Pretty Twee

At times I realise my writing can be pretty 'twee'. Or as Elmer Fudd might state: 'Awww...look at the 'pwetty twee'. You wacky wabbit..' (I couldn't resist a reference to his rabbit friend).

For the longest time I thought the word 'twee' might have been good ol' Elmer's way of pronouncing 'tree'. Not a word used that often. (Matter of fact, I had to look it up in the dictionary to confirm the definition of 'twee'). Yet when I look back over some of my previous blogs. Well 'twee'..that certainly could describe a few of my blogging attempts. Definition of 'twee': 'excessively sentimental, sweet, or pretty'. Or perhaps: 'Something that is sweet, almost to the point of being sickeningly so. As a derogatory descriptive, it means something that is affectedly dainty or quaint, or is way too sentimental'. Hmmmm...

Born 'twee'? Maybe. I wonder what 'Tweety Bird', or even 'Tweedledee' and 'Tweedledum' would make of my blogs? I think, upon reflection, that my twee blogs were my way of trying to work through situations in my life that I need closure from. I know deep down, in my heart of hearts, that closure from such heartbreaking events will most likely never come to fruition. I have to accept the fact that closure from such pain is a remote possibility. So with head held high, this sad and desperate man is starting to move on from a traumatic and painful past. (Good grief!..how twee was that?).

I have two upcoming blogs of a deeply personal nature that I would like to share with you soon. On Friday, March 14th, 2008, I wrote a blog titled: 'The Freedom to Find Each Other'. Fairly soon, I shall backtrack to the time that caused my former love and I to go on such an epic adventure. The other blog will be about our Honeymoon night..and before you think I might be giving out too much information; that blog will be about a very sad yet inspirational night. To say that our Wedding night was, shall we say, different, is quite the understatement.

So now I start to make those tentative steps forward towards my own form of closure. I dip my toes into the warm 'Caribbean Sea' rather than the 'muddy puddle' that I had been so familiar with. Undaunted, I move onward and challenge the negativity that I had given permission to overwhelm me. Well negativity, from now on, it's permission denied. (For goodness sake man, stop all this twee writing). Pretty twee...indeed! Must stop now because I'm starting to feel nauseous.

Under The Moon, Over The Weather.

No matter how down I become, I know that having a bit of a laugh, is a powerful tonic. In times past, during a deep depressive state, I lost the ability to find the funny side to life. In times of such despair it was like pirates had hijacked the 'good ship Lollipop'. Now that is an outrage and I knew I must reclaim my own personal ship.
Back in the dark days, I would click my heels three times, think of Kansas and end up in some sewage treatment plant. (Even my metaphorical red shoes had no sense of direction..hell I'd been better off flying by the 'seat of my pants'). Depression took away my sense of direction. Where was I going? Matter of fact, I didn't even care where I ended up, because I was not of any validity to the world.
For many years I was a very confused, very scared man. I was so ill that I did not even think myself worthy of any help. I 'deserved' to be mentally ill, it was punishment for having the audacity to breathe and take up valuable space on this planet. It was strongly ingrained in my distorted thinking process. I had allowed a negative environment to almost destroy me.
On the verge of becoming completely engulfed with negativity, I reached out for my last tiny thread of sanity, desperately clung on, and embraced the saviour that was humour. Hell, if I was going to be depressed, I was going to find some irony in it. I became determined to try and enjoy life. I like to think that humour is infectious. For is it not better to bring joy to others and be grateful for what we have?
'Under the moon, over the weather'. Yeah, I know, I mixed up a couple of well known sayings. Well the title kinda' sums up how my life has changed for the better. Did I ever tell you I used to be a 'model'?..now I'm 'life-sized'. So the lady told me she was a complimentary therapist. So I said: "Really? Well then, pay me a compliment"....I leave you with this thought. The pirates have been thrown off my own personal 'good ship Lollipop'. I bloody well made sure that they had to go overboard via the 'poop deck'. Oooh arrrrr....

But Hey, I'm Not Complaining.

