Yelly Writes

Foot-in-mouth-disease

Sometimes my irritation and annoyance just gets the better on me.  I open my mouth and out comes a snarky comment.

“Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.” ― Benjamin Franklin

My Lola always said tactful is as tactful does, and I’ve always tried to follow my granny’s advice.  But it has been difficult to learn this particular lesson.  I think because my parents encouraged us to speak our mind.  My parents encouraged us to state our opinions and to verbalise our reasons for feeling the way we feel.  I am finding out that verbal diarrhoea whilst very Bridget Jonesy is never good.

In the same way I’ve tried (and more than often failed) to always have my verbal edit button available and thought before I spoke, I must learn to learn to pause before my hands start typing! 🙊  Because these days, it’s difficult to take it back what you release in the internet ether because whilst there is a delete button, as we all know, the delete button on the internet isn’t really a delete button because somehow, somewhere whatever you put out is still out there!

Yes, I can see the disapproving look that angel is giving me!

Yelly Writes

To write

When I was little, I sat next to my Tita Migen’s portable Olivetti typewriter and lovingly trailed my fingertips on the keys.  I wasn’t allowed to use it.  I was told that it wasn’t a toy.  My aunt was a writer and she wrote short stories and articles for various women’s magazines in the Philippines.  One of her poems (it could be more than just the one, I can’t remember properly) was published in an anthology of poems written by the great and the good of Philippine literature.

At 9, I wrote an updated version of The Little Match Girl for our school Christmas party.  I remember that I called the main character Marina.  I don’t even know why I called her that.  But my “writing” the script for the “play” necessitated making several copies of the script.  So my aunt relented and allowed me to use her typewriter.  I loved it.  I loved the clickety-clack sound the typewriter made as I copy-typed my handwritten script (I was a two-finger typer, of course!).  I loved the smell of paper and onion skin (this was of course the mid-80s) and the way you had to be careful because you needed to make sure the carbon paper wouldn’t smudge the onion skin and your fingers.  I loved it.  I loved putting my words down in typeset.  It was the most exhilarating thing I’d ever done (not too hard to top as I was, after all, only in third grade).

Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always said I wanted to be a doctor.  But writing always niggled at me.  I always asked myself “what if I could write for a living instead?”

One summer, I think I was thirteen or fourteen, having read all the summer reading books (Nancy Drew, Sweet Dreams teen romances, the classics, of course) I had access to (I daren’t attempt to read any of my mum’s Mills & Boon books because I was told those were for older readers), I took one of my composition notebooks and started writing a story.  It kept me out of trouble that summer!  After reading what I wrote, I covered the notebook in wrapping paper and plastic cover and promptly forgot about the story.  Years later, my sister told me she read my “novel” and she said it was good.  My sister is the writer in our family, so I took that as a compliment!  I also fancied myself a poet (yes, I didn’t know whether I wanted to write poetry, prose or opinions!) and wrote stream-of-consciousness poems in a brown wire-bound Hello Kitty notebook which I bought from a bookstore called Alemar’s (don’t ask me why I remember those details, I just do!).  I’d love to read those poems again.  I’m sure they’ll be cringe-worthy but it’ll probably be a good laugh!

I am thankful that blogging has become a platform available to everyman.  Because it has helped me indulge in my creative efforts.  Not that I have actually written another story, short or otherwise, since my last foray into novel-writing.  I’m just thankful I can write and send my thoughts out there.  I may not earn my living from my thoughts but there is a certain satisfaction in being able to write down what you’re thinking and sending it out into the cosmos.

I would love to earn my living just talking about what I think about things.  I would love to be able to express my opinions and make a living out of that.  Ha!  Does anyone want someone with verbal diarrhea?  I know we all have to be very PC these days, and admittedly, I can be extremely un-PC, but I would love to just be able to talk about anything and everything under the sun!  Or write about it!  And, of course, get paid for it.

waiting to writeI’m putting it out there.  I’m sending it out in the universe.  Because I want to do something other than sit at a desk and work as an executive assistant.

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Yelly Writes

Mid year!

Just writing thoughts down.  This post has completely no purpose except to vent.

Time flies when you’re having fun…and even if you’re not!

I can’t believe we’re half-way through with 2016!  Someone once said that you know you’re getting older when time flies past so quickly.  If that’s the case, then I’m definitely ancient.  I find myself thinking more often than not, “Stop the world, I want to get off!”

Sometimes I get home and I want to just completely switch off.  Just go to bed and pull the covers over my head and just sleep.  But I can’t because there are chores to be done, food to be cooked, a kitchen to be cleaned.  Then after all that, sometimes I wonder if I’m just wandering around life, walking in somnambulistic circles?  I find that I’m asking myself all sorts of existential questions which scare me.

I find that a recurrent thought is me to have proper downtime.  For me to just lie in bed.  To not be responsible for anything.  For me to have a day when no one asks me to do anything for anyone.  For me to be alone with my books and my thoughts and my dreams.  For me to sit at a coffee shop window, nurse a huge cup of coffee and watch the world go by.

I think I now understand what it is now to have social media fatigue.  Ever since I moved to England, I’ve been online all the time.  I’ve worked really hard to make the thousands of miles between me and my family and friends appear small and insignificant.  I’ve invested in tech so that I can get in touch, be in touch and be accessible to everyone back home 24/7.  There are days, however, when I want to completely switch off.  To not bother catching up on tweets, Instagram, look at Facebook posts, catch up on LinkedIn (which, I might add, I haven’t really totally wrapped my mind around, even though LinkedIn says I’ve got an “all star” profile, whatever that means!), and to not care about work emails and how many emails I have in my Outlook inbox.

Mark Babbitt said that “[w]hen you realize you’ve stopped contributing original thought to a conversation, you are suffering from Social Media Fatigue. It is time to step away and take a social-less vacation.”

I think I need another break.  A long one where I’m allowed to just walk, take pictures, enjoy my little seaside town, and not be responsible for anyone or anything, to completely switch off.  To not worry about tax investigations or HMRC correspondence for clients.  To not worry about family and if they’re all okay.  I need to refill my spirit tank.  I need to replenish my cheerful me supplies, restock my happiness cupboard.

I think that’s my goal for the next half of 2016.  To find time for me.  I have experienced burnout and that wasn’t a very good place to be in.  I need to take care of me because no one else will do that.