It’s kinda hard for anyone to miss the fact that my life has changed. Ask anyone that knew me before I went to Geneva, before I found Jesus, before the light, and they will say that I am a hell of a lot happier. Well, they may not say “hell”, that would depend on who’s talking; and the word happier is a very deceptive one because it conveys more of an instantaneous emotion and doesn’t necessarily suggest depth. They tend to mean content, satisfied, a changed state of mind, I see it a bit like what the Ancient Greeks called eudaimonia and were all searching for (I like the wiki "human flourishing"). Anyway, the simple truth of it is that they have seen the Joy I found. Joy that supersedes the instantaneous emotions and drastically changes my outlook (I hope the verses don't seem too tenuous. I can't go into explaining them all now, this is just background). Joy that gives me strength. Joy, evidence of The Spirit, that brings me back to life.
I used to be angry. I used to be miserable. I used to make decisions that did not value me and would treat other people with equal disappreciation. I was selfish and yet had no self-respect. I used to get demotivated very easily, struggle a great deal to even get up in the morning and I hated switching my mind on in case the thoughts were too much to deal with. I spent all my cognitive energies on obsessive behaviour and would get caught up in depression with no way out. I used to scare people. I used to be scared by people. I used to scare myself. I had bought into the lies of the world to a terrifying degree and had a very inappropriate sense of humour. Most of these things have changed…! I still wear silly clothes a lot of the time and don't always quite know when to stop but, meh, you got to be true to yourself. I am a lot more grateful for everything now and let’s not forget the joy.
You know what? People have actually noticed. I’m not saying I have been giving a great testimony all the time, I’ve made some pretty major mistakes already and struggle with always conveying the truth of which I am not at all proud. Yet even with all this, close friends, old acquaintances even departmental secretaries see it.
But let me tell you what pisses me off. When people say “I’m really happy for you.”
OK, if you’re a Christian I think you can get away with it. Though perhaps, again with the “happy”, that’s a bit of an instantaneous and easily quashed emotion. My favourite reaction was from an old flatmate who said I should have a party when I got back. I liked that one – a ‘Kat(i)e Got Saved’ party with the tag line “because the angels are doing it”. It’s a bit fat rejoicement.
But if you’re not a Christian then why, in heaven or on earth, would you be glad? Don’t you see, I haven’t found something that “works for me”. I am single minded in my belief that what I have found is the truth and that if you are not in agreement you must, quite simply, be wrong.
I don’t judge you (will save that for if you become one of "us") but seriously, isn’t it the most patronising thing you ever heard that I pray for you and care to see you find the same thing. But it is clearly explicit in the Bible that Jesus is THE ONLY WAY and if I tell you I’m a Christian I am saying I believe this very thing: I am right you are wrong and I can’t be persuaded to compromise. I won’t always ram it down your throat but I can’t help having it as a very predominant silent thought most of the time. Unless I’m in a bitchy mood then surely that’s even worse – that I stop caring?
I’m not actually trying to persuade you to stop being friends with me now that I am crazy. I just want you to realise that being happy for me is stupid – what I have found only truly works for me if it works for everyone, so either I am deluded and you ought to be worried for me or I am right and you ought to be worried for yourself.
Showing posts with label Crazy People. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Crazy People. Show all posts
Friday, October 17, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The sun may have his hat on, but do you?
Bearing in mind the sun is the source of life for all the planet, I think it is pretty cool. Aside from providing all the energy that we require to function however, it also manages to invoke a large amount of stupidity in the human race. Well, pasty white westerners anyway.
What is with opting out of suncream and such? There may well be people out there saying "I'm not that much of an idiot" but this year so far I have know at least 6 people, with degrees and proper jobs and everything, to get very red and just shrug it off as a means to an end. I want to shout out "skin cancer" but unfortunately I'm not a big fan of hypocrisy. One well respected member of my locale community, no names mentioned but you know who you are, declared to me that he did it on purpose cause he didn't have time to waste going brown slowly. Yet another dear friend, who is desperate for a mention in my blog though possibly not like this, still had a red forehead 3 days after a lovely Sunday afternoon by the lake. (I won't shame him by labelling in this one 'cause I am just too nice!) I myself am no better, immediate satisfaction is my biggest weakness and the golden glow payoff wins every time.
Silly silly sun people.
