Heart to Post

HEART TO POST – Little Things Can Make A Big Difference

“Little things mean a lot, appreciate what you got” Boys II Men (from: “Little Things”)

And so we meet again, Sh*tty Mood. You always surprise me by jumping me out of nowhere. Is it coincidence we meet right after I evicted (most members of) The Frustration Family? I doubt it.

I did the maths, Sh*tty Mood, and here’s how things are right now:

  • 85% of how I feel is due to my crap hormones. I knew they had a knack of making me miserable, unfortunately I underestimated them. But okay; nothing I can do besides sitting it out.
  • 10% of my feelings are made out of stress. Yes, the moment anyone uses the S-word, my stress metres run wild.

I mean Schiphol.

Schiphol is the largest airport of the Netherlands and the most hated place in my existence. It’s always crowded, noisy, and filled to the brim with owners of less patience than me.

Guess where I had to drop off my parents last Thursday. Uh-huh. Now guess where I’ll be picking them up again coming Saturday…

  • That leaves 5% to causes unknown for my guard to drop, although I suspect it’s got something to do with my hormones – why not just blame the whole lot on them, right?

I first noticed how bad a mood I was in when I visited the supermarket. During my hunt through this evil place (I can never find what I need! I swear they keep moving items around to drive customers insane, one hidden item at a time), my mood went from bad to worse.

Then the massive chocolate bar I had grabbed as a secret weapon against the thunder clouds slowly emerging above my head broke in half. My mood went from worse to downright terrible.

Also, a little side-note here. What’s happened to store clerks?? When I was one 17 years ago, we were instructed to greet every customer we saw. Bosses were very strict about this and would penalise the people who appeared lax: they got severely yelled at. Eventually, every store turned into a merry collection of hellos.
Today, I think I’ve passed at least a dozen clerks before making my way back home, and nobody as much as acknowledged I was alive. Is this the new normal?

With a broken chocolate bar, a bag too heavy to carry charmingly and both my cardigan and leather jacket wrapped around my waist  – WHY does the weather keep changing so drastically every ten minutes?? – I stumbled home.

I needed a drink. I needed a lot of (broken) chocolate. I needed my laptop, a comfy blanket and Breath of Fire. I needed the World to quiet down a little (or a lot), so I could wallow in my misery and wake up tomorrow without my Sh*tty Mood.

Instead I walked in and saw Waldo tearing up a cardboard box.

My Sh*tty Mood was gone.

Instant happiness ❤ That’s what my pets give me. No matter how awful I feel.

Boys II Men were right: little things mean a lot.

Waldo and Darwin sleeping it off after having shredded down a cardboard box
Waldo and Darwin sleeping it off after having shredded down a cardboard box

 

 

 

 

 


PS: WHOOT!

Thank you everyone who follows me! I can’t believe I’ve got 1,000 followers! ❤ I never thought I’d even have one! 🙂
Letters to Life

Letters to Life (56)

“You should use your fist rather to laugh into, than to hit something with”Random Paper Wisdom (quote is from Herman Brusselmans)


Dear Life,

Frustration… Is there anything worse to experience emotion-wise? Is there anything more useless to experience emotion-wise?

Actually, don’t answer that last one. Before you know it I’ll start one of my “jealousy is the most futile emotion in the world”-rants. Best to steer clear from that, Life, otherwise I’ll end up feeling more frustrated than I do already.

Frustration pokes its head up the second things don’t go as planned. Where other emotions at least have the decency to bang on your door for a while before breaking through, frustration is rude. And cunning: it simply climbs a window. Before you know it, it’s taken over your mind completely and you didn’t even see it come in!

The emotion is hard to beat, because it knows no stopping! It keeps coming back around, bringing along family members, filling up every available millimetre of your head and wearing you out. The worst part: it won’t even go away after you’ve acknowledged its existence! How unfair. All other emotions do.

I am frustrated, Life. Mainly it’s due to my happy hormones. They all seem to be raving inside my body. I suspect they’re out looking for more ways to taunt me besides bloating me up waist down.

Frustration has also invited one of its cousins to the party inside my head as I feel upset about my fitness burn-out, too. They kind of work well together: the party starter is making me feel upset over gaining useless wait, the cousin for not being able to work it off.

I know the only thing I need is time for this all to pass and for me to stop beating myself down. All I can do is sit and wait for the Frustration Family to move out.

And then quickly change the locks.

