alaiyo

Today I've decided there's no way I'm going public with this. I feel like a total fake. Can't really write in either language anyway, so I don't really know what I was whining about the first day I came on here!
My Spanish is good, but I read blogs in Spanish and feel embarrassed to even answer, though I do.I don't even want to read any in English. Basically I have nothing to say which hasn't already been said to the point of saturation. I'm not eloquent enough either to actually write in an impressive way.For some reason I've made myself believe I could do this.That I could write I mean. Maybe it's people telling me I can do it, that finally convinced me. Well people writing have convinced me of the opposite. So it looks like this will be short lived to say the least. I'll stick to my personal whining in my exercise books and maybe one day my daughters might appreciate it. Then again, they'll be biased,and I'll probably be dead anyway.
Bye.

I was cleaning elsa's boots this morning, and giving them a shine. It struck me how little they were and that they have to protect her little feet from the rain when she splashes in a puddle.As I know she does. I still do that myself!
I was thinking how she has to walk in her own boots,even if she's too young to clean them herself. Oh she tries to do so, bless her, but she hasn't quite got the idea,yet.
It made me think how much she has grown in nearly four years; how independent she already is; how much more she will grow...And it made me think how much more I have to do to keep her feet out of water. It's a daunting prospect. She relies on me for so much,and yet she's beginning to let go already. I get a terrible knot in my stomach just imagining all the dangers out there, that I can't protect her from.She's totally oblivious to everything right now,and her smile produces a lump in my throat. I love her to bits and feel I'm such an unconventinoal mum I'm failing her totally. I have no answers for her. I want her to be happy. The thought of her ending up like me scares me shitless.
Lump in my throat. Can't write anymore.

People tend to see me as a sunbeam. Always smiling. Always in a good mood. This actually puts pressure on me, to the extent that when I feel awful I must put on a brave face for everyone else. It's almost as if I'm not allowed to have a bad day. If I show any signs of feeling needy, it puts people off. Not all people, admittedly, but usually those who I would want to comfort me.
It's not that I expect people to do the same for me as I do instinctively for them, I'm old enough to know we are all different. So why does it hurt when they don't? If I do things for people because I want to, not as a favour, expecting it to be returned, then why do I feel empty when no one senses my "down" as I sense theirs?
I must give the impression of not needing a moonbeam of my own to light the night. But I do. Just as everyone else does. So if I ask, my neediness puts people off. If I don't, no one has the remotest idea.
In the meantime, everyone thinks I'm a jolly old sunbeam. But I'm not. I'm more like a rainbow. Lots of rain. Occasional sunbeams.
But always for the benefit of others.

A few weeks ago, I dreamt I had had an accident. I woke up in hospital with my head in bandages, not quite sure of what had happened to me, but aware that I could "see" two worlds, a "normal" world and a "magical" world. I was in both simultaneously.
Once I had woken up I thought this would be a good way to start a novel. If I had time on my hands I would be getting ready to participate in NaNoWriMo and it crossed my mind that I could have used this idea as a starting point for my "novel".
Today, a special friend of mine, who IS participating, told me he had some ideas about his plot. Someone, with a bandaged head,wakes up in hospital and can "see" three different universes.
At first I freaked out, then I considered the possibility that I might have told him about this, though I could not remember having done so and my memory is usually to be trusted.Then I freaked out some more when he told me his character was a journalist. Mine was a school newspaper reporter...
I don't believe in coincidences,fate, destiny, blah, blah,
but sometimes, things like this give me goosepimples. It unnerves me. Unsettles my rational, logical mind, to the point where I feel so insignificantly small and vulnerable.

Someone I've recently become acquainted with online, said today, that it's not a good idea to make important decisions on a rainy day whilst listening to The Smiths.
The problem is that regardless of the weather or the music, I just can't seem to shake the feeling...

