What do you do on a wet Wednesday when you are still feeling ill with a cold? Why not watch prime ministers question time? It was fascinating. (I’m probably being boring) the leader of the opposition asked some serious questions and the prime minister waffled. He went off on a tangent, avoided answering the questions. Blustered, smirked, was sarcastic. It was almost like watching a soap opera! I genuinely wanted to boo and hiss! Not done my blood pressure any good.
I think though, that it is important to know what’s going on in politics. The world is a complicated place and if you don’t keep yourself informed you can’t argue for or against them.
I never knew what paints she used, said the man, the pictures were always bright and colourful. I guess they must have been water based. Look here is a glass mug full of water.
Yes, said the policeman. But no paintings? And no sign of her? You told us she’s been missing for a week.
Yes, said the man. I thought she had gone away for a break. But she’s not been in touch. Not phoned or emailed me. It’s very unusual, and she wouldn’t take all her art.
The conversation did not identify any additional information.
Meanwhile, in a small costal village, she sat and painted the sea.
When I was about 5 or 6, I had a wart on my hand. It was bothering me so my mum said rub some meat on it and go and bury it in the garden.
So half an hour later Mom found me sitting in the garden with my thumb in the ground! Apparently I asked her how long my thumb needed to stay there.
Mind you I was always a literal child. I also remember at about the same time being on a bus and asking Mom why some people were called black and some white, because we are pink and brown? I never understood why people are anything other than people, colour did not matter, and I still feel the same today.
Life is strange, our thought processes can be confused. Sometimes literal is right, other times it’s not. It’s all about context….
I don’t think of myself as a writer. I love words, but mostly I’m more of a reader, and then as a dabbler at writing. I don’t really plot things, they generally fall out of my head and onto the paper or my mobile screen. I guess it’s just the way I am. I love being creative and since I finished work I’ve started to branch out. I feel like a little dabchick or duck. I paddle away, my feet just gently moving the water of words around, breaking the surface tension but not going deep. And what for? I’ve been told my grammar is not as good as it could be. I don’t do this for likes and views, it’s all quite low key. I don’t expect to ever write a novel. I did once try and write a children’s book, so long ago it’s still stored on a floppy disk!
As long as I don’t bore you too much.
I’m in a bit of a quandary. I’d been asked to join a team to design a piece of art for an art project. I didn’t decide to submit my own application because I haven’t had the experience of putting in a proposal. I came up with an idea, but it hasn’t been accepted. What has happened is that someone else has come up with the ideas and I think I might be asked to paint them. I want the project to succeed and this is a community project so I need to be more understanding and co-operative even though my ideas are not being listened to.
I’m undecided as to whether to go ahead. The submission is tomorrow and I’ve just been asked to come up with a whole section of artwork, not my design. I’m having ideas suggested to me that don’t fit the brief. Ah well, I need to chill and try and come up with something.
We don’t see ourselves as others see us. Mother, father, sister, brother, everybody has an opinion of you, but no one can know what’s in your heart.
Imagine a world of telepathy where everyone can read your mind at will. They can see your triumphs and tragedies from your perspective. But most people’s minds probably don’t have clear concise thoughts. If their mind is anything like mine it can be full of confidence at one minute and then dispair the next. You don’t get a blueprint when you are born of how to think. We all need to cut each other a little slack sometimes.
I see your blue smile
Sad and sorry
Waiting to leave,
Waiting for a second
Before you go.
Before the smile fades
And you start to cry
Seeing nothing but tears.
At least you had a smile