Heart to Post

Heart to Post – About Dracula, Pyjama Pants And Simply Being Irresistible

This post is a bit long, but you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. I promise!

Well, whaddaya know, turns out I am irresistible! Go figure.

Fun fact: recently I’ve decided to take up battle with my hormones. If you don’t know me well enough: my hormones have a history of making me physically sick and their evil influence increased over time. To shut them down I went on hormone-regulated medicine, which worked fine for years, but started to show signs of weakness not too long ago.

I decided to tackle this problem once and for all. Step one was to stay off my medication and let my hormones think they run the show again, so I could knock ’em down for good.

As it turns out, though, after years of being suppressed, my hormones are quite slow on taking over. Meanwhile, I am experiencing some inconveniences of hormonal shifts in my body, such as being bloated.

Mainly being bloated.

And at that point, I’d like to start off my irresistible I-went-on-a-trip-to-Romania-story: a very bloated (and equally unhappy) me with my eldest sister W embarking on a foreign adventure.

Whether it were my hormones or the influences of the scorching sun melting everyone’s minds I do not know. What I do know is that during that seven day trip through Romania, I could have picked at least three guys to come home with me.

Now, if you didn’t know about my Battles Of The Hormones, you’ll probably also not know about my commitment issues. And by issues, I mean phobia. Anyone coming too close too fast to my likings, is met with an icy cold wall of ignorance, a silent treatment so quiet it’ll make you think I went deaf overnight, and me strapping on my running shoes quicker than you could mouth “I like you”, to run as far away from you as inhumanly possible.

Feel free to laugh about commitment-phobic me and three interestees. But save some for later when it truly becomes hysterical.

The love bite, it is the beginning. You will be irresistible - Bela Lugosi

Guy one was the lone traveller of our group. If you’ve ever went on a group travel, then you know there’s always at least one person in that group travelling alone. Just them. And the group.

Our lovely loner was a quiet, decent man who soon gave me the idea of being *yikes* into me. Luckily I had W, who disagreed wholly with that theory. So I did something quite unnatural: I stopped panicking.

Then one talkative night, the loner’s reaction to finding out I am single was a little too excited to my likings. But instead of hopping into my comfortable runners, I simply told him I am not looking for a relationship and left it at that. Result: no panic and no wooing. In that order.

Guy two was a bartender/waiter at a Romanian restaurant. W and me went there for a drink one night and we got chatting as I asked him after traditional Romanian food. He showed us the full menu and wouldn’t stop talking. At one point I mentioned W nearly breaking her neck due to the poor street work, after which W vows she heard him say to me: “Luckily it wasn’t you.”

And when me, W, the loner and a young couple went to dine at his restaurant on our last night in Romania, I kept receiving my food and drinks first and he kept growing more nervous every time he visited our table. But even after the woman of the couple jokingly mentioned: “Now I know why you wanted to come back here!” I managed not to freak out.

The worst one, though, was guy three: our final day consisted of a few hours in Bucharest and then flying back to Amsterdam. The weather had been too hot to wear my PJ’s, and I had slept in my underwear the whole week. Anticipating another uncomfortable flight (I swear my legs are too long!), I had put on my pyjama bottoms already. They are old sweatpants and nothing else I own is more comfortable.

So there I was, roaming Bucharest with twenty-three others, wearing my pyjama bottoms and being bloated still. The sun was out and I was slowly melting, so all in all I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever looked less appealing on a holiday.

“Like a moth getting trapped in the light by fixation, truly free, love it, baby”from: Irresistible by Fall Out Boy

Our guide, showing us around the capital city, suddenly spotted some policemen. He made his way over and our guide asked: “Who wants a picture with the police?”

Many of the ladies from our group, me included (still bloated, in pyjama bottoms and sweaty) eagerly posed next to the officers.

I mean… men in uniforms… I may have commitment issues, but I am not fully immune, thank you.

Afterwards, one of the officers rushed over to me (still bloated, in pyjama bottoms and sweaty) and asked to see the picture and if I could send it to him (NOOOO), so I said “Sure!” and he gave me his name to look him up on Facebook.

Now, even though I have no intention of ever reaching out to him (I thought he was quite creepy, despite his uniform), I still said yes because I was afraid of what he might do if I turned him down.

But that’s not the point. The real point is, I am irresistible (and still bloated and sweaty. It’s too hot for pyjama bottoms though).

