and so to bed............

Whats in a change?

When you need a change what does that mean, I need a change, a big change, I am opting for a change of location, this seems to be the elixir that my life needs at the moment, it is a constant thought in my mind, this upcoming change, all will be well after I make the move, all will be calm and good, am I setting myself up for a fall, after all a change in location is just that, different place but the same person,
So what is so good about this move that my life will change for the better, there is a lot going for it believe me, a lot that I know will improve my life, my quality of life is definitely going to be way better, my standard of living is going to be way lower but that is ok, I have realised that there is a distinction between quality of life and standard of living, they don’t necessarily go hand in hand or to use a more scientific term they are not ‘’directly proportional’’ to each other.

I used to think that they were, well that is not exactly true, I did not think that much about it, I just assumed that they went hand in hand, I have come to realised that that is not the case, I am not a rich person who is feeling sorry for themself, believe me, but a period of misery has made me really think about what I want in life, form my life, and everything has been simplified a lit, I have realised that simple things make me happy, not the things that used to make me happy, I guess it is an age thing, or is it just that it has taken me a long time to realise it and therefore mistakenly put it down to age, I am sure that many more self aware people have realised this a lot sooner, so I take that back, its not an age thing, its just a speed of thought thing, some people get there quicker, some people never get there, so they are either very slow thinkers or they just don’t bother to think in the first place

The constant chasing of dreams is an exhausting one and one sadly that is rarely fulfilled, this is a bit depressing but I suppose you learn to adjust your dreams so that something is achievable, otherwise why would you get out of bed in the first place

Hmmm bed……..

nothing like healthy debate

now i love a good debate, some would say argument but only when you are dealing with rational people, an unhealthy debate has been raging on secret dubai's blog for several days now, see below link.

http://secretdubai.blogspot.com/2007/01/go-west.html

sunny day

The outlook for today is sunny. Outside, it has been raining all day, maybe that has something to do with it!

Hmm…………..

Found out today that i have perfect vision and perfect hearing.

I will start at the beginning, it is a bit of a long one…….

For the last 3 months (really about 6) my eyes have been bugging me, feeling lots of pressure in them (me eyes), so naturally thought that age was messing around with my sight as well as everythingfeckin’else, bloody bitch…

So got my eyes tested fairly soon after this started, always liked glasses, would like to wear them, think they add a lot of character to a face, for this reason only, nope, no glasses for me, perfect vision, ok not my vision, that is when the thoughts of more serious eye problems started floating around my head, so total denial kicked in and then did not get anything done for about 6 months, ya ya I know, very mature……….

So went to the ophthalmologist today to get it over with, after looking into loadsa dodgy machines, having my eyelids inverted, my actual eyes anaesthetized, my eyeball pressure checked (who knew!!) nothing, zip, all is perfect, got some bloody eye drops, which reminds me………..

I have just put eye drops in my eyes for the very first time (well one in each eye, 4 or 5 around my eyes, beginner…

Everything is blurred to buggery now, gimme me a minute…….

Ok, where was I?

I also found out that I do not have something lodged in my ears, for years I have been certain that there was some kind of blockage in both of my ear canals, only when I was cleaning my ears with a q-tip did I get this sensation but I always got it, now most people would have gone and gotten this checked but for some reason it never really bothered me, I presumed that it was some piece of something went in there and over time wax built up around it, my own little wax pearl! Anyway, it never really bothered me except sometimes when I thought about what the alien object might have been, pieces of dirt I am fine with, earwigs not so fine, so anyway for reasons not fully known to me, I let it lie (denial, fear of earwigs, apathy, amongst others).

So anyway on my way from the ophthalmologist office I saw the ENT sign so signed up for a consultation there……

in for a penny………

my ears were examined and there was nothing in my ears, neither ear, the nice ear lady, said my ears are very clean, didn’t tell her that was form all the time I spend trying to dislodge the mystery (apparently very mystery) objects from my ear with excessive amounts of q-tips.

I have always thought my hearing was a bit crap as well, convinced that many ecstatic hours of my youth spent up against speakers in clubs ‘feeling the bass’’ as I danced with carefree (reality free) abandon had taken it’s toll, again not to bothered, my misspent youth dancing in clubs will never be a thing that I would have changed, one definite keeper of my past, some of my happiest hours, where was I, ya so thought that was to blame for me saying ‘’wha?’’ all the time, not so apparently, I have perfect hearing.

