Get off your rear...AND... Do something this year...

La maladie de mon âme = la paresse. Oui, oui

An ailment which I have self-diagnosed and must address is idleness/ laziness/ slothfulness or however you want to term this debilitating disease. This condition is so heinous because it makes wastage of the gift of time (the ‘present’ is a present and all that), talent, opportunity and potential. It feeds regret, apathy, despondency and discarded dreams…all because one couldn’t be bovvered. No wonder it’s named as one of the apparent ‘Seven Deadly Sins’. It wraps mediocrity around me like a comfort blanket that I just can’t shrug off. But why am I –and why are so many others- so ready to rest in this state when we know there are so many things deep down we wish we could do, know we can do, dream of doing, know we are supposed to do. Is it fear of failure? Is it because motivation is hard to sustain and we doubt we could keep up a new good habit even if we began? Is it self-doubt, not believing we really can do that magnificent thing we dream of? Is it because we know some of these things may be hard and it’s in our nature to run away from things that are hard/ ignore them/ procrastinate to avoid facing them? Is it because we’ve developed expertise in excuse-making – “I can never find the time/ money etc”?
Many wish they’d paid more attention and acheived more in school, started that exercise programme, -as now they would be all toned and buff for this cracking summer-, spent more time with loved ones instead of always having something ‘better’ (i.e. not as ‘boring’) to do. Sometimes the regret of how much potential and chance I’ve wasted even in my young life thus far, presses down on me like a horrible weighty reminder. But if I don’t use this remorse to drive me forward and generate a new motivation, what else could possibly spur me on into changing my ways?




Proverbs 26:13-16 13The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets.

14As the door turneth upon his hinges, so doth the slothful upon his bed.

15The slothful hideth his hand in his bosom; it grieveth him to bring it again to his mouth.

16The sluggard is wiser in his own conceit than seven men that can render a reason.

I shall be a weaver of words

I write poetry (and have done since I was a wee one). Mediocre poetry. But with much practice, determination and inspiration from the greats, I believe anyone can excel in any talent that is truly in their heart. And poetry is one of my many creative loves).
I usually am no fan of schmaltziness/ sentimental cheese, but nevertheless here is a poem I wrote. I can't deny it is kinda schmaltzy:

You’re Loved Regardless

When you’ve felt rejected
By this world which can seem so cruel and heartless
Remember, in my heart you’re always accepted
I will love you regardless.

When you slip, and fall, and turn around
And fear the faces of those who saw your disgrace
You’ll see my arms coming to hold you as you’re on the ground
And lift you back to your rightful place.

‘Sticks and stones will break your bones…’
Though don’t tell me words are always harmless.
And when they try
To hurt you with words like knives, and lies,
Keep your head high
-You’re loved regardless.

When you’re overwhelmed by this world’s pressures
And it’s ever changing exactions of ‘perfection’
Even though you are exquisitely precious
You might forget your value.
You need someone to remind you how wholly you’re loved…
I’ll be the one to tell you.

….Here’s a poem I wrote about a year later. I prefer it because though it’s along a similar theme, it is slightly less schmaltzy (although it doesn’t rhyme which I like poetry to when poss. ‘Cos rhymes are fun and I am quintessentially just a big kid like that.)

Beauty vs. Substance

I have lips as sweet and alluring as pomegranates,
Eyes so open and piercing you feel they can see through you,
And a body so generously formed
As if it’s sole purpose was intended for ensnaring men
-So I’m told.

My hands are as small and elegant as a weaver’s
My neck long and regal like a tribal queen
My smile can remind a blind man of brightness
-So I’m told.

But ruddy lips are nothing
Laughing eyes are nothing
A high behind is nothing.
-I’ve found
Spindly hands are nothing
A siren’s smile is nothing.
The stares and whistles that chase me are nothing.
Lust is fleeting and deceptive. It’s nothing
I’ve found.

Because what and all a woman really desires
Is to be wholly loved
For all that exists
Veiled behind skin.
‘Love’. Is indefinable. Yet it’s everything.
I’ve found.
That’s why in comparison, everything else is nothing.



I can still smell cheese in it. But I think I can see some development in my style. I've realised poetry is better when it is more abstract and less literal, as it gives the reader’s imagination more scope. So, I will continue to draw from the styles of poets I admire like Adam O’Riordan, William Wordsworth, Maya Angelou for example, I will continue to scrawl dozens more poems from my scatty thoughts. And hopefully one day I will get ‘there’. Maybe even publish some works if they prove good enough in quality. Watch this space.

So what are you doing today towards your dreams?


Make the most of ‘talents’;
Matthew 25:14 For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods (15) And unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability