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A window into the darkness

g fa - alone

Some days I don’t need to try and life is good. Some days, it’s all I can do to just get out of bed and feed myself. Other days, with a little effort, I manage just fine and feel better for it. One of my biggest challenges is words. They are swirling in my mind constantly and keep me awake for hours at night, but the moment I try to put pen to paper or keyboard… it’s all gone. Blank. For someone who was a prolific writer and blogger, I now never write. Putting out one sentence for something like Facebook takes monumental effort, so I’m grateful to others who write.

A while ago, I stumbled on a poem by Hannah Nicole that very eloquently describes what I know many are feeling and experiencing.

Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower
To go downstairs and do the laundry
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours
Because you cannot convince your body
That it is capable of movement

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write for weeks
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches
But you have to keep going through the motions
Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for an entire month
Because yes, they have the right number
But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore

And yes, I have been guilty of avoiding answering the phone. I don’t do that anymore, but I’ve been there… when my heart was too full and my mind was dark with no windows to the outside.

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8 Comments

Posted by on September 10, 2015 in life, poetry, thought

 

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Wisps of thought

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Words burst forth
from the bubble of my thoughts
Whirling, dancing
Floating on the air of my mind
Teasing me
with their will-o-wisp ways
Nay, said they!
You’ll not pin us down on paper

You may well gather, from this bit of wordy drivel, I’m struggling to pin thoughts down long enough to blog them. As it is, I started on this a few hours ago and all the lovely prose and words of wisdom I had in my head are gone…… *empty*

 
20 Comments

Posted by on September 6, 2012 in life, thought

 

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Kaalvoet Klonkie

 

kaalvoet klonkie

I found this lovely artwork online entitled “Kaalvoete” by Elizabeth Kendall.

I was backing up all my blogs from Multiply. It’s not such a terrible thing. I’m rather enjoying the trip down memory lane. I found a blog which had absolutely nothing to do with Kaalvoet Klonkies, but, as often happens, the comments evolved into a hilarious bout of South Africanisms and Klonkies.

Kaalvoet klonkie basically means ‘barefoot ragamuffin’ – or at least, that’s my interpretation. To me, it holds no negative connotation, though some say it has. My gran sometimes called me a kaalvoet klonkie on those days when I played outside barefoot and grubby.

In the comments of that blog, my Dutch friend, Riete found and posted a poem/song by Gill Steward that gave us a chuckle.

Kaalvoet (pronounced "Carlfoot") Klonkie, the Barefoot Flea
(Tune: On top of Old Smokey) (Johannesburg 1970)

I’ll tell you the story
Of Klonkie the flea
Who dabbled his tootsies
In my cup of tea.

‘Twas there that I saw him
And asked him his name
And now I will tell you
His reply to the same –

"Sir, my name is Klonkie,
the barefooted flea
And I’m fishing for tackies
In your cup of tea.

Some fleas wear pink tackies,
And some fleas wear blue,
So I’m fishing for tackies
And any will do,

Because as you’ll notice
My tootsies are bare
And it makes it much harder
To run through your hair!"

So that is the story
Of Klonkie the flea
Who’s still fishing for tackies
Although there’s no tea!

 

‘Tackies’, incidentally, are what South Africans call trainers, tennis shoes or sneakers. We’ve always joked about “…but my fleas have pink tackies!” This brought back memories :)

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2012 in life

 

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