So, my eyes are fine, my ears are fine, it’s all good, need to direct my obsessive nature towards something else and cut down on the q-tips, also, have realised that my are ears not the problem I am just not good at listening…

Bugger, forgot to ask her why I always coughed and sneezed when I went at it with the q-tips, now I may never know……

cloudy days in the desert

Mike looked out on the world, well the part he could see. He wished he could not see that part, he wanted to be in a different world, one far away from this one. When you see something for long enough you start to forget that there are other vistas, people see other worlds, not everyone is looking at what you are. Even those who do share you vista may not share your view. Everyone’s life is different, two people can live the same life but have different lives. Mike gaze moved across the horizon, everything was shrouded in a haze, it looked too dark and thick to be just heat haze, he also thought about where the haze was the darkest and released that the gloomy shroud was smog. This did nothing to lift his spirits, dragging his current misery of his own life to an even lower depth. He was now thinking about how the world was struggling. Underneath the noxious smog was one of the main highways jammed with big cars whose engines puffed out fumes as they inched their way along the choked road. Things were just getting grimmer and grimmer by the minute. Trying to shake all this off he looked over to the plants that he grew on his balcony, the bougainvillea was in flower, crimson and white fluttered together, he thought about how they needed be fed, the sand they grew in needed to be enriched with something to keep them growing. Sand is not a fertile element, it does not nourish life, rather it allows life giving water to escape quickly, too quickly, it was as if sand liked being dry and uninviting, happy to make things hard for anything that tried to live in it. You could tame the sand, make it a place where things could live but only if you were relentless in your pursuit of life. As soon as you stopped it just went back to how it was, dry and unforgiving. Like a selfish soul who did not want to share anything with anyone, it just wanted to be left alone, to do whatever it is that it does. Mike knew people like that.
Through the trellis and fluttering plants Mike saw the profile of his neighbour, who was also outside taking in the view. Mike started to think about his neighbour, about his life, what he felt, was he happy, did he start every day with a light heart or was he struggling to sustain his life in the sand.

Sand is always moving, blowing from one place to another, never in the same place for any length of time, a light breeze was enough to get the sand in motion, either just rolling along the top of the dunes as if powered by some internal force or in huge shamaals the blew into town like a dark wall, stinging skin as it blew past, hot grains of sand brushing past you, scraping your skin like sandpaper, onwards, ever onwards.
No shamaals today Mike thought, just smog, haze and relentless blasting sun. The neighbour carried on his gaze, Mike carried on his, they both stood here not acknowledging each other, both happy to leave it that way, the trellis provided some cover for the two neighbours, the few plants provided enough of a barrier that greetings did not seem called for or any lack of greeting did not seem rude, and so the gazing continued.

living v's existing

When you are waiting for something to happen, something big and life changing there is a big chance that you will not live before it happens, you will just exist. You give up on your current life and just try to get through it rather than live your life until the event happens. This is not a conscious decision but something that creeps up on you. You accept things that you would normally change, or at least try to. There is a mantra on constant replay in your mind telling you to just ‘’get on with it, it will be over soon’’. This constant reinforcing of the fact that your life will change changes your current life.

Time is something that should not be wasted, everyone knows that. I would love to know how many people actually live their life to anywhere near it’s full potential. I have a sinking feeling that there are many people out there who like me are just going through the motions. I do try to justify dropping out of my life with the thought that this is just a temporary glitch, something that will be fixed when the next stage starts. I don’t know if it is working though, the comforting. It seems fairly impossible to me now to feel enthusiastic about life again. I can only hope that the next stage does hold some kind of power that will re-invigorate me. I realise now that days are long, too long to be on autopilot. Funny how life is short but days are long.

Bugger it, I thought that scribbling down what I was feeling would make me feel a bit better, well it’s not. I have just read what I have written and if I was reading this, having been written by someone else, I would just think what a miserable git. I always felt that your life was what you made it, that people’s lives were miserable because they were basically miserable people, not because of their life, but the other way round, they made their life miserable.

I am starting to doubt that, well maybe not outright but I am starting to realise that optimism will only get you so far, life can just drag you down. I just wrote ‘’if you let it’’ at the end of the last sentence, that is the eternal optimist coming out it me, but then I deleted it, not a good sign.

doncha just bloody hate it………

I am sure I am not alone in this. I am always thinking of ideas for a business. I have come to the conclusion that I can not and should not work for people. I am just not suited to the life on an employee. Previous employment history (chequered) proves this and strengthens my resolve to be self-employed.

So I am always thinking of what I can do. I firmly believe that to be good at something you have to be passionate about it. So I always look to what I am passionate about for inspiration. A few nights ago, I lay awake thinking about a problem tree that I have (not here – no trees), back home there is a tree that I worry will one day land on my house. I love trees, love them but this tests the love. What do you do, leave it there and hope the insurance will cover and damage. Hope to god that when the day comes no one will be in the house, big tree, small house, I know who would be the looser there! Or, do I cut the tree down, horror, I have just contemplated sacrificing a beautiful tree (all trees are beautiful) just to make me feel more secure.

