yet another Sunday
I have this vague 'I should update' feeling. The problem being that most of the thoughts chuggling around in my head at the moment are not ones I wish to share on a public forum. Not that they are particularly devious or degenerate thoughts or owt like that, only that I try to keep this journal in a tone that anyone can read it. (Not that I think many DO read it, mind you.)
One thing I am puzzling over is the different ways that people perceive events in their life, and different ways that they rationalise those events to themselves. But in order to discuss this in any concrete way I would have to use specific examples, and thus risk that the person or persons in said examples would one day stumble across this page, and thus be in some way hurt or offended. Or whatever.
Sometimes I tend to think, oh well, this person is young, that is why their perception of their behaviour is so different from my perception of it. But then will they change as they age? Christ, what I am writing is coming out so dry and boring. Not the usual Carrie lj folksy style at all. But then I get quite bored with that, too, as it means that everything in my life comes out sounding much the same. Mind you, much of my life is a big sameness for the last year or so, so that isn't too surprising.
Well, actually, work (where I spend most of my hours these days) has plenty of ups and downs and ins and outs and drama and hysteria, but then I come back to my usual a) this is a public forum, even if no-one much reads it, and therefore I must protect the innocent and guilty alike and b) if I tell stories out of context people reading may judge people described unfairly and c) I am a silly waffle who ties my mind all up in knots - some weird combination of being me plus being a lawyer's kid I suspect...
I keep pausing in this every time 'Dr Rock' on the Radio York programme I'm listening to stops the music to talk. Can't write and listen - or even ignore - at the same time when it's chat rather than music. It's good interesting old rock-n-roll stuff on this show though. Broadband is a good thing.
All the preceding paragraphs other than the last are somewhat artificial ones, by the way. I did have just one big whomping ramble of a para-prattle, but I thought it was a bit rough on the poor ole proverbial reader's eyes. Ouch. Writing that last sentence brings up the (presumably living) ghost of my first major writing teacher, Dr Friedman, who taught me when I was 17 and at loose ends in Balmer. Cliche, cliche, cliche - proverbial reader. Possibly even a mis-spelt cliche at that. (And never mind that I don't know how to add the accent mark on to the final e in cliche, either.)
Mr Big Boss boy wants us to start doing at least a bit of business on-line, and not only do I have all sorts of major concerns about this (though I agree with the basic theory that ultimately we need to), I even more seriously worry about how do we do this when I don't even know how to put accents on individual letters. Although I guess I do know some basic HTML. But I am so not an innovator. Gah. Random worries of a Carrie.
I dreamed last night that I was back state-side and that I was going to yet again start some sort of college or training program or some such. (Yes, I know I spelled program the American way here, and the British way above, but the context is different. It's not my fault I have too many subsets of grammar rules in my head. Or maybe it is.) Anyway, even in the dream, although part of me was excited to be doing something new, the rest of me was saying but wait, I'll miss too much of Josh and Natty's growing, and I'm not going to do that again. Mer and my sister's three are all grown-up and I've missed way too much of it, and I'm not missing the boys, no way. I already lost a whole chunk of Josh - (ok, there are lots of good bits of going to Ithaca, and two very very good friends I am still close to now have come of it, but still!) I went away when he was six and little and still happy to speak Welsh at me, and came back when he was nearly eight and past the Welsh-speaking age... I won't lose any more of them. (Of course how they might grow up and away as they get older is their own prerogative, but Auntie Carrie will be here, no matter what.) Though I do think sometimes that what I might really like doing, money and time ever permitting, is start working on getting 'school' qualifications - GCSE and A-level ones. I know that I have a degree, but I still feel that hole from not doing the earlier stuff. I see it sometimes in the shop - my basic maths are fine, and I can even do some pretty complicated stuff, especially if it's something that Dick taught me during my early Seattle days, but then I have to work out a percentage or something (currency conversions are the ones that really get me), and there is just this big ole gap where I just don't know the formula, and I have to go get the Shawsie to help me. I should get him to slow down and show me what he is doing sometime, but since we are usually in turbo-mode, he mostly hasn't been in a patient enough of a mood to ask.
