Wordophilia - The descent into certifiable insanity is tangible proof the writer has chosen the right career path.

A site for self-confessed and/or certifiable wordophiles.

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Wordophilia - March 2008

Trying to get a handle on this new domain

March 21st 2008 19:19

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day (and night) be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen.

This, having my own domain on Orble, is a bit frightening. Thank goodness I have my meds, and my doctor gives me repeat prescriptions to cover the days I swallow a whole packet of anti-depressants before even getting out of bed. To have a glass of water and wash the chalky residue down my throat. Anti-depressant tablets are like lollies if you crunch them. I pretend they're Crown Mints and I'm a child again. And I'm just frollicking in the quadrange at school during recess time. In my school uniform. Young Ann Onnamuss. Shunned by all her classmates because she's too weird.

Where was I?

Oh, that's right. Having a domain.

I think I might even know the strapping young chap who had this domain before I took it over. I think he's Henrietta's son. That's Lady Henrietta Muddling for those of you who don't read her posts. Lady H as I call her, is a lifelong friend. Some days I even call her H. And get away with it. Lower class people are not granted that privilege. I remember when she had young David. She often tells the story about how big his head was and how much it hurt her labia to give birth to him. And how it made sex seem pleasurable. Even though she didn't like sex due to being educated in a Catholic convent. And how she thought she was bleeding to death the day she got her first period.

All of my children just fell out. It was so embarrassing. Giving birth to my eldest when I was just walking along the street. Plop! Out he came. Thank goodness a postie was coming down the footpath behind me at the time, and said, "I think you just dropped something." It was my first born. Fortunately, he landed on his feet. And the postie was kind enough to lay a burnout on the umbilical cord in order to cut it, before going off to deliver the mail.

Where was I? Oh, that's right. My domain.

I'm still not sure what I'm going to write about. There's so many seasoned writers on Orble writing about all sorts of things. And they all seem so expert. So I feel quite a bit intimidated. And get nervous. Thank God for medication is all I can say.

I sure hope I don't get constipation again today. I shouldn't. I took a whole bottle of Coloxyl this morning. The ones with senna. But I'll eat half a banana just in case. And some All Bran. For roughage.

I hope I don't get the runs.

I should be all right. I've tucked a bath towel into the back of my bloomers.

God, I get sick of washing. Incontinence is an awful disease. I thought all my problems were over with my backside, the day I had the pile operation. I don't want to go to hospital again. It's an awful place.

Don't talk to me about operations. I've had more operations than Frankenstein's monster.

Now, Mary Shelley was a go getter for a woman. Fancy writing a book like Frankenstein as a young girl. I'm still panicking about writing a blog and what subject to pick, and she just goes and writes a book that influeneces the whole world. She probably had rich parents and wasn't sent to a convent.

Life in the convent was tough.

Maybe I'll write about my life. It's certainly been full of dramas. And sacrifices. I've sacrificed everything for my son. I just want to die happy knowing he's alright. That will make it all worthwhile. He's a kind boy. He just never had a father.

But I pray my Rosary every day. For him. And I'll be having a few words to God if I have to do one second in Purgatory. Unless you're a mother, dear reader? You'll never understand a mother's love. It's pure sacrifice. We'd do anything for our kids. I have a clean conscience, and have run my race. I'm going to meet my God and your God. And regardless of how much good I've done during my pilgrimage on earth, you just wait until I get to heaven. I'll be showering you all with roses. The roses of grace. A petal storm.

But deep down? I'll be praying for my son. Because there is no way on God's earth, I'm going through what I've gone through in my life for no cause. I'll kick Satan's arse all the way back to hell if he keeps tormenting him. Or obtain the graces for him through my prayers to kick his butt himself.

And when his life is over? I'll be standing there waiting for him. And we'll be together again, and have an eternal laugh. God will wipe all the tears from our eyes, and put us in mansions as a reward for living in shitholes due to considering a clean conscience above all the riches of this world.

So, my life is drawing to a close. My body clock is wirnding down. I have run my race. Fought the good fight. And won.

Father, I have lived for my family. It's a mother's job description.

All that remains now is for my body to expire. And for the holy angels to come and whisk my soul up to heaven. And you can bury my mortal remains in a cardboard box for all I care. My body was only given to me as a vehicle to carry my soul. My body may be worn out and totally buggered but my soul is vigorous. I have lived by my conscience. I've had falls. God let me fall a few times to remind me I was human. He humbled me. For my own good. He gave me hell on earth during my lifetime so I wouldn't spend my eternity in hell. I'm going to thank Him when I meet him. I'm going to say to God, I'm glad you gave me the life you gave me on earth. It saved my soul. If you'd left me to myself? I would have gone out and broken all of your commandments and been a successful achiever in the eyes of the world, and a detestable being in your sight. So thanks. And now, let the eternal party begin.

I might go now. I have to prepare for death. And I still haven't decided on what i'm going to blog about.

May God's holy angels inhabit your households and keep you safe at night, and may they follow you around during the day and keep you from evil.

Ann.

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Posted By: Ann 1 - Category: Writing

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Sleeping Turrets.

March 11th 2008 19:33

I was going to write my first blog on my new domain about having a new domain, and how grateful I am to Orble, Jon, Charles, the Orble community, the global community, and the world in general, including the plants and stones and the air, and the little fishies.

But one of my best friend’s daughters has Sleeping Tourette’s Syndrome. Or Sleeping Turrets. Or STS. Or the dreaded snore or dreaded zzz’s, or just plain zzz's as it is acronymiously known in the higher echelons of medical circles where jargon is tossed around like a removed gall bladder, colon or prostate gland.

Poor friend. Poor daughter. Poor me, even. But now’s not the time for self-pity. There’ll be plenty of time for that later today when I get on the blower. I’ll stay positive on this new domain blog of mine. Someone needs to set an example. Of morality. And virtue.

Normal Turrets, as the word is spelt nowadays, is bad enough for someone averse to profanity such as myself, but to have no relief from that dreadful C word 24/7 would be abominable. It’s a word I wont be using. Unless I have to explain its etymology and cultural and historical significance in order to eradicate its misuse among the profane and illiterate. I’m just glad it’s my friend’s daughter with Turrets and not mine. And that my children are healthy and normal, not semi-retarded. And that I no longer have any contact with my friend in order to protect my virtue, and maintain my high moral standards, as an example for others to at least strive towards.

I was going to make this blog, a blog about the brain itself, however, I see a brain blog already exists on Orble, so I’ll just be writing generally about the type of mental disorders I notice 99% of people have today. Things like inherited stupidity, and moronic, illogical and irrational thought processes. Which tend to be expressed via such things as blogs themselves. In self-righteous, sanctimonious manners and holier-than-thou ways. I’ll basically just be educating dumb people via my blog. But slowly. Little by little. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a brain clot because someone strained their frontal lobe trying to pronounce a word longer than cat.

This will mean I’ll have to write simply and not use too many big words. Or put the meanings of words with two or more syllables in brackets. I’ll probably write in parables. Like Jesus spoke. And then, probably have to explain the meaning of the simplest parable to most people. And what a bracket is. But not in a patronising or condescending way. Nicely. With compassion and empathy. I feel sorry for dumb people. And envy them at the same time. Life must be so simple for them.

Anyway. Welcome to wordophilia.

Ann.

PS. Have a happy and holy Easter. And try not to break all Ten Commandments before peak-hour on Maundy Thursday.