So I've been wandering around people's blogs.I'm new to all this cyber stuff. I always get to places once everyone's already been. It used to frustrate me once upon a time, but now I've come to terms with the fact that THAT is inevitable really...unless you're living on another planet....
So many people are asking themselves(and let's face it, anyone who may be reading their blogs!)the same questions, expressing the same existential doubts...it just makes me wonder if I'm wasting my time here.
What the hell am I doing this for?
I have a need to write to purge, but surely I do that already with pen and paper, so why am I here?
I don't really want to expose my fragile soul to the world, and yet I'm tempted to...why?
What am I looking for here?
I don't feel "brave" enough to "go public" yet, but I HAVE told two people about this. I feel I want to share my thoughts with people because I want to be understood.If only one person understands me that should be enough,right? I have come across a "chosen few" who do understand most of what I'm about, so what's the matter with me? Do I need more? Do I want acclaim for what I think? Do I need to be reassured that I'm sane? Is it all to do with vanity?

ENOUGH!
I have no idea what I'm doing here. But I'm here.

Dios! Esta noche cambia la hora. Lo que me faltaba. Otra hora más.

Duermo mal. Seguramente es debido a la costumbre que tengo de leer en cama. Ya de pequeña me enfrentaba a mis padres por el tema de "apaga-la-luz-que-es-tarde" vs "un-capítulo-más".
Da igual que no pueda leer porque mi estado de ánimo actual me impida disfrutar de lo que normalmente disfruto.Soy incapaz de meterme en cama y quedarme dormida. Mi mente sigue online por mucho que me apague. Claro que tengo la mala suerte de tener sueños muy vívidos cuando sí consigo dormir.Con demasiada frecuencia son pesadillas.Y despierto sobre las 5 de la mañana. Siempre. Me pregunto si en otra vida algo me pasó a esa hora...bueno, me preguntaría si creyera en eso.
Total, que entre el insomnio, y el miedo a dormir por si tengo pesadillas, me paso media noche pensando. El silencio me permite oir mis pensamientos con demasiada nitidez. Las sensaciones son más fuertes. Te da la impresión de que mientras los demás están semi-vivos,tú estás sintiendo al máximo, como si fueras un privilegiado en un mundo mágico al que no todos tienen acceso. Te regodeas en tu melancolía y tus miedos,y te propones-qué caray-pasar la noche en vela, mirando las estrellas por la ventana porque no has bajado la persiana, escuchando los ruidos de la noche y sintiéndote especial.
Luego, no sabes muy bien cuando, te quedas dormida.Tienes una pesadilla tan real que te despiertas. A las 5 de la mañana. Aturdida.Juras no volver a quedarte dormida. Recobras esa idea tan reconfortante de que mientras los demás duermen, tú estás viviendo,y te planteas levantarte y tomar café. Por si acaso. Pasas por el baño y ves una cara en el espejo. Te replanteas todo. Estar toda la noche despierta no es vivir más. Te lo dice esa cara de zombie.

Great. Or it would be in another life.Say twenty years ago. I would be making plans, wondering what I would wear, calling my girlfriends,wondering if the appropriate "he" would be around...
Completely different now. Life has not lived up to the expectations of that sixteen-year-old.Not entirely anyway. Appearances can deceive. Nobody would look at me and believe I have not exactly "made it". Whatever that means.It all looks very rosy depending on the perspective. I tend to view it all rather more grey, in fact. Many shades of grey.Like today's weather. What is it about a rainy day that makes me take a walk down Meloncholy Lane...?I love the smell of rain. I love the way it feels on my skin.I love the sounds it makes,under cars, on my window, on the roof...so why does it make me sad?
There was a time when a rainy weekend would have been uncomfortable. Now I welcome it. It gives me an excuse to stay at home and withdraw into my own world.
Not that I need one.

I am not really sure if I will write in English or in Spanish. To be honest I would be more comfortable writing in English as it is the language in which I was culturally formed.Though I would like to share this place with my Spanish non English-speaking friends...I suppose I shall write in whatever language comes to mind. Sorry if that makes it difficult for you.
Realmente no tengo claro en qué idioma escribiré. Me resultaría más fácil en Inglés, porque suelo escribir en inglés cuando lo hago en una libreta...Supongo que dependerá del día. Lo siento pero no traduciré. Cuando escribo algo me suelto sin más.No corrijo, no edito, no traduzco.
Welcome, bienvenidos, bienvenus!