Tuesday, April 24, 2007

This woman's work

by Maxwell

Pray God you can cope
I stand outside
This woman's work
This woman's world
Oh it's hard on the man
Now his part is over
Now starts the craft of the father

I know you've got a little life in you left
I know you've got a lotta strength left
I know you've got a little life in you left
I know you've got a lotta strength left
I should be cryin' but I just can't let it show
I should be hopin' but I can't stop thinkin'
All the things we should've said that we never said
And all the things we should've done that we never did
All the things we should've given, but I didn't
Oh darlin', make it go
Make it go away

Give me these moments
Give them back to me
Give me your little kiss
Give me your...

(I know you've got a little life in you left)
Give me your hand baby
(I know you've got a lotta strength)
Give me that pretty hand
(I know you've got a little life in you left)
Oh surely you understand
(I know you've got a lotta strength left)
My lovechild
(I know you've got a little life in you left)
Whatever you need
(I know you've got a lotta strength left)
Give me your hand
(I know you've got a little life in you left)
Give me your hand
(I know you've got a lotta strength left)

I should be cryin' but I just can't let it go
I should be hopin' but I can't stop thinkin' and thinkin' and thinkin'
All the things we should've said that we never said
And all the things we should've done that we never did
All the things that you wanted from me
All the things that you needed from me
All the things we should've given, but I didn't
Oh darlin', make it go
Just make it go away.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Ode to Brian Charles Lara

It was in art class in third form at Campion College that the name Brian Charles Lara first had any significance to me or to the members of Mr. Young's portraiture class. While we slowly sketched with our pencils, our ears and heads perched out the window to listen to the ball-by-ball commentary from Fudgie's tinny sounding radio.

The boys and the odd tomboy crew(of which I was the sole member at times) in the courtyard, neglected the usual break time scrimmage game, as the dirty yellow tennis ball sat motionless in the middle of the gathering. Bigger things were happening elsewhere.

Even Fudgie himself abandoned his pastime of cleaning his toenails with the same knife with which he cut us bun and cheese. Everything was quiet. No one spoke. No one dared to rustle the universe, lest we disrupt history in the making.

While we held our breaths, scared to breathe too loudly, our individual hearts betrayed us and pounded. They seemed to mimic the Lara's sweet operatic aria of leather against willow. It was soft at first, but then as our anticipation grew, the beats got deeper and louder and soon our nubile West Indian hearts played a wild rhythm, ushering a unified kindred spirit to witness what lay ahead. And then the din rose, the clambering cymbals, the steel pan and congo drums, the maracas rising to a climax we were not sure we could handle. And then it came, the jubilant crescendo greater than any little death- "Brian Lara bruk the record!!!"

It was no surprise that I would 10 years later- having graduated both high school and university thus finally earning my right to unfettered travel- as the kindred spirit would have it, be there to witness history the second time around. After 10 years of an unbroken record, a feisty Lara, upset with the audacity of his challenger, batted all of us spectators at the Antigua Recreation Ground into a dancing and screaming frenzy in his retort. It seemed like he was saying "stay bruk!" in his Trini lilt. Again, it was pandemonium. Again, it was Lara, working his magic.

Today you said goodbye but I will hold on to the positives. Thank you Brian Charles Lara for synchronizing the beat of my heart with this beautiful game of cricket.

"Walk good my friend," and as the Jamaican saying continues as a blessing to those departing, "may good duppy follow you."

(c) Sheer Almshouse , April 21, 2007.

Monday, April 09, 2007

Fearing hospitalisation

I am not responding to my medication andd this drives the fear of God into me.

I dont want to have to go to the hospital. I dont have any hospital worthy nighties (unless I trying to mek a doc mi husban), nor fluffy bed slippers.

No but big and serious, I fear more than anything compounding my bronchial problems with hospital induced pneumonia. So I have to stay away from the hospital. But I also have to get better.

I am extremely scared. Already I am thinking that ok, I have apportioned all my earthly possessions to my family, so if the worst were to happen, I could be at peace.

But I not ready to go yet. I have too much work to do. My time has not come. I just want to get better soon.

Lord, please deliver me.


Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Balancing act

It is becoming increasingly difficult to balance my life where day job, entrepreneurial endeavours, finding a new day job, professional association board responsibilities, and completing my thesis are concerned. Notice I haven't even mentioned any element of a personal life, which ideally involves 6 days of intense excercise, 3 days of dance classes, daily mild yoga practice which intenfies into a scenic outdoor weekend practiced, some quality uncluttered time to write and photograph, "beat breaks" to the country or traveling overseas, curling up with fantastic books, evenings sipping good wine and listening to eclectic music, stimulating conversation, and leisure domesticated duties such as making house and cooking and entertaining.

My life is a cacophony of too much activity. I seem to like it that way. Lie. I love it that way. I thrive on adrenaline. I push hard and work hard but cannot seem to strecth the hours and energy to play hard.

That's where this balancing act comes in. My personal life suffers. Mind you, I am not talking in the limited scope of a relationship but rather in the general manner of nurturing ME. This is not to say that a relationship is not on my list of things personal. its just that at this point, I dont have one "up in my face," for want of a much better phrase.

My mind is too cluttered to facilitate peaceful slumber and I am at my wits end doing a job for which my passion has long expired. I am unhappy with it and it is taking a huge toll on me psychologically.

I am one of those people who has simply got to do what she loves. I cannot be in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship and I cannot have a job simply for the sake of having a pay cheque at the end of the month. This state I am now in is quite like being forced to be in a relationship by external forces such as duress. I know all too well that quitting before I secure another is far from sagacious- a lesson learned twice over. It took me two times to get this shy.

