Monday, July 28, 2014

It's quite possible she wrote this for me. Without even knowing it.

Shavawn over at Falling into Wonderland often writes what I want to say and she does it much more elegantly than I would.

Her post Not my circus. Not my monkeys. perfectly sums up something that I'm actively learning to do at the moment, and it's that thing when you cease to interfere (or help as you liked to call it) when you really should just let things be.

Sometimes it's kinder to let people fall flat on their faces, not just for them but also for you. Definitely for you.

Sometimes, if that someone is someone you tried to help in the past and even loved (even though nowadays you hate to admit it and you know it's just your codependent arse that made you feel that way), and when that someone goes on to break other women's hearts while you silently have to stand by and you wish you could warn them but you can't, and so you receive a lesson in how karma works even though you're not sure you even believe karma is the real deal......well, then it's not only kinder but also mildly amusing. If you're inclined to be amused by such things which I happen to be in this particular case. Amused, but not smugly so.

Maybe it's a sign that the dog days are coming to an end, I don't know, but I now know with certainty that that there is not my circus and that there is certainly not my monkey. I don't even have to buy a ticket.

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Why I'm here...I guess

I post hopelessly infrequently here.

I feel a little bad about it, I have to tell you, because when I check the stats, and I actually do that quite often, there seems to be a few people who quite regularly check in. I'm not entirely sure what they come here for but it makes me a little curious. It also makes me happy that someone comes to visit and reads, and it makes me wonder what they would like me to write about if they could ask me....

Yeah, I'm hinting. At you.

Monday, July 7, 2014

On becoming your story and leaving it behind

I happen to be in therapy.

On one hand it's annoying because I *should* know better by now.

On the other hand it's good because it means I'm working in myself and my own healing.

On the third hand, the virtual hand that's inevitably grown out of a need to illustrate something at this point, the real temptation to become my own story is a little too real.

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