I found a fountain pen!

Modern-ftn-pen-cursive
Image by Herrfous

 

It was buried at the bottom of an old pencil case, dry as a bone and with spots of rust starting to take form on the nib. I cleaned it and changed the cartridge, but it still runs dry. It’s been neglected for too long.

I used to love writing, little notes, poems, scribblings in a jotter. It was what I wanted to do, although I was a realist and knew for certain it would never be my fortune. I was never without a notebook for any length of time, sadly not always the same one, meaning I sometimes created mash ups without even trying.

I cringe now when I read back over some of the things I wrote, all that teenage angst flowing through my body and out the nib of a pen, worse still was I was in my twenties! Teenage angst didn’t happen in the back of beyond, there were only hay bales, tractors and young farmers who allegedly did it in wellies. It was only when I moved to the big smoke that I discovered this inner me and my love for the written word.

Seriously, if you don’t believe me when I tell you how bad they were then let me prove it to you:

Be Funny

They say be funny,
I don’t feel like being funny!

I make faces in the mirror,
but that just makes me sad,
I notice yet another spot,
so now I’m feeling mad.
My Mum shouts “Dinners ready now”
perhaps things aren’t so bad,
I  go downstairs and stuff my face,
at last I’m feeling glad.

That said, reading back over them now I can remember both the situation and my feelings at the time, albeit in most cases now my heart is no longer breaking….yup…love was a recurring theme, that and loneliness.

Single Sided Love

I know she loves you.
I can see it in her eyes.
She wants to end your sentences,
but cannot find the words.
She holds you tight,
like if she lets you go,
she’ll loose you forever.
Yes,
she definitely loves you,
but you offer nothing in return.

It’s funny, when you’re younger, actually, any age, when you fall out of love you feel your heart will never mend, especially if you were not the one to actually fall out of it in the first place. You swear you’ll never do it again, and relationships become a taboo subject.

The Burden

I’ll walk up and down the street,
and they’ll say to me,
“What is it that you are carrying in that plastic bag,
that looks so heavy?”
And I’ll say
“My Heart”

Time however is a good healer and with time you become a little more comfortable and sure about your new status. I say a little, because there is always room for improvement.

Part-Time Lonely Heart

I tell everyone I am fine,
happy to be on my own.
But am I?
Sometimes yes,
sometimes no.
A part-time lonely heart.

Eventually you’ll realise there is life after love and that actually despite what you thought for the last three months the world did manage to keep on spinning. Time to get your shit together.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow,
when day breaks,
and the sun again resides in her palace,
the birds will sing,
and rejoice,
for a new day will have begun.

Written for todays Daily Prompt from the diaries of my twenty something self. There really never was much hope for me was there :)

Haiku: The Arrival

Ok so my good friend Rob, over at Rob’s Surf Report has started a Haiku challenge.

I have to be honest and say I had no idea what a Haiku was and I have to be even more honest and say that after reading the instructions, I am still at a bit of a loss. For regular readers of my blog, you will already know I am not the most learned when it comes to grammar and all things writing in general, I tend to err more towards the fly by the seat of my pants approach!

So never one to pass up a challenge, or a gentle nudge via a comment (damn you Rob!!) Here’s my attempt. If it’s wrong don’t judge me, I have the satisfaction of saying I tried!

So the genre for this month is: Genre Haiku Challenge: Science Fiction

The Arrival

Flashing lights approach

Ripping past shining bright stars

Hurry they’re here!

~

This may be my first and last venture into the world of Haiku!

 

Looking back!

Blog
Image by Joel Montes

Rob in response to a recent Daily Promt, wrote a piece entitled ‘Surfer Rob’s addiction to the analog blog‘.

It got me thinking, and as I later said to him in my second comment (because his blog ate my first one), I have little scraps of paper everywhere with bits of my life on them, books of poetry, most of which makes me cringe when I read it now and many many half started and then discarded diaries.

Before The Indecisive Eejit was born my best attempt at a blog had been one called ‘The Trouble With Me’. I started it just over 10 years ago when I was going through a difficult time.  It was an outlet, and very few people knew of it’s existence. At the time it helped, but as life changed and I got better I stopped updating it and eventually made the decision to close it altogether.

12th November 2002

~

As of right now things are not going to bad, I have just passed through a little phase in my life that I shall for ever after call my “episode”…….what that basically means is I lost myself for a few weeks…..I was smart enough to be able to realize though that something was not right and marched myself off to the doctor. My doctor is fantastic she has a very calming manner and just listens and regardless of her diagnosis at the end I left feeling better because I had shared some of my problems.

~

Basically I am fighting fit….but a little down in the dumps…..ok perhaps an easier way to describe it is mildly depressed…..my doctor applauds me because I am aware of what is happening and trying to rectify it….however should I not be able to pull myself out of the pit I am currently in……well then I have been advised to think about going on happy pills……or as I would rather not refer to them, anti depressants! Well I have to say it is amazing the difference being told you have to go on anti depressants makes, I got up at 6.30 am the next morning and scaled Ben Nevis with a smile on my face from bottom to top! NOT!!!!! Slight exaggeration on my part there but I did take my mates dog for a walk and grabbed some valuable me time and you know what it worked…I did feel better.

I never thought to keep a back up. All my poems were in books, or on scraps of paper. It was just the diary entries that were lost, or so I thought. Unbeknown to me Lee had kept copies on his computer as I had been using his hosting space and he was my chief web guru. A few years back he sent them all to me. I was delighted.