No matter how sh*t I think I look, somehow, some people disagree. And no matter how lost I feel as a love cause, somehow, some people disagree.

I don’t get it either, but what I do get is that something has changed. Besides my hormones.

My perception of love, my panic attacks, my scares… Perhaps it was the magic of Romania, but I believe something inside me is no longer the same. Maybe it is time to let go of those old, comfortable running shoes, that silent treatment I carry around in case I need it, and my icy cold wall of ignorance. I honestly think I’ve outgrown them.

Maybe there’s hope for me yet 🙂

Oh, and about Dracula: he’s never really lived in Dracula’s Castle. Go figure.

Heart to Post

Heart to Post – How I Got To 61 In One Afternoon (An Insight Into My Thoughts)

 


Is this a quick peep into the future? Or is life merely playing tricks with my mind?

This I wonder as I sit outside, on a cloudy yet heavenly Summer day, picking up an old hobby in an attempt to create something new: knitting.

…19, 20, 21, 22…

I count the stitches in my head, all the way up to 61, to ensure I don’t make a mistake. Another mistake, I might add. The first five minutes of my knitting bonanza my mum had to come rush to my aid at least four times. Just goes to show what a knitting wonder I am.

Not.

…34, 35, 36, 37…

Tommy sits at my feet, is meowing for attention. The irony of me knitting away with a feline friend on my side does not escape me. Hence my question: is this what my future will look like? Me, desperately trying to not mess up my knitting while a cat lies at my feet, purring away my blues? Am I an old woman hidden in the body of a 32-year-old!?

Nah, impossible. I’ve already decided to become a crazy gerbil lady instead of a regular spinster. I think I’m good.

…54, 55, 56 – getting close now!

Wait, aren’t cats supposed to be obsessed with yarn? I make Tommy sniff my yarn ball and nothing happens. He just purrs and rubs his nose against it. Hmm… Maybe I should throw it away and he’ll go after it.

Nope. Better get up and fetch it myself, then.

 

This weekend’s forecast is mostly knitting with a chance of wineThe Art Of Knitting

 

…57, 58…

I’m never going to find my soulmate. Apart from all the ugly photos taken of me last Sunday (I’ve got such a weird face!), who’s ever going to accept my hobby? Knitting has got to be the least sexy thing on Earth, surely?

Ah well. At the rate I’m going, I’ll never get this scarf finished before mid-2025. At least.

Oh, nearly there!

…59, 60…

I suck at knitting. How come my mum can do this with whatever hand she chooses, two fingers up her nose and her eyes closed? Figuratively speaking, of course. And how is it that she’s so good at fixing my mistakes, while I have a hard time spotting them in the first place? I feel so blind… And stupid.

The only way I can knit something good, is by not making a single mistake. And for that, I have to keep counting. Which is just so…. monotonous. And boring.

…61!

Okay, pay attention here. You cannot let your thoughts stray, you need to do this stitch just right, as it’s literally forming the centrepiece of your scarf.

Wait! Have I just thought all this while counting?

Was I actually multitasking? I can think and count at the same time?

Maybe there’s hope for me yet, as a knitter. Who knows, perhaps one day I’ll manage to knit without counting!

But for now, that’s 61 more stitches to finish this row.

1, 2, 3, 4…

There is always more to us than we think there is ❤

 

Aside

Did You Know…?

Did you know…

…I hate clutter? Really, strongly loathe it?

As much as I hate clutter, I love tidying up ever so much! I just wanted to let you know this, as by updating my blog to this new brown-blue-purple version I reached the point where I couldn’t stand my media clutter any more and my must-be-clutter-free mentality took over. Fiercely.

This means I’ve deleted a lot of old images from this blog. Most of them were used in very old posts and I am sure nobody will miss them. But just in case you’re new here (welcome!) and are browsing through my blog, be aware some images might not load any more. It’s not your computer. It’s not your internet connection. It’s merely my aversion of clutter.

Next on my digital declutter list: my memory stick. Oh man, you don’t want to know what’s on there in terms of old photos and documents. I am not sure I want to know!

But the best part of decluttering is the relief you get afterwards. And the extra space to stuff full with new clutter, of course 😉

On a side note: You might be seeing the following image travelling around on my blog:

I am working hard on new content and giving everything a new dash of Samantha, so to speak. As time will pass and more updates will follow, this image will vanish. Just like a lot of other images did today…

Thank you for your patience! And don’t forget to follow me if you aren’t already 😉