Well here goes this isn't going to be very interesting as I don't know what I am doing.I sort of lost myself after I got married, neglecting my interests to the point were my life itself seemed pointless, joyless and lots of other lesses. This happened due to a combination of things.
Firstly I had to learn a new language with a different alphabet and for a while this limited my ability to express myself so I became accustomed to taking a backseat. The cultural differences between England and Greece also caused some problems.
Many women here have no interests outside of home and family. I have been here for thirteen years now, married for eleven and have two daughters aged nine and six.
I don't often watch TV as my husband has a symbiotic relationship with the remote control and I can't stand his channel hopping. However during the summer of 2006 I found myself watching
LOCI on a daily basis as it was shown late so the kids were asleep and my hubby was working a lot of night shifts. I enjoyed the show so much that I decided to watch some other films with Vincent D'Onofrio. My favourites are those which explore aspects of existential angst such as
THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR and IMPOSTER. From this point on I started doing other things that I enjoy listening to music ,reading and drawing (though for some reason I am currently
obsessed with drawing bald ,naked figures, no idea why.
I am also trying to write a book and having a go at poetry which I used to write a lot of when I was younger.
Later I plan to post reviews of films I have seen and my opinions about any subject that is holding my interest.I hope anyone reading my stuff will find it worth commenting on.
so in at the deep end. here is one of my poems...
So you’ve traded in your typewriter,
For a microchip computer perhaps
To improve efficiency
And the soaring spirit of creativity
Is now encased in collar and tie,
With sensible shoes
But poetry is not so easily defeated
By serious decisions in middle age.
It is the song of the soul,
And the soul is ageless
It does not heed that crippled limbs
Are bent with age and cannot dance.
The tune still brings a twinkle to the eye,
Even death inspires the poet’s hand.