I went looking for them again the other night and located them on an old external drive which I had used to back up my previous PC.

It’s weird looking back 10 years and trying to remember why you wrote all the things you did. With my poetry I can still remember the reason behind every one, but with the writing it is not so easy. The saddest thing of all is reading the entries and realising very little has changed. It seemed that even then I suffered from anxiety, my worrying was a problem and I’ve been battling little bouts of depression ever since.

16th November 2002

~

I went and sat beside the sea today, it’s something I haven’t done, or maybe felt the need to do in a long time. I needed to try and clear my head of all the clutter that was inside it. I love the sea…especially in Winter, there is something calming about standing at the waters edge! You can scream as loud as you want but no one can hear you against the roar of the waves as they crash against the rocks. I must have looked a lonely figure standing there…..and that’s how I felt today, like I wanted to cut myself off from the rest of the world.

~

Sometimes I feel like I am 2 people, there is the Me I show to others…..the one who smiles and laughs and is game for anything. The one who is generally on an even keel but can sometimes be a right grumpy cow. Then there is the Me that only I know…..the quiet me, who thinks and worries about everything…analyzes everything and is totally paranoid. That’s the me who writes the poems and keeps the diaries….perhaps I feel a need to remind myself how I can be…and on really bad days remind myself how not to be.

~

Sometimes I wish I could get the two me’s together and sit them down with a nice cup of coffee, I would quiz them both on what they feel the trouble with me is….and ask them can they offer any solutions.

Given that I am now moving swiftly into middle age, pretty disgracefully it has to be said, it is unlikely that I will change now. I’ve been me for a long time. There are still be bits I don’t understand, and the chances are never will.

Would I change anything? Of course I would, because hindsight is a wonderful thing, but for the most part my friendships and relationships would remain the same. I’ve already established I can’t change me, so my thinking would have been the same, meaning that in all probability so would the outcome of each of them. One change I would make in this regard though, would be to not offer my heart so easily to be broken. I’m not sure it can be mended now, and besides if I can’t love myself, how will I ever allow anyone else to.

My Heart as an Apple

I have a heart,
it’s an open book,
show me affection,
I’ll give you a look.

~

Speak to me kindly,
treat me with care,
show me devotion,
and my heart I will share.

~

I was just like an apple,
with a shiny new skin,
you loved the feel of me,
but ignored the within.

~

Now I am wilting,
cause you want me no more,
the skin is still perfect,
but you devastated the core.

Blogging to beat the blues…

Blog
Image by Joel Montes

The Geeky G4mer was not my first foray into the blogging world. Oh no. There were many many others.

Over the years I have had various little bits and pieces about my life on the World Wide Web. Scraps of this and that, scattered over random names that I have long since forgotten.

To date though, this has been the one I have updated the most, but it‘s hard to think of new content when your life is just run of the mill and compared to some, downright boring.

Everyone has something to offer. Everyone has something to give. Everyone will touch someone regardless of whether they realise it or not.

A blog for all intents and purposes it usually an outlet for something. Somewhere to be honest, somewhere to be humorous, somewhere to vent, the list is endless. Most of us do it for fun. There are some though,  who have crafted their art so skillfully they can now live off the proceeds, or so they would have us believe. I feel under pressure to think of new things now, imagine what it would be like if I was getting paid and had deadlines. Pressure cooker springs to mind.

Despite the fact I do it for fun and to keep my aging brain active, there is no denying the little buzz you experience when you get a notification of a new like or follow. If I write and post something on my morning train journey, one person liking the post has me squealing with delight, usually at the expense of the eardrums of everyone within a 100m radius.

It makes me want to better myself, but in doing so, do I set the bar to high.

Years ago I realised I was never going to be an amazing writer or poet and I’m ok with that. I’m content to be mediocre or even something close to it. I’m enjoying the company of the people I have around me here, and getting to know them via the details they choose to share.

I’m learning things about myself, like the fact that I don’t have to be perfect or amazing or even all that intellectual. It’s perfectly fine to just be me, a little bit thick and occasionally funny. I’ve made people smile and I’ve made people laugh, and that in turn has made everything worthwhile.

Every time there is a little tinkle of a notification or someone leaves me a comment it’s a little pat on the back, someone is saying, you know what, you’re no Whilimena Shakespear but that wasn’t a bad attempt. That beats back the blues just a little.

So to sign out I am going to leave you with one of my poems, Lee who is much more organised than me kept a back log of all my old posts and poems from the site I used to have called “The Trouble With Me”. Now bear in mind this was written around 2002, so a little like my mental age, it’s around 11 years old.

Being Late

The birds didn’t sing and the sun didn’t shine,
as I snored in my bed unaware of the time.
And the next thing I know it’s a quarter to 8,
and my Mum’s screaming up, “you’re going to be late”.

But even at that time all hope was lost,
I’d missed the damn train and my parents were cross.
My bed was calling but my mind said “Make haste”
So I tossed off the covers and to the bathroom I raced!

A quick sprinkling of water, and a brush round my jaws,
and a luke warm face cloth around my face and my paws,
locating clean clothes amid all the clutter,
running around like a bit of a nutter.

Down the stairs slowly it feels like a mile,
But “Good afternoon” she says with a sarcastic wee smile,
into the car for a 5 mile journey of silence,
mind it could have been worse there might have been violence.

So here I am on a later train,
I shall never trust my alarm clock again,
but you know what it’s worth all the trouble and strife,
to get another shot at this thing they call life.