I was thinking of starting out this blog by attempting to do some fish puns, just for the halibut. Sadly, after coming up with the predictable ones such as: 'oh my cod' and 'calling all carps', I began to flounder.
So there I was on the number 18 bus heading from the wilds of Leek, (the 'Queen of the Moorlands'), to the great city of Stoke on Trent, (pottery capital of the world and a major producer of the legendary Staffordshire oatcake). Little did I realise that upon boarding the bus that I would suddenly think how much I missed having a car. Yes indeed, on the number 18 bus was a group of folks who I believe may have been guests on the Jeremy Kyle Show, (Britain's answer to Jerry Springer?).
Screaming obnoxious kids, rude, loud parents and people I assumed were the grandparents. Ah the grandparents, fine examples of how to use Anglo Saxon expletives in every mumbled sentence they exhaled from their big gobs. As I slumped into the only available seat left, I thought: "does life get any better than this?" Never have I been so glad to see the Potteries Centre and get the hell of that bus. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I've noticed a new kind of rudeness in today's modern, technological society. When someone comes to visit me, I think that is very nice, I appreciate the company. Nothing like a good old 'chin wag' as we discuss such things like the meaning of life and more important topics like who will win the Premiership this season. Yes it is so nice to have a chat. Some positive interaction. So when my visitor's mobile phone (cell phone) rings, why do they suddenly forget they have come to visit me? Why do they think it is alright to ignore me in my own home and have a conversation with someone else for 3o flippin' minutes? Why, for that matter, is the exchange of text messages so vital that it can't wait until they have finished visiting me? What the heck is that all about? But hey, I'm not complaining.
It's a few minutes before the grocery shop closes. I wander over to the reduced section in hopes of being able to grab a bargain. Before me lies a barricade of trolleys that have been stategically placed by a group of people who are determined to take the lot. If there are 30 packages of cheese, regular price £1.99, reduced to 9 pence, they make sure all of it goes into their trolleys. You see, they work in teams, a well-drilled precision unit that will not allow the likes of me anywhere near the reduced food. So they clear the lot, with the exception of the 9 pence tub of cottage cheese with chives. I gratefully grab the tub as I watch them drive off in their brand new Jaguars. But hey, I'm not complaining.
I now leave you with another collection of random thoughts and observations. If A.C. Milan played D.C. United of Major League Soccer, would the atmosphere be electric? Why is it called the 'Mile High Club'? I would have thought at 5280 feet, the pilot would still have the 'fasten seatbelt' sign on. No stopping some folks, I guess. I've heard a rumour that there is going to be a new social network site called : 'My Spacebook', where people go online and chat about their collection of books about space. And finally... I'm very disappointed with the Marcel Marceau C.D. I recently purchased. And finally..definitely..the future has arrived..computers are blaming it on human error. But hey, I'm not complaining.

A Therapeutic Oasis.

The creation of my garden was a statement of peaceful defiance. When I moved in to my home, it was more a matter of: "garden? what garden?" I looked out through my living room window and realised what a huge challenge lay before me. My garden and, for that matter, the gardens around me, were merely dumping grounds for people who didn't care or just couldn't be bothered. Beyond my living room window was a panorama of indifference.
On my own, only armed with a shovel, I proceeded to transform my forlorn excuse of a garden, disguised as a landfill, into a 'therapeutic oasis'. A place for our dog 'Penny' to play. A 'hang-out' for my son Tristan and his mates.
It has become a sanctuary to soothe my soul, our garden has given me a positive focus. I was determined to turn a negative environment into a special, spiritual place. I look out through my living room window, I notice the beauty, listen to the wind chimes and realise that inner contentment may well be a possibility. Anyone for a barbecue?

Write On.

All I ever wanted to do was write. That was my dream, a dream I had from a very young and tender age. When I was ten years old I submitted a play to a show named 'Razzle Dazzle' on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (C.B.C.). I was all excited about the prospect of them doing my play on television and winning the coveted first prize; a transistor radio.
Well the C.B.C never did send me that radio. I had to eventually conclude that someone else was the winner of their play writing contest. I got on with my life, went to school, did several mundane jobs and lived from week to week. Yet the dream of becoming a writer was always lingering in the back of my mind. "I'll keep living my life so devoid of meaning" I thought. "Tomorrow or maybe the next day, I shall become a writer."
The thought of becoming a writer still burns in my mind like a glowing ember. The dream has not been extinguished. As I sit here alone in my house, I know, no matter how good, or how bad my writing is, I can use my blog as a therapeutic outlet. For writing is my chance to work through my feelings. This is my platform to try and make sense of it all.
Writing this blog is testimony that I shall continue to choose positivity. I could easily give up and never have my writing noticed by a wider audience. Giving up is not an option. For what I write is a source of comfort to me, and hopefully, a source of comfort to others.
I have mental health issues. The power of the written word has helped me deal with my illness. To remain undaunted and determined to live my dream, has been the catalyst in my ongoing recovery. We all have choices, pursue your dreams, never give up. One day, I shall be a writer. The little boy who did not win the transistor radio was disappointed but stayed resilient. Heck, if I try hard enough, I might now win a state of the art sound system. Let me conclude by saying this: "Write On."

