Posts Tagged ‘Inspiration’

You know those days when you wake up and you just don’t feel inspired to live, you can hear the rain pattering against the window.  You were expecting a sun filled Monday, spent lounging in the sun and working the house and garden.  Things aren’t going even slightly the way you wished, then to top it all the little bundle of fur you absolutely adore is full of life and energy to burn.

So much that even though it is raining he is gnawing through your flesh, nipping at your face forcefully demanding you to arise and let him glory in the splendour of mud and rain and kittenly filth. 

An argument with a kitten unfolds. 

He continues to try and rip my flesh from bone, this is not the way we get what we want!  I yell and scream unsaintly things at him, he cowers and runs to some other room.  He wins again.

So after feeling remorseful I arise and open the door.  Finn is free to frolic in the mud and rain like the most retarded cat in the world that he is.

I have breakfast.  Mmmm Tea.

Ignite the internet, check the appropriate social networking sites for anything interesting, and check out the new celebrity gossip and scandals, oh the hilarity of them all.  Chris Brown’s career is over because he ‘dissed’ Oprah, I particularly like where they compare Oprah to Jesus (not that I’m the religious kind)

Oh no he didn’t! If Chris Brown thought his career was in trouble before, he’d better pray for a miracle to get him out of this one. In showbiz, if you insult Oprah Winfrey you might as well be spitting in the face of Jesus Christ himself.

You can read full ‘article’ Here

Meanwhile on one of those social networking sites I decided to waste some time participating in a quiz to find out ‘My Sixth Sense’, when the following question arose I encountered dilemma.  As I read the question first with out reading the multiple choice answers I actually did what the question said.

Close your eyes and imagine yourself sitting on the beach. What do you enjoy the most?

I sat cross legged on the floor boards and imagined myself sitting on a beach, and the part I enjoyed the most was not in the list below

    • The sound of the waves breaking.
    • The softness of the sand.
    • The colour of the waves.
    • The smell of salt water.

So how could I truthfully finish this quiz, when the part I enjoyed most while sitting on that deserted beach gazing out across the massive expanse of water to the horizon was my very own insignificance in comparison to the entire universe?

Not that I want to get all philosophical right now, but what do you imagine when you are sitting on the imaginary beach?  What do you like best?  The stupid happy flying seagull?  The softness of the sand? (excuse me for gagging)  The pretty shells?

When I go to the beach generally I am overwhelmed by everything, hence the sitting and staring quietly off toward the horizon pondering my own existence.

To the point now, that quiz was crap!

This morning when I did wake up feeling uninspired, I can’t believe I had forgotten the glorious chapter in Anne of Avonlea I read last night.  With such inspiring quotes as;

‘I want to explore all those fields and lonely places anyhow.  I have a conviction that there are scores of beautiful nooks there that have never really been seen, although they may  have  been looked at.  We’ll make friends with the wind and sky and sun, and bring home the spring in our hearts’

L.M Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

“Look, do you see that poem?”  she said suddenly, pointing.
  “Where?” Jane and Diana stared, as if expecting to see Runic rhymes on the birch-trees.
  ”There… down in the brook… that old green, mossy log with the water flowing over it in those smooth ripples that look as if they’d been combed, and that single shaft of sunshine falling right athwart it, far down into the pool.  Oh it’s the most beautiful poem I ever saw.”
  “ I should rather call it a picture,” said Jane.  “A poem is line and verses.”
  “Oh dear me, no.”  Anne shook her head with its fluffy wild-cherry coronal positively.  “The lines are verses are only the outward garments of the poem and are no more really it than your ruffles and flounces are you, Jane.  The real poem is the soul within them… and that beautiful bit is the soul of an unwritten poem.  It is not every day one sees a soul… even of a poem.”

L.M Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

Thankfully after typing that out, a soggy little fur ball decided it was time to make up and be friends again.  After helping him dry off a little he rubbed and snuggled and hugged me, like the sorry little boy he was.  Man does that cat know how to play me.

Any how and interview with a pending employment transfer looms nearer.  Off to get ready.  I shall leave you all with a warm fuzzy YouTube clip.


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