But sillier still, I find, is sunbathing at 8pm at night when the clouds have covered over, people aren't even in their swimsuits and the tits are out in full glory. No problem with topless bathing (this is "the continent" it would be futile to care) but in those conditions isn't that just indecent exposure?
That all said, the storms hit GVA this week (just as I came off revision duties) so I haven't got the option to be unwise in the electromagnetic spectrum. Bring on the biere fest this evening, there are other ways to be foolish!
What is with opting out of suncream and such? There may well be people out there saying "I'm not that much of an idiot" but this year so far I have know at least 6 people, with degrees and proper jobs and everything, to get very red and just shrug it off as a means to an end. I want to shout out "skin cancer" but unfortunately I'm not a big fan of hypocrisy. One well respected member of my locale community, no names mentioned but you know who you are, declared to me that he did it on purpose cause he didn't have time to waste going brown slowly. Yet another dear friend, who is desperate for a mention in my blog though possibly not like this, still had a red forehead 3 days after a lovely Sunday afternoon by the lake. (I won't shame him by labelling in this one 'cause I am just too nice!) I myself am no better, immediate satisfaction is my biggest weakness and the golden glow payoff wins every time.
Silly silly sun people.
But sillier still, I find, is sunbathing at 8pm at night when the clouds have covered over, people aren't even in their swimsuits and the tits are out in full glory. No problem with topless bathing (this is "the continent" it would be futile to care) but in those conditions isn't that just indecent exposure?
That all said, the storms hit GVA this week (just as I came off revision duties) so I haven't got the option to be unwise in the electromagnetic spectrum. Bring on the biere fest this evening, there are other ways to be foolish!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
On Thursdays I'm Sexy
For the second week in a row I have had the most absurd experiences whilst traveling home from French , all involving Francophone men which does not help with the stereotype at all.
Indeed, any woman that has passed through Geneva will not leave without at least one story about bizarre unwarranted attentions from the stranger members of the night-time crowd. I would add an aside at this point, particularly for my mother, that at no point am I in any danger. Unless I were to choke from excessive laughter, or in a case of particularly bad B.O.
So, I thought I'd recap some of the funnier/bizarrer (adjective check?) stories; either my own or ones that I can shamelessly steal from friends and legends...
Tonight it started at a tram stop when a motorbikist passing across the way appeared to be waving at me. I ignored this as probably a traffic signal and definitely not pertinent to my future marital status so was surprised to find a few moments later that he had decided to turn in the road and come say hello - or "bon soir". Now usually I would of course ignore the strange advances of strange men in the night time. However, given the Anglophone-heavy nature of my life in Geneva I have begun to take these as golden opportunities to practise colloquial French speaking. I was delighted to find that I could both understand and refuse an offer for a lift and compliments however trite do sound better in French.
Now, I am being brutally honest when I say that even I do not think I am worthy of this attention today of all days. I ought to have washed my hair this morning and the rolled down ankle socks with summer skirt look is not that hot. All before mentioning the major circles under my eyes (been up too late watching House... mmmmmm) and random assorted bag-like garments that I was wearing. However, this did not put off bikeman. Neither did it prevent the oddball opposite me on the bus a little bit later on from persisting to make eye-contact till he got off (the bus) and then proceeding to my window and making gestures towards my face and other generally enthusiastic beckonings. With hindsight I suppose I may have had something on my nose but this ought not to have preoccupied him right up until the point that the bus overtook.
Last week made an impression simply because as the three of us were walking back from dinner to Cornavin (you ought to be avid enough to recall the post that referred to this evening and thus who sad three are) there was a passing cyclist who really shouldn't have turned around 3-times to try to 'connect' as he rode up Rue du Mont-Blanc. I was kind enough respecting the danger his life was in to not try out my latest put-downs at that point. It did seem a little silly though and as such the memory has stuck.
None of them are fussy either. I was once on my way home carrying a whole load of 'stuff' that was effectively rubbish I found in the street (kitsch objets d'art) and the only issue this posed to the man of the moment was whether I would mind moving it so he could sit next to me on a practically empty bus.
A particular favourite anecdote is when a friend had a man join her under her umbrella (sorry to steal Andrea but it is good!) and try to chat her up whilst invading her personal space and ensuring she was getting wet round the edges. Always a sure bet. I have also heard of full-on marriage proposals happening at the bus stop and even when the predator and prey do not speak a word of the same language that does not stop them wanting to call you up!
