The MOO mini cards, that was something I wanted to post about, but with my brain not wanting to engage I kept forgetting to do the pics for one reason or other. MOO's birthday was in september, so was mine. They had an offer, good discount, I wanted to make myself a pressie, I ordered. Brilliant, these mini cards. I made some key rings, sending them over to the other side of the world as presents, nothing will please my family than having Sarita's pics handy. In order to do this, I bought a laminator, for which I had to wait over 2 months for the Post Office to have them again, as at £10, half price to any other place I had seen, when I went back with the money they were all gone.
As for the MOOdy Cow…well, that'll be ME.
You know how happy I was last night, well. I'm not anymore. As a matter of fact, I'm dreadfully angry, and I would like to express this in a nice piece of writing, something that wont bore people and at the same time allows me to communicate my true feelings, but somehow I'm almost sure it wont happen. Anyway, it's my blog and I write wotever I b***y want, InniT?
I don't like using the word hate. I keep telling Sarita to try avoid it, one can dislike strongly something or oppose to such or such opinion, but in my experience the so strong hate feeling only leads to more unhappiness. Shame I cannot avoid the word today. I hate the human race right now, and it probably woudln't bother me if I didn't socialize or engage on new relationships (of any kind) for what is left of my life to be lived.
Does this sound childish, teenage like anger? Maybe, but is not. It is simply that this morning I had…what you call it in English…the drop that filled the glass? the thingy in the camel's back? Wotever, point is: people use me (or have done and still would like to, not that I will ever allow it to happen again), in this country especifically.
I knew in the period between january 2003 and late 2004 that I had very few friends left, those who had stood the fact that I turned from a very highly active, power jobed woman with a brain a a huge popularity in many circles, someone *cool* to be seen with, someone very usefull to get into certain circles, someone who would open her doors, her kitchen (and culinary habilities) , her heart to all (so I got to know all possible British accents),
so, as I was saying, the ones who stayed even after I turned from that cool sexy usefull one into a person in need of help and in very sick health: very few. Two or 3. Now not even that. I don't actually care a lot about those, but there are events in my daily life that have the power of getting me down big time, and these are either related to some civil servant trying to humiliate me or (like this morning) or to Sarita's school mate's parents.
There are two mothers in particular that have the goft of annoying me this much. One is a Brazilian woman married to an Indian guy. Sarita does Portuguese calss with one of her kids, they live less than 5 minutes walk from us, they are a typical family, almost paid their mortgage, own a shinny, beautifull people carrier, but guess what…….in the 4 years that the girls have been doing Portuguese together, it was Yours Trully who have brought them back home in her humble car, but I would not complain about this, as I did it with gusto, if not being for the simple fact that every time I asked for them to have Sarita overnight, or even bring her back from the class (and that would be because I was either due in hospital or trying to get a job) they have always, each and every time, turned me down,, said NO.
This morning the other mother, this a gorgeous, supermodel like black girl (well, she is 41),married to a guy also of Caribbean origins who allegedely is a music producer, mother of Summer (also alegedelly Sarita's best friend), called me at 7:00 am , again, for the 3rd time in the past week, to ask for something.
What was this time? it doesn't really matter, does it? it was money for her daughter as she (conviniently) forgot about the trip today to the National History Museum. The last time was to see (even after I repeteadly announce the fact that Sarita would not being going to Sylvia Young until january, because of the ice skating rehearsals) as I was saying, to see if I could maybe drive Summer to Sylvia Young because she didn't have money for the bus………..
one detail: In this country, at least in the city formerly known as Londinium, the capital of England, London, kids travel for free in buses…..
There have been other requests. I, on the other hand, have never asked for anything, apart from a single time in which I wanted to attend a course on a saturday morning. Sarita was to stay at theirs, but didn't. Instead, in order not to miss her opportunity to go out with her friend, she took both girls to her friend's flat in Camden, and only went downstairs for dinner and a drink…. leaving the girls alone. She only knew her *friend* for 2 or 3 months. For the non Londoners, Camden (particularly the street where this woman lives (as I drove Sarita there) is one of the highest crime rate in the borough, also a place where you can get high by merely walking down the pedestrian bit, so much abuse of substance is practiced in open air.
So, you get me….
I'm annoyed, angry, pissed off, in rage, -insert other adjectifs here- , and had not a very nice day. This all came to *top up* my anger to the comercialization of Xmas, though I couldn't care less about the religious meaning, it does enrage me, and the blatant fact that we are so, so alone in this country….that only one of the people whom I have mailed with details of Sarita's performances answered, but the reply mail had not a word about said shows….
I'm annoyed, enraged (and all of the above) that none calls to see how we are, none of the people in this country. People only call these days when they need something. Again, we are so, so alone, my kid and I. (well, there is the cat…)
I have never been shy or hide my feellings about our cat, Liara. Honestly, I don't care much about her, is Sarita's pet, I'm more of a dog person (but we cannot have a dog here), and when Sarita doesn't look after her or the cat follows me contantly around the house meawing annoyingly for food (which is her only goal in life) I have plotted ways to give her away to my niece…..but I tell you something:
after today, I love the bloody cat. At least she is honest, our Liara, she wont pretend.
The people of Great Britain (at least the ones who have said to be my friends, and the aquaintances who keep insisting that I do, please do call for help, darling…….. make me sick.
And this sickness is a million times worse than the nausea I get after medication (which is the worse of the whole thing of my illness). Thanks heavens I can say I have made friends in my life, they are far away though, and thanks heavens (or hell or the powers that be or woteveryouwannacallit-them) I'm a relatively educated, thoughtfull, mediumly intelligent woman who wont let things like this bother her for more than 24 hours (or so I hope)…..
Now I'm gonna go have a shower, as I cannot soak in the bath (which would be the only way to relax and sooth pain away plus lower my raised blood preasure) because I cannot get in or out without help.
and now, to quote a more talented writer than me, the brilliant Voxer R.G. …..
…..rant over, Mrs Peel….. OUT.