So the internal dialogue continued, ‘’you can’t cut it down’’, ‘’it will flatten me’’, ‘’ya but it’s a tree, you can just cut it down to make you feel better’’, ‘’ya, but it will FLATTEN me,’’…………..
So I started thinking about moving it, it should be possible, get a big enough root ball and it has a good chance of survival.

So then the idea of transplanting mature trees as a business cropped up. Buying trees from people that would otherwise be cut down and selling them to people, developers, urban councils, etc.

So the next day I was all excited about my brainwave, went on t’internet and found this

http://www.treefind.com/

bugger

fantastic idea though, love it, hate them, love the idea, my idea, bastards…….

But seriously, I wish them all the luck in the world and the thought of trees being saved makes me feel all warm inside……

still kinda hate them though

are you one of these

Missy lay back into her red leather chair, she had always loved afternoon pampering sessions. What better way to combat the blazing desert summer that a cut, dry and lengthy once-over at her favourite salon. She threw a look to saffron in the neighbouring chair, she was on edge as always. Missy mused about her younger and flightier friend saffron. That girl needs to relax, she thought, she gets herself into a right state. Missy always had very fixed opinions on breeding, the results she thought were always so apparent. Saffron, bless her giddy soul was a prime example. This Dubai debutante was young, well bred and beautiful in that helpless holly golightly sense. Some brainiac should conduct a nature-versus-nurture study amongst her circle of friends, missy thought dryly. It was all there, blood lines that date back through generations, neuroses, broken homes, dubious lineage and beauty.

Breeding can explain so much about a personality, the rest missy blamed on owners.

Above is an excerpt from ‘’my dog; my fault’’ a look at Dubai’s privileged dogs and the owners that ruined them.

a uae short story,

He could never make his mind up whether he actually liked the blue souk or hated it. Here you could find nice stuff, rocks, crystals, fossils and other things that he liked. The building was very impressive, almost a cultural experience. That was the part he didn’t like about it as well, the cultural experience. Being harassed by man after man flogging their wares was not his idea of a good time. When faced with a big lump of crystal the type he would covet the urge to look and maybe buy was always overridden by the agitation of being harassed, enough so to make him walk away and leave whatever caught his eye behind.

The only way he could ever get into haggling, maybe even enjoy it was if he was a bit tipsy. This of course was illegal, everything was illegal here. But bottles of the local mineral water, aka gin and tonic were the usual and preferred accompaniments to a souk visit. This little bottle of fizzy mineral water was the only way to enjoy these visits. It was also a good way of getting a good deal. A little gin buzz meant that he could have a laugh and joke with the merchants while arguing about the price. He had learnt in his time that what he would consider a bloody argument in a shop was all part of the shopping experience. Instead of getting annoyed which is what most people did a more lighthearted approach was far more fruitful. Have a laugh with them, tell them they are ripping you off, promise to bring more visiting relatives if they get a good price, all this shyte spread over a fifteen minute period meant that you got a good deal, usually a quarter of the original asking price. But without the good ole gin bottle it would be a two-minute visit where he would end up getting annoyed and walking away empty handed. He was always amazed that these guys who were businessmen after all did not pick up on this. They could speak every bloody language under the sun, all because it meant more banter, more sales, these guys appeared like shrude guys, yet they never seemed to twig the whole concept that they piss off more people than they charm. He never got that, surely they knew that some people, most of their tourist customer base in fact, preferred the softly-softly approach to shopping, not a full frontal assault by a moustache stroking or head lolling shop guy, he never understood that.

