Un Peu has cruelly dragged me from the Sofa of Misery to tag me. Apparently I’ve got to write about five strategies which make me feel better. Right now a lavish publishing deal and lunch at L’Escargot would hit the spot nicely, so that’s two if anyone would like to make my day.
No, I do know what she means so I had a little ponder about it whilst myndying the siopa just now. I remember when my heart was broken for the very first time and Dad found me sobbing. He gave me a hug and said, ‘It’ll never hurt this much again, Miss Chris.’ Reader, he lied. But I can see why. A couple of minor dents and bruises help prepare you for the serious knocks that come everyone’s way. Stuff happens. That’s the cost of living if you like.
Okay, this is how I deal with the small stuff, this is different to living with the black dog who I’m also well acquainted with but we’ve got the measure of each other now. This is what Lily would call the ‘Cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it’ stuff.
Make Every Day Count
This is it. You get once chance, one life. Yesterday’s gone, forget about it. You have this precious new day so live it.
Keep On Running
This is how I get dispose of the daily rubbish, the stuff that would grind me down if I let it. Ticking off the miles with only the rhythm of my breathing to think about is an almost transcendental experience – and I get to see the sea as well, which is always a bonus.
Wallow
When I’m really hacked off the best thing for me is to shut the door and immerse myself in music. An hour of listening to other folk’s misery and despair never fails to cheers me up! My personal choices would include:
Nick Cave, ‘I Had A Dream, Joe’ – sheer madness
Nick Drake, ‘Black Eyed Dog’ – sheer desolation
Tim Buckley, ‘Song To The Siren’ – hauntingly, scarily beautiful.
To cap it all, of my three choices only Nick Cave is still alive and kicking. Both Nick Drake and Tim Buckley died wastefully young.
Poetry
We’ve got shelves of it. I always return to:
W B Yeats, anything really
Siegfried Sassoon, ‘Together’
Don Paterson, ‘A Private Bottling’
My Daughters
I would walk through fire for them. Thinking about them or imagining them by my side has got me through no end of trying times.
So there you have it, my highly personal account of what works for me. I won’t tag you but if you’d like to write about what makes you feel better I’d love to read it.
Hwyl fawr!
No, I do know what she means so I had a little ponder about it whilst myndying the siopa just now. I remember when my heart was broken for the very first time and Dad found me sobbing. He gave me a hug and said, ‘It’ll never hurt this much again, Miss Chris.’ Reader, he lied. But I can see why. A couple of minor dents and bruises help prepare you for the serious knocks that come everyone’s way. Stuff happens. That’s the cost of living if you like.
Okay, this is how I deal with the small stuff, this is different to living with the black dog who I’m also well acquainted with but we’ve got the measure of each other now. This is what Lily would call the ‘Cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it’ stuff.
Make Every Day Count
This is it. You get once chance, one life. Yesterday’s gone, forget about it. You have this precious new day so live it.
Keep On Running
This is how I get dispose of the daily rubbish, the stuff that would grind me down if I let it. Ticking off the miles with only the rhythm of my breathing to think about is an almost transcendental experience – and I get to see the sea as well, which is always a bonus.
Wallow
When I’m really hacked off the best thing for me is to shut the door and immerse myself in music. An hour of listening to other folk’s misery and despair never fails to cheers me up! My personal choices would include:
Nick Cave, ‘I Had A Dream, Joe’ – sheer madness
Nick Drake, ‘Black Eyed Dog’ – sheer desolation
Tim Buckley, ‘Song To The Siren’ – hauntingly, scarily beautiful.
To cap it all, of my three choices only Nick Cave is still alive and kicking. Both Nick Drake and Tim Buckley died wastefully young.
Poetry
We’ve got shelves of it. I always return to:
W B Yeats, anything really
Siegfried Sassoon, ‘Together’
Don Paterson, ‘A Private Bottling’
My Daughters
I would walk through fire for them. Thinking about them or imagining them by my side has got me through no end of trying times.
So there you have it, my highly personal account of what works for me. I won’t tag you but if you’d like to write about what makes you feel better I’d love to read it.
Hwyl fawr!
Painting is 'Lobster Pots Off Caldey' by Tom Tomos
Comments
warm wishes
x
I'd walk through fire for my daughter too. Children do have a wonderful effect on our lives, they always give up something else to think about!
Crystal xx
Blossom
Good Blog.
And good news about the book.
Camilla.x