Mood ring?

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Could this ring read my mood? I’d bought it a year ago, but never wore it. I was always worried the stone, small and dark blue, would get damaged. The stone was meant to tell your mood, but I’d always been calm and had never tested its ‘powers’.

That had changed today, a series of mishaps and then an incident had really upset me.

First a flat tyre, so I had to catch the bus. Then a reprimand for being late, despite my explanation. Finally I was mugged on my way home! Two youths had jumped out at me and grabbed my bag while I was waiting for the bus home.

So why the mood ring? I had got home and realised it had been broken into. All my jewellery had gone, except the cheap mood ring, obviously worthless to the muggers. No, not worth the five ounds I’d paid for it… But anyway I put it on. It only fit my little finger.

It felt warm, it started to glow, red then white. How was it doing this? I wrenched at it but my finger had swollen and it would not come loose. As I struggled I heard voices downstairs! The youths who had mugged me. They must have burgled the house. I felt my throat tighten, and a voice, not mine, shouted loudly ‘stay where you are!’

I flew down the stairs, into the living room where the youths were standing frozen. I pointed at them and the voice, my voice. Told them to stay put. The words seemed to still them. Then I called the police.

I don’t know where I got the courage and strength from. I think the mood ring had boosted my mood and confidence. When the police arrived the youths meekly left with them!

77%

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77% awake at 4.06 am?

77% alive?

77% of life gone?

Only 77% energy?

Three quarters or so full of vim and vigour?

Where did the other 23% go?

77% of questions answered?

77% of sleep yet to fill?

Waiting for 100% capacity,

Striving for 23% more enthusiasm.

Fighting for 77% of recognition,

Hating 77% of what?

So much to say and do,

Give me twenty three percent more!

Ah, now it’s 79% at 4.18am…….

Why do I write?

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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.

X

We do not see ourselves

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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.

Ache

 

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I have that sort of portentous ache that feels like I’m coming down with something, perhaps a bug? I’m not sneezing yet but my throat is sore again. Perhaps I’ve been overdoing things, just feeling tired and aching.

Trouble with the Internet is that you can seek sympathy instead of just getting on with things. It is good to moan but it’s also probably annoying to hear people going on about how they feel  Is it appropriate to complain?

Well I guess in one way it’s informative. I won’t be doing much today because I’m not well. But whose business is that? I’m talking to strangers, to people who don’t know me. One may be sympathetic another thinks get over yourself.

My health pales into insignificance compared to people hurt or killed by cyclones or murderers. Life feels personal to me. But I am one individual. Life is more than that.

X

Compassion

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The days are darker and colder now. The leaves have fallen off the trees and the homeless lie shivering on pavements in the city.

I met a homeless man a few weeks ago. He cannot find a home because he owed rent arrears, he cannot see a GP because he does not have an address. He cannot get free health care and has to buy medicine, while being homeless.

I spoke to him and he had a broken ankle, he needed care. Since then he has been to hospital where his leg, now ulcerated, was being dressed with bandages.

Now it’s a few weeks later and I saw him again asking for spare change. I gave him some and asked him how his leg was. He loosened the bandages and I could smell it. The skin is grey and black and he pulled a bit of it off. He needed money to buy dressings and also to get a bed for the night and to see an emergency nurse.

I gave him enough money to do this. I cannot ignore it. He could lose his leg, he could get gangrene or septicemia.

He has problems, I see that, he may be an addict or have a drink problem. But how can I walk by?

How can this world lack compassion? How can we put people in a position where they cannot access health care, cannot sleep in a bed, cannot have dignity? And there are so many more  elderly, sick, people with mental health problems, refugees, the destitute, the outcasts of society in my country and across the world.

When did we decide not to be compassionate? To take money from the poorest to give to the richest?

There is a statistic… 80 men own as much wealth as half of the world’s population… That’s 80 to 3,500,000,000….

Is that fair?

Have compassion, don’t walk on the other side of the street. There but for the grace of god go I.