He always thought about this during these little excursions, and after passing yet another rug toting, hard-sell shop guy who he blatantly ignored, futilely, something caught his eye. Over time he had learned to cast a swift eye over a man’s wares skimming over all the usual tourist trinkets to find any interesting items. He saw the silver chest, intricately carved with Arabic writing and symbols, probably omani, he always liked them but what caught his eye was not the chest but the hide partially draping the chest. It was dark orange almost amber with tell tale dark spots, he was instantly drawn to it and repelled at the same time. He could never figure where he stood on fur or animal products. He loved fur, loved it but he could never figure out which way he loved it most. Glistening and moving over the muscles and bones that it covered or to touch in the fur souk, shaved so that it just felt like a little bit of heaven on a hanger. It was a pleasure pain thing with him, he loved fur but was always tormented by a voice saying that it would look better on the animal it came from. The hide that caught his eye was not one of those luxuriant to the touch furs that made him make the sound homer Simpson makes when he thinks of doughnuts but the type that just made his blood boil. The illegally traded kind. He had written papers in uni on sustainable wildlife conservation. Promoting the notion that for nature conservation to exist they had to pay their way. Whether it be through eco-tourism in a fluffy happy way or through sustainable hunting. Conservation is great, until you have too many animals in your park. Not hunting or killing animals for food makes their number grow, simple enough concept. This does mean that parks have too many animals so what can they do with the excess who do not respect park boundaries and eat the neighbours crops, animals and sometimes even the neighbours. This was not so fluffy but there are people who are prepared to pay big money to hunt big game. This big money keeps the remaining wildlife alive. He was torn about so many things. He would never shoot an animal, the thought of any animal happily going about its daily grind of eating and not being eaten being shot down by some overweight, cigar smoking business man just repulsed him. Why would you want to do such a thing, is it a manly thing, he just didn’t get why you would see something beautiful but want to kill it. The people shooting the big game admire their targets, but in a twisted way he thought. They would not pay such huge sums to shoot something they did not think was worthy, but why kill it? People are weird.

It was the uncontrolled, illegal poaching of animals that pissed him off although he understood that it was out of necessity that these animals were poached. The guy pulling the trigger was being paid a pittance, enough to feed his family for a bit. What he was very clear about was that greed, unabashed greed kept the market for this buoyant, that really pissed him off, so when he saw the leopard hide draped over the chest he was aware that he was at the greed link in the chain. No one here was hungry. This throw was here because people brought them, payed big money for them.

He walked into the shop, ducking as he entered to avoid the hanging lamps and camel-chimes, he crossed the small shop floor to the far corner where the offending item was, he bent down to stroke the hide, feeling the almost stiff bristles under his fingers. He stroked it and looked at the sorry hide, it was very dry around the edges, several holes at the sides, a rush job obviously. Of course it was a rush job, some person had wanted to get way from the scene quickly, with their booty in tow. The moustache stroking, head lolling Indian shop guy came over to him, noting his obvious interest in the hide.
‘’very nice, no’’ he said, seeming proud of his product.
‘’it is’’ he said, very nice, ‘’how old is it?’’ he asked, wondering why he was even bothering, hoping to be surprised but knowing that it would be the same old story.

‘’5 years’’ the answer came, ‘’very good skin, 5 years’’,
‘’oh so you have all the cites paperwork for this then if it is only 5 years, yes?’’
‘’Paperwork, no paperwork sir,’’ the guy almost sounded surprised at the question, surprised maybe, worried, definitely not.
‘’If it is only 5 years old then you must have cites paperwork for the hide’’, mike said, ‘’otherwise it is illegal’’
‘’no paperwork sir’’,
‘’how did you get it into the country then without paperwork’’,
‘’in my briefcase’’ he said, ‘’just fold it, paperwork too much problems, too much paperwork’’, he was actually smug looking as he said this, happy that he had come up with a way of avoiding the beurocracy that hindered his trade. ‘’Then this is illegal, you know that, this hide was imported illegal and you are selling it illegally’’,
he laughed, ‘’sir what to do, you want it, very good price for you sir, very nice, look’’, he held it up, the entire conversation had apparently not happened, he showed the good points of his hide, the bold markings, the good size, ‘’big animal sir’’, mike walked away in disgust, both at the trader and at mike himself, he knew what he would do about this, nothing, absolutely nothing apart from bitch, he did not know what he hated most, vendors complete disregard for conservation or his apathy. He was not always like this, he had marched, he protested but this place has a bad effect on you. You know you have no voice, you know that people don’t care, you know that the biggest customers of these guys are the people in charge. He also hated that he was scared about kicking up a fuss, that really made him feel like a weak man. His fear that he would get kicked out of a country he hated. What was his train of thought here, it was a free ticked out of this sandy pit, but he did not have anywhere else to go so that scared him, scared him quiet and impotent.

He left the shop, walked down the narrow corridor brushing past the vendors, he just wanted to leave now, no gin buzz would make this bad taste go away, so he left and that was that, the hide stayed and is certainly now draped over some object looking equally beautiful and horrible.

i'm back

I was talking to someone yesterday about blogging and decided to check if my old blog was still active. Guess what? It was. The last post was a year and a half ago. One of my last posts was about me wondering whether to tell my better half about the blog. I did and then I stopped. So, it was the anonymity of it after all. Once people knew it was me the interest died a sudden death. I now hope that those I told have completely forgotten, like I had.