“Isn’t it odd how much fatter a book gets when you’ve read it several times?” Mo had said…”As if something were left between the pages every time you read it. Feelings, thoughts, sounds, smells…and then, when you look at the book again many years later, you find yourself there, too, a slightly younger self, slightly different, as if the book had preserved you like a pressed flower…both strange and familiar.”
quote-Cornelia Funke on good books January 17, 2016
quote- insults June 13, 2015
Just came across this in my audio book today:
“An insult is like a drink, it affects one only if accepted.”
Robert A. Heinlein in Glory Road
How true is this!
The difference between being ‘thin-skinned’ and ‘thick-skinned’ lies in if you ‘accept’ the insult or not. If you do not, it rolls over you and you can remain jovial and calm. If you accept an insult, it can be toxic, taking bitter root and poisoning both you and others around you as you spread the toxicity.
This brings to mind that some need more gentleness than others.
While insult may be completely unintended, those who presume a negative intent will let their ‘acceptance’ of the insult fester. Their perception is their reality.
This is when one can either wait for the one presuming insult where none was intended or implied to either wake up or move on, or one can say “I’m sorry you felt that way, it was not the intent.”
I am prone to the former, with a shrug of shoulders. For those of us who ignore even intentional insults (some of us have taught junior high and therefore have a lot of practice) it can be hard to feel sorry for those who are so fragile or victimized that they see insult wherever they turn. They’re emotionally exhausting to be around.
I don’t drink either literally or figuratively. It seems like a sound way of avoiding trouble.
poem-story sorry May 31, 2015
I’m caught in a story
I can’t come out;
I’ll say I’m sorry.
I must stay and read
this day away,
Not really sorry to be
in need of story
poem- betrayal March 26, 2015
Do not leave him unsupervised,
For those flames in his eyes
are burning for the stranger
he’s been dreaming of.
Leave him unsupervised
to throw away your history.
If his eyes burn for her,
he doesn’t deserve your
Reading Jodi Picoult’s novel Mercy. Feel like screaming, so I wrote a poem.