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PERSONAL MUSINGS

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I think therefore I am?

Sometimes ideas go right through me and I don't know what else to do with them than share them with the world.

Expect the weird and far fetched.

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PERSONAL: The commute syndrome

A bus or a snowplow? One day, I found myself unable to use my car to get to work. Through unfortunate circumstances, I had lent it to my family the Sunday night. Upon laying my head on my pillow that same night, a thought suddenly struck me. How will I get to work? The answer was obvious; I would have to commute, take the bus, ride with the plebeians. Of course, I had a normal lower middle class childhood —didn't everyone?— in Dublin, full of bus excursions, first to head to school, then to head to my friends', then to go to work, until I tasted the joy of a learner's motorcycle permit (queue Born to be Wild 🎶 ). Then the car licence followed, and I never looked back. I like the comfort of my car, my own music blasting, the windows up or down, the speed I want. So when I realised I would have to go back to taking the bus, leaving an hour earlier rather than just twenty minutes, the future looked bleak. First challenge, finding the change to pay for the t

TRUE FICTION: Grabbing the ram by the horns

Source: https://www.vosgesmatin.fr/faits-divers-justice/2020/01/15/une-octogenaire-attaquee-par-un-belier "I'm off to see the sheep now." Gisèle waved and started to waddle off. "Alright, did you remember to take the bread?" a nurse called out after her. She simply waved her little plastic bag in the air as a response. Her walk was pleasant. The air was crisp, the sky clear, all the makings of a good morning. It was a short distance to the farm where the animals were kept, but age had caught up to her and distances were relative to how badly she felt her arthritis. When she was in sight of the field, she started calling out feebly. "I'm here! Hello!" The sheep, roused by the noise, all lifted their heads. They looked in Gisèle's direction and the ram, leader of the pack, started to trot towards the fence. The sheep, being sheep, followed. The old lady was touched by such a scene. They recognise me, she thought. For someone who had

PERSONAL: The power of playing hard to get

What is it about someone not wanting us that drives us to seek their attention? Why do we need to be loved by those who don't want to love us? I re-watched Pride and Prejudice (2005, thanks Netflix) the other day. Yes, I'm that kind of girl. I like Jane Austen. And I swoon over Mr. Darcy. But why? Why is Darcy and Elizabeth's love so exquisite? As I watched it again, my lips moving silently along with the dialogue, I realised the main dynamic of the relationship is a game of cat and mouse. They notice each other. Darcy is aloof, cold, distant even. Elizabeth is intrigued. Challenge accepted you might even say. So she flirts, tries to melt the iceman. But... He's really not interested. Source We all remember ( just me? oh ok... ) that famous heart-wrenching line, Do you dance Mr. Darcy? Not if I can help it. Ah, rejection, the true food of love, not poetry or dancing. Nothing like a cold hard no to make the ladies swoon. Source But it

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