So where does this bring me? To a level of anxiety that makes me very uncomfortable. I have a second interview tomorrow and I have a nervous stomach. At this point, all my eggs are on this new opportunity, I met them once and now they want to see me twice. I guess they like somethings about me, but they like somethings about somebody else too because now we are shortlisted to two.

I know that I should be anxious for nothing. But right now, that is easier said than done. In fact, I find that I am anxious about all the things in my life that I care about, and that's not so good is it? On one hand, it appears that there is a lack of centredness and faith which propels this fear, but on the other hand, as I know in show business, if you aint nervous, be scared. If the cameras start rolling and there isn't a wee bit of fluttering in your stomach, something is wrong and you are pretty much guaranteed a poor performance. Nervous energy as I was taught, is just additional energy that you just have to channel elsewhere so that you can really shine. Hmmmn.. maybe its the same coin then.

Writing is sooooooooooo important to me. It seems like the more I write, the clearer I get, and the more I discover about myself.

Having said all that, I still need to find a way to make all this work and not only work but harmonise. Too much dissonance nuh good. I cannot focus only on my career. As much as it brings me tremendous satisfaction, my work cannot be my only joy. There are other things that bring me happiness, and the more I find time for them, the greater the spread of happiness and the more content I will be.

Balance. Simple, yet profound to the overwhelmingly workaholic.

Will I therefore just shut down this computer and go to bed, or will I find time to sort out some paper work for my business and maybe throw in a chapter of reading for my thesis? Hmmmn.. I dont feel like sleeping anyway.

Compromise. An important word in relationships (especially the one with your cluttered self missy). I will spend half hour finalising paper work and then do 45mins of a dance routine on dvd. If i feel invigorated and not woedfully tired afterward, I will read that book to put me to sleep.

Hmmm.... I like this. Feeling better already.


Monday, April 02, 2007

Silence makes the heart grow somber

I have been trying to acquiesce with this silence. I never had expectations to begin with so I cannnot define what I now feel as "disappointment." It's just a strange resignation, almost a numbing of the senses.

I guess that is not too farfetched after having sensory overload over the past few weeks. Things have simply gone back to normal. No more calling, cooing and coddling. No more nocturnal daydreaming, just the stark reality of what is.

Still trying to figure out what that is.


Sunday, April 01, 2007

Like Love, Like Cricket

What is it that the people of the West Indies want from the Windies Cricket team? Nothing but a damn fight.

We don't have to win all the time, we just want to fight hard and hustle all the time. I think we have so much talent that if we really hustle and really put our wits in it, we might surprise ourselves with much better ranking.

I find that the Windies are like West Indian men- inconsistent, partially-fulfilled, commitment-phobes who would rather lose without a fight than fight to win. You see, it's easier (in a psychologically warped way) to say,"I lost but I wasn't really trying hard," than to put your whole heart into something and lose. But life is not for cowards.

You see, the 'coward's way out' is not only confined to suicide, but also to conceding defeat even before the game/life has even begun. Nobody was promised sunshine and abundance everyday. It's what we do when we face adversity that truly reveals character.

Like with love, one cannot expect to have the passion without the responsibility. That which brings sheer happiness sometimes delivers some serious curved balls.

A good woman does not want her man to be perfect, just to stand up and be a man. He does not have to bring home more money, just have blasted ambition. She does not need him to be there all the time, just to be there mentally and emotionally when he is there physically. She does not need material justification, just devotion, and commitment.

When it comes to cricket, just like it is in love, it's either all, or absolutely nothing. Anything less is simply purgatory.

Having said all that, I still wholeheartedly rally round the Windies.


Finding Mi Voice

I feel like I have just been talking so much crap that I am coming dangerously close to not being able distinguish my owna voice.

That is the drasma (as opposed to "drama") associated with PR. Politically correct bullshit that people hire you to tell them about themselves. I want creative license to walk around and just talk mi mind. A tired of mining mi damn manners. Some people really are goats and they deserve to be told!

I am too nice, and even though my boss thinks I could be nicer, I believe I am as nice as I can get. I cant stand foolishness, not even from mi owna modda who i love more than country-style cook food. And I certainly cant tek fool and half eediat (of which they are plenty in Jamaica).

Does anybody even read this blog anyway? I just think its my theatrical performance that no one turns up to, which of course gives me freedom to be as incoherent and inconclusive as I really am.

I really need to travel, write and take photographs. I think I want to start drawing again... I feel so pent up creatively, its confining.

April Fools

No more cigarettes. From today, I look inward and upward (not outward) to get centred. I made a promise. I am sticking to it.

I will be doing some yoga later, heading to church, then I will be going to the green grocer to pick up fresh veggies and seasoning (what foreign people call "herbs").

By the way, I have been ill. I have been having symptoms that present similarly to asthma (bronchial spasms, tight chest). I couldn't find my inhaler which made things worse, but I did eventually.

I have also done some massive spring cleaning in a bid to rid myself of the excess junk. I have already packed three bags of clothes (one for the dumpster).

I have to move soon because I have had it with this apartment. Not only is it too small now that I have gotten comfortable enough to acquire more than a bed, but it provides the prime environment for me to develop full blown asthma. This is in no way appealing to me. There is a leak that emanates from the apartment above that will take either legal action of the threat thereof to get sorted. In the meantime, the place is cold and wet when the rain falls, the dust from the "popcorn" effect from the ceiling is provoking serious allergic reactions and the ceiling may very well fall on me as there is a rather worrisome crack in the ceiling which actually forks like a freaking road.

In all of this, I have decided that spring cleaning is not only timely but apt.

* I need all the space I can get

* I don't intend to move with junk

* I need to cut the sentimental attachment to crap (I used to keep my ex's work contract because I helped him to get the job and it reminded me ofdhow we struggled to get the business together).

On a totally different note, I had the most intense dream of lovemaking last night. Do these things really happy after puberty?

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