Hm, this really is turning into proper journal-warble. The hardly-edited thoughts of a Carrie. Somebody better rein me in soon. Maybe I'll stick this on to 'preview' - will reading my own thoughts constitute talking to myself? One wonders...
One thing I am puzzling over is the different ways that people perceive events in their life, and different ways that they rationalise those events to themselves. But in order to discuss this in any concrete way I would have to use specific examples, and thus risk that the person or persons in said examples would one day stumble across this page, and thus be in some way hurt or offended. Or whatever.
Sometimes I tend to think, oh well, this person is young, that is why their perception of their behaviour is so different from my perception of it. But then will they change as they age? Christ, what I am writing is coming out so dry and boring. Not the usual Carrie lj folksy style at all. But then I get quite bored with that, too, as it means that everything in my life comes out sounding much the same. Mind you, much of my life is a big sameness for the last year or so, so that isn't too surprising.
Well, actually, work (where I spend most of my hours these days) has plenty of ups and downs and ins and outs and drama and hysteria, but then I come back to my usual a) this is a public forum, even if no-one much reads it, and therefore I must protect the innocent and guilty alike and b) if I tell stories out of context people reading may judge people described unfairly and c) I am a silly waffle who ties my mind all up in knots - some weird combination of being me plus being a lawyer's kid I suspect...
I keep pausing in this every time 'Dr Rock' on the Radio York programme I'm listening to stops the music to talk. Can't write and listen - or even ignore - at the same time when it's chat rather than music. It's good interesting old rock-n-roll stuff on this show though. Broadband is a good thing.
All the preceding paragraphs other than the last are somewhat artificial ones, by the way. I did have just one big whomping ramble of a para-prattle, but I thought it was a bit rough on the poor ole proverbial reader's eyes. Ouch. Writing that last sentence brings up the (presumably living) ghost of my first major writing teacher, Dr Friedman, who taught me when I was 17 and at loose ends in Balmer. Cliche, cliche, cliche - proverbial reader. Possibly even a mis-spelt cliche at that. (And never mind that I don't know how to add the accent mark on to the final e in cliche, either.)
Mr Big Boss boy wants us to start doing at least a bit of business on-line, and not only do I have all sorts of major concerns about this (though I agree with the basic theory that ultimately we need to), I even more seriously worry about how do we do this when I don't even know how to put accents on individual letters. Although I guess I do know some basic HTML. But I am so not an innovator. Gah. Random worries of a Carrie.
I dreamed last night that I was back state-side and that I was going to yet again start some sort of college or training program or some such. (Yes, I know I spelled program the American way here, and the British way above, but the context is different. It's not my fault I have too many subsets of grammar rules in my head. Or maybe it is.) Anyway, even in the dream, although part of me was excited to be doing something new, the rest of me was saying but wait, I'll miss too much of Josh and Natty's growing, and I'm not going to do that again. Mer and my sister's three are all grown-up and I've missed way too much of it, and I'm not missing the boys, no way. I already lost a whole chunk of Josh - (ok, there are lots of good bits of going to Ithaca, and two very very good friends I am still close to now have come of it, but still!) I went away when he was six and little and still happy to speak Welsh at me, and came back when he was nearly eight and past the Welsh-speaking age... I won't lose any more of them. (Of course how they might grow up and away as they get older is their own prerogative, but Auntie Carrie will be here, no matter what.) Though I do think sometimes that what I might really like doing, money and time ever permitting, is start working on getting 'school' qualifications - GCSE and A-level ones. I know that I have a degree, but I still feel that hole from not doing the earlier stuff. I see it sometimes in the shop - my basic maths are fine, and I can even do some pretty complicated stuff, especially if it's something that Dick taught me during my early Seattle days, but then I have to work out a percentage or something (currency conversions are the ones that really get me), and there is just this big ole gap where I just don't know the formula, and I have to go get the Shawsie to help me. I should get him to slow down and show me what he is doing sometime, but since we are usually in turbo-mode, he mostly hasn't been in a patient enough of a mood to ask.
Hm, this really is turning into proper journal-warble. The hardly-edited thoughts of a Carrie. Somebody better rein me in soon. Maybe I'll stick this on to 'preview' - will reading my own thoughts constitute talking to myself? One wonders...