To Be EU or Not To Be EU

One needs to commend Britain! The British sure know how to make me more of a bitch. Having actually stockpiled on some much needed rest prior to the ballot closing at 10pm, I turned on the BBC just before 10pm. The sound of Big Ben always makes me rather sentimental even at the best of times. And so when it bonged once more as voting centres closed, I have to admit I did well up a little bit. However, today my tears are really flowing. They say there are five phases to grieving. Denial was fairly brief here. Shock came next. Two others I can’t remember right now and then resignation is the last (I suspect that this 5th stage might be a long time before it arrives).


I landed in England on a glorious day back in February 1972 for what I thought would be my new country eventually. But I have always been an immigrant– albeit a well-integrated one. Yes, an immigrant. However, after the referendum result, I am even more of an immigrant. For those of you musically-predisposed, pay attention to Sting’s “An Englishman in New York”. The melody alone communicates all one needs to understand about being an immigrant. This is especially true when people suggest to you, as I don’t carry a British passport, to return to “whence you came from”. Sweet. The outcome of this ballot has opened up not a can but a pressure cooker of worms. While I do sympathise with dear David Cameron for essentially being forced to resign after this result, what really needs to be asked is why the bloody hell did he call the referendum in the first place!!

Bitch on another rant

Lately I have been reminded, many times over, and in terms that leave no doubt, that I truly am a bitch. I thank all those who contributed to my bitch status – one aims to delight. Of all the stories that I can recount, there was one rather sweet instance a few days ago of a person’s tirade just how she (yes, it is usually a She) does not appreciate complainers and people who whine. At this point, she then start to grumble and whine. Charming. But before you point the finger at anyone else, just remember that there are more than just one of me out there. As a matter of fact, her winging and whining was so adorable that I ‘d like to take these types of individuals by the hand and direct them into a dark alleyway. As for nincompoop male bloggers out there, you just usually have bad manners. Smart discussion is not helped by those who block out everything they do not want to listen to. That’s where a gardener falls short – he might consider, to his regret, a weed to be undesirable – Stinging Nettles sting – but he usually has more than one way at his disposal to handle them. He could wear gloves, uproot the nettles and use them for a herbal tea OR he can weep and whine all day long about the sores on his arms and legs. So if you need a hanky or something to clean away those tears of contempt, then look no further. You might be able to sever any connection to me, but that does not mean that I will cease to exist, and I will always be ready to engage even with the nincompoops and the most delicate of Denises out there.

The Irritations of Sleep

I understand the necessity for sleep as well as the science supporting it. Nonetheless, I do not enjoy my daily rest. Let’s just overlook how much time a person might squander at bedtime, though I’m certain that some individuals lose much less time by actually being in repose. My main complaint with dozing off are the dreams as my dreams are almost always un-rememberable (if that was ever a word). Throughout the night, I exist in a different state whilst I am expected to relax and collect myself for another day packed with experiences I ‘d rather avoid. Why can’t a bitch be left alone to be harmonious? When I go to sleep I usually just lay there, reminiscing about the day gone by and about the same stuff I’m gonna do in the coming one. Two mins later and I am out like a light. It’s annoying. Nowadays I have started to speak in my sleep which results in me being awoken by my very own voice – can you believe that! So I am startled on waking up, which means that I almost never remember what I was just dreaming about. It is just so darn irritating! A few years back I purchased a name-brand speech recorder – I have no idea for what reason as I don’t ever use it since if ever I have something to say or share, it will get published – here probably. However, along the same lines, if a device was ever created to record a person’s dreams I would certainly sleep a lot more.