”.
But when this happens I don’t want to cook.
It actually becomes impossible for me to cook an edible meal.
I loose the ability to prepare food.
Every attempt ends up in the bin, charred beyond recognition, all nutrition destroyed.
Even the idea of opening the fridge, freezer or cupboard is too much and become agitated and have no patience.
Chip shop it is, then.
Teens: seeing beyond the fashion choices
Shocked! I was stunned silent for a moment.
Wear your own clothes day at school.
The LDS rock chick girl child walked in wearing t-shirt, flannel shirt, short shorts, tights with lots of holes, army boots, bandana and lots of eye makeup with a hair braid twist.
Kudos mum points for biting my tongue.
Thing is, she looked beautiful, it was just a shock.
“It’s only fashion, it’s only fashion, it’s only fashion” was my mantra as I wafted imaginary smelling salts under my nose.
She saw the face, she secretly and quickly packed a pair of black jeans, she changed at school.
Better than piercings.
Even with all the holes in the tights, she was mighty beautiful.