Quietly optimistic

Oooh, I have to report … tentatively … that I am rather excited about my story.

I feel a tiny little bit of faith appearing. I noticed it when I responded to yesterday’s comments and I reported here that I didn’t yet have it for writing yet.

But well … I am enjoying myself; I’m feeling my characters.

OMG.

Optimistic

I am feeling strangely optimistic today. Not that I’m usually pessimistic; I like to think of myself as a realist. It’s a lovely feeling, this pure optimism thing, even though I’m not quite sure to what it should be attributed. These are what it could be:

• Husband is flying to England today. He’s gone to the airport already. (I know I will love to have him back in a week, but I’m looking forward to having the bed to myself and thinking of one less person for a few days.)


• I am flying to England in a few weeks. (I’m so sorry to say it again, but hell, I’m excited. Perhaps you could keep your eyes peeled for a post on the Novel Racers later today.)


• We may know in the next three to four weeks what is happening to us (will we still be in Bangkok or will we be coming home?)


• I’ve been caressing handbags recently, and am contemplating a purchase, maybe when we know what’s happening to us. Even if I don’t buy one, I get pleasure from the meditation. (God, I’m sad, but hey, cheap too?)


• I’ve nearly finished the artwork owed.


• I’ve bought myself a scanner – no more fiddling with Husband’s computer, a pen/thumb drive and the big complicated printer, that’s supposed to be able to do everything, yet really seems to do nothing very well.)


• I’ve finally submitted to the War Child ‘You’re Not The Only One.’ (I know how crapulous I would’ve felt if I hadn’t tried.) Please see below.

*********

I’ve sent in my War Child piece. Never one to do anything at the last minute (Ha ha ha) I finally hit ‘send’ this morning. Given, as I explained here, that my piece is about being a scaredy cat, I couldn’t really fail to submit because I’m scared, can I? (Err, yes.)

If there is anyone out there who hasn’t seen these details, this bit is for you. Peach was moved by some personal stories written by bloggers she’d tagged with a meme and the idea came about to appeal for stories, on the theme of ‘You’re Not The Only One’ to reflect the camaraderie of blogging.

With the help of a small team (Sarah from He Loves Me Not, Ariel from From Fuck Up To Fab, Ms R from Woman of Experience and Vi from Village Secrets), Peach is putting together a book for the UK based charity WARCHILD written by bloggers from these submissions – not all of course, will be published. The charity helps children all over the world so although the price tag of £9 may seem a lot, a generous £4.30 of it will go straight to the charity.

Tagged by Liz

Liz tagged me for the middle name meme which requires that I list the rules first:
1. You have to post these rules before you give the facts.
2. Players, you must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don't have a middle name, just make one up...or use the one you would have liked to have had.
3. When you are tagged you need to write your own blog-post containing your own middle name game facts.
4. At the end of your blog-post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

Okay, this won’t take long: I’ve got a shortie.

J Jobs. I have spent nearly all of my adult life looking at the jobs pages. Even when I worked (in the conventional job market) I still perused the situations vacant pages. I can’t explain why; perhaps I’m obsessed about the perfect job. I have now been out of the conventional job market far longer than I was ever in it and I live in Thailand where it is extremely hard to find a paying job that will be eligible for a work permit, yet I still scrutinize the newspaper. I don't even want a job.

O Optimism. My middle name, Joy, was a maternal act of pure optimism. I was, according to my mother, quite the worst sleeper ever. I woke her every night – on a good night 2 or 3 times and on a bad, 4 or 5 times. I disturbed her sleep every night for two and a half years apart from two nights which she spent wide awake checking I hadn’t died. My father, who is a doctor, refused to help her because he told her he might ‘kill a patient the next day through lack of sleep.’

Y Why? (Yes, I know I’m cheating, but I don’t speak Yiddish, yoga is boring and I don’t like to think that I yammer.) I’m not a person who will tell you instantly what I think; in fact, most times I don’t know. I write because it makes me work out what I think, how I feel and why things are as they are.

And now I tag anyone who hasn't done this meme yet, and wants to do it.