I just don't get what it is that these guys think they will achieve from all this..? Are there actually women out there who, when swooned, stared or muttered at, melt at the knees and go "oh yes, I want some of that" and it is they who are encouraging these men to persevere with such tactics? Surely they should have worked out by now from the spectrum of reactions, that I can only imagine range from polite and silent disgust to actual bodily harm, that these well intended advances will not in fact make them any luckier.
OK, so one guy was really quite smooth and did in fact have a potentially winning line. It was in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon and thus obviously a different class of perv was aprowling. After some good practising of français he offered me his card telling me he was a photographer and was looking for some new models. Now ladies, that is of course difficult not to blush at, look coy and inadvertently satisfy his aspirations of making a good impression. As he leaves I look down at the card and am confronted with a black and white image of a bare-chested woman languishing under the website address. Gutted I kick myself:
aspiring political careers are always spoiling my fun...
Indeed, any woman that has passed through Geneva will not leave without at least one story about bizarre unwarranted attentions from the stranger members of the night-time crowd. I would add an aside at this point, particularly for my mother, that at no point am I in any danger. Unless I were to choke from excessive laughter, or in a case of particularly bad B.O.
So, I thought I'd recap some of the funnier/bizarrer (adjective check?) stories; either my own or ones that I can shamelessly steal from friends and legends...
Tonight it started at a tram stop when a motorbikist passing across the way appeared to be waving at me. I ignored this as probably a traffic signal and definitely not pertinent to my future marital status so was surprised to find a few moments later that he had decided to turn in the road and come say hello - or "bon soir". Now usually I would of course ignore the strange advances of strange men in the night time. However, given the Anglophone-heavy nature of my life in Geneva I have begun to take these as golden opportunities to practise colloquial French speaking. I was delighted to find that I could both understand and refuse an offer for a lift and compliments however trite do sound better in French.
Now, I am being brutally honest when I say that even I do not think I am worthy of this attention today of all days. I ought to have washed my hair this morning and the rolled down ankle socks with summer skirt look is not that hot. All before mentioning the major circles under my eyes (been up too late watching House... mmmmmm) and random assorted bag-like garments that I was wearing. However, this did not put off bikeman. Neither did it prevent the oddball opposite me on the bus a little bit later on from persisting to make eye-contact till he got off (the bus) and then proceeding to my window and making gestures towards my face and other generally enthusiastic beckonings. With hindsight I suppose I may have had something on my nose but this ought not to have preoccupied him right up until the point that the bus overtook.
Last week made an impression simply because as the three of us were walking back from dinner to Cornavin (you ought to be avid enough to recall the post that referred to this evening and thus who sad three are) there was a passing cyclist who really shouldn't have turned around 3-times to try to 'connect' as he rode up Rue du Mont-Blanc. I was kind enough respecting the danger his life was in to not try out my latest put-downs at that point. It did seem a little silly though and as such the memory has stuck.
None of them are fussy either. I was once on my way home carrying a whole load of 'stuff' that was effectively rubbish I found in the street (kitsch objets d'art) and the only issue this posed to the man of the moment was whether I would mind moving it so he could sit next to me on a practically empty bus.
A particular favourite anecdote is when a friend had a man join her under her umbrella (sorry to steal Andrea but it is good!) and try to chat her up whilst invading her personal space and ensuring she was getting wet round the edges. Always a sure bet. I have also heard of full-on marriage proposals happening at the bus stop and even when the predator and prey do not speak a word of the same language that does not stop them wanting to call you up!
I just don't get what it is that these guys think they will achieve from all this..? Are there actually women out there who, when swooned, stared or muttered at, melt at the knees and go "oh yes, I want some of that" and it is they who are encouraging these men to persevere with such tactics? Surely they should have worked out by now from the spectrum of reactions, that I can only imagine range from polite and silent disgust to actual bodily harm, that these well intended advances will not in fact make them any luckier.
OK, so one guy was really quite smooth and did in fact have a potentially winning line. It was in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon and thus obviously a different class of perv was aprowling. After some good practising of français he offered me his card telling me he was a photographer and was looking for some new models. Now ladies, that is of course difficult not to blush at, look coy and inadvertently satisfy his aspirations of making a good impression. As he leaves I look down at the card and am confronted with a black and white image of a bare-chested woman languishing under the website address. Gutted I kick myself:
aspiring political careers are always spoiling my fun...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