Squeeze The Bottom?

I was contemplating doing a blog on procrastination..nah..maybe another time. So, instead, I'm going to do a completely disjointed blog. Something quite different for me then. Squeeze the bottom? In some situations I think it is most appropriate to squeeze the bottom..I mean if you squeeze the top of the toothpaste tube, the paste below gets trapped. That is not good.

You know your having a bad day when you go to a certain restaurant and ask for an 'Unhappy Meal', just to cheer up. There is a song by those legends of rock, Led Zeppelin, titled: 'Ramble On'. That is precisely what I am doing in this blog. I told you this blog would be confusing and perhaps bordering on incoherent. I would completely understand if you did not read anymore of this. Matter of fact, well done if you are still here.

For those of you still reading, lets continue. I was talking to this dude the other day who told me he was 'strapped for cash'. I replied: "Really? Just how much do you get paid and what sort of straps are used?" Hang on a moment please..the phone is ringing.... Right I'm back now. Unbelievable, I have won another cruise to the Bahamas. I used to win trips to Orlando but never actually took them up on their kind offer. Anyone else get these phonecalls?

I was having quite the chat with a couple of folks the other day. They were telling me that Britain was getting so much like America. "Everywhere you look, American restaurants, American movies, American television. We need to retain our British culture." "So why are you dressed up like a cowboy and cowgirl then?" I inquired. "We're off to our Line dancing class. We just love Line dancing." Scream! Hmm..any Americans taking Morris dancing lessons?

Now speaking of baseball. As you may realise, baseball is a major sport in North America. Baseball requires the usage of a baseball bat. So not unusual to go into a sporting goods shop in North America and purchase a baseball bat. In Britain, baseball is not exactly a big sporting concern. So when someone goes into a sporting goods shop in Britain and purchases a baseball bat, just who are they playing baseball with?

I shall now draw this silly blog to an end. Let me leave you with some silly thoughts that are swirling in my head. Yes I'm bored. If anyone ever says to me that all I do is argue. I shall respond by saying: "No I don't." In tennis 'love' means nothing. I hear you can win loads of money in an 'air guitar' contest..no strings attached. So I think it is most appropriate to squeeze the bottom..of the toothpaste. Where do squeeze your tube of toothpaste? "Usually in the bathroom" you reply. Very funny, very pedantic. Right, that's it then, this blog has reached the bottom.

Please Don't Look The Other Way

Greetings friends. The following is an article that I submitted to the Talkbank Times. I thought I would share it with you. Maybe some of you can relate to my experiences. We need to eliminate the stigma attached to mental health issues. You, the media and myself can do our bit to challenge the stereotyping that revolves around mental health concerns. I thank you.

I live in a small town. Living in a small town, when your life is falling apart, word soon gets around. Due to series of overwhelming negative circumstances, I broke down. The onslaught of my mental illness, caused me to end up in a psychiatric unit, very close to this small town.
A visitor to the hospital noticed me and couldn't wait to spread the word. When I returned home, I was subjected to ridicule. "Hey nutter, out of the nut house" they would say, as they laughed. I ignored them, it caused me anxiety but I tried to move on to a better life.
The years rolled by. Yet even now, when I see someone who knows about my past, they become very uncomfortable. I will be in a shop, I smile at them, they blank me. It is very sad, do I scare them? How can I convince them that I am a harmless man? I have committed no crime. Maybe just maybe, they worry that the 'mental guy' might be having a bad day. Do they fear for their safety? Or do they fear that what they perceive about me, might happen to them?
People in this small town, who do not know about my past, are kind to me. I have a great laugh with them. Oh they might think of me being somewhat unconventional in my attitude towards life, yet I detect no fear. They relate to a guy who has the ability to make people happy. That is all I want to do, bring to people's lives a bit of joy. If only those who would pass judgement could understand that, yes I am ill, but I challenge my negative world.
Those that feel awkward around me are aware of the stereotypes that surround mental health issues. They are aware of the negative sensationalism that the media has often portrayed. So wouldn't it be nice if they could read a story about someone who has mental health issues, yet remained undaunted in seeking positivity? Wouldn't it be nice that they read a story about a lonely, desperate man who was determined to get better? What if they read it and realised the story was about that 'nutter' who causes them such anxiety? What if they started to understand? Now that would be sensational.
Please don't look the other way, I extend my hand of friendship. There is nothing to fear.
Gary Pennick.