Posted in blogging, Funny, Humour, My wordpress, Writing

Do you have Humour Impairment?

‘Being an adult can be serious business, but so many people have lost the sheer capacity for fun, joy and laughter- Even when the opportunity is there, we miss it.’

 

Nicholas animation phone pick up the phone ring-a-ding-ding ding pick up the phone

 

We have always told our kids to hang up the phone when someone odd calls.

We have been receiving many calls lately from non-english speaking folk on the other side of the world, informing us our computer is not working-a scam to steal all our money.

Our 11 year old son was in charge of the house for 5 minutes-I had quickly ducked out.

This is what happened when I was away.

‘Ring ring..Ring ring’

“Hello it’s X speaking”

“Hello X, I was wondering if your mum or Dad were home? If so, may I please speak with them?”-A lady with a strong accent queried.

X- “Nope!” -Clunk-He promptly hung up the phone.

‘That’ll sort HER out he thought, pleased with himself.

5 seconds later-

‘Ring ring, ring ring’

“Hello X, please don’t hang up this time. It’s Mrs K- the Principal of your School.”

X-Silence…panic…shock!

“Oooohhhhh- I’m sorry Mrs K, I didn’t recognise your voice, I’m soooo sorry, I’m home by myself and I thought you were a rip-off from Africa”

 

 

This story was re-told absolutely beautifully by my 11 year old, who has always been – ‘one of those people’ that has the rare ability to lighten my life.

His quick wit and his relentless natural humour, is a gift to me.

 

DO YOU HAVE HUMOUR IMPAIRMENT?

Below is an article that’s well worth the read if you think you are suffering from a condition by the name of ‘Humour Impairment’-I’m certain I have suffered from this in the past, and I am equally certain my husband suffers from it now!!

This article has been living on my study wall for a period of 6 years, sticky-taped and blue-tacked, yet if you had’ve asked me what was up there,  I probably would’ve responded with “nothing.”

It’s funny how something I see every day, can be wiped from my memory recall.

It’s entitled:

HUMOUR MAKES LIFE EASIER

-ANON

Humour can be a powerful and effective mechanism for coping with stress, especially when combined with other means of stress reduction. The real power of humour and laughter shows up when you learn to use it in stressful situations. It keeps things in perspective, helps dispel negative emotions, and puts you in a frame of mind that can help better cope with the situation. Combining stress management techniques with a more light-hearted outlook on life won’t make you stress-proof, but it can make the difficult things easier to endure.

If you’re willing to laugh at the little disasters in life, you’ll find that other areas of your life will also become easier. Laughter, especially when you laugh at yourself, does many important things:

 

  • It empowers you. When you laugh at your setbacks, you no longer feel sorry for yourself. you feel uplifted and encouraged.
  • It helps you communicate more effectively.
  • It makes you likeable
  • It helps you cope. “Nothing erases unpleasant thoughts more effectively than concentration on pleasant ones”-Hans Selye
  • It provides perspective by removing you from your problems. Everyone makes mistakes, and we need to remember that-” I may not be perfect, but parts of me are excellent”-Ashleigh Brilliant
  • People tend to be less threatened by you.

 

Using Humour effectively

You may agree that laughing will help with your stress but agreeing with this doesn’t always help when the kids fight, miss the bus, and leave you late for work.

Everyone has his or her own sense of humour. If you’re not attuned to yours, you’ll end up missing many opportunities to use humour skills to deal with life’s stressors. Being an adult can be serious business, but so many people have lost the sheer capacity for fun, joy and laughter. Even when the opportunity is there, we miss it. Many adults have this problem called ‘Humour impairment.’

Simply defined, it means the inability to find humour even in situations that are funny to most people. Stress can cause humour impairment. Fortunately you can make the choice to change.

 

Finding the laughter in life

You don’t have to laugh out loud to find something funny, but you do need to recognise the types of humour you will be able to  use most effectively to manage stress. Do you life slapstick humour or verbal humour? Do you understand what kinds of humour offend you? Do you like jokes that focus on things you have in common with the comedian? Do you like to see props and gimmicks? Do you find humour in things that weren’t necessarily meant to be funny? Answering these questions will help you identify what humour to seek to help reduce stress and have more fun in life. You also need to ask yourself how long you hold on to misery before letting loose with humour.

 

I wrote an article recently on the benefits of using Humour over Anger in times of confrontation.

It’s difficult to do, but if you can master it over time, the benefits are enormous.

You can read it Here

 

 

 

 

Roaring Laughter-WordPress Daily Prompt

 

What is my favourite post today?

Check out this fabulous story below.

It’s well written, natural, and has a simple, soft voice.

My Favourite Post today.

 

 

 

Posted in blogging, My wordpress, Wordpress prompts

The last big Saturday night I had?-It’s been archived!

‘My rocking party occurs when I can hear a pin drop and I’ve managed to clear all 3 of them out for the day.’

The last big Saturday night that I had?

Let me just delve into the depths of my mind in an attempt to retract this memory.

Nope, nothing.

I’m sure there must have been one in the past, but all memory of it has obviously been stored off campus-as THAT volume was closed long ago.

More recent records of Saturday night events are digitally stored, but consist mainly of cooking children dinner, cleaning up after swimming carnivals, walking the pooch,  and refereeing various shouting matches between husband and children when they exercise their apparent ‘teenager’ rights.

For me, Saturday nights resemble Monday nights, and Tuesday nights, and Thursday nights.

My rocking party occurs when I can hear a pin drop and I’ve managed to clear all 3 of them out for the day.

coffee daria

 

Saturday Night-Wordpress Daily Prompt.

Posted in blogging, Inspiration, mindfullness, My wordpress, Wordpress prompts, Writing

Do not spend your life’s entirety engaged in thoughts of What if’s, If only’s, and I should have’s.

‘People will become, who they are told they are-and moments will become, what you believe them to be.’

Author

Nicole Martin

Today really IS just another day. You know those days? I have them often- A common, ordinary,  deja vu , bland,  kind of day?

The weather is standard for this time of year.

I have the same clothes on as I did last week.

My dog lies curled up on the couch, where he normally lies, with the same sulky expression on his face.

The housework is there as it was yesterday still waiting to be attended to- I see it, process the thought -“Darn it, I really should put that washing away”-and embark on something more pleasurable knowing it will still be there tomorrow.

Is this acceptable, I wonder?

Is it acceptable that my day is ‘Just another day?’

Am I wasting my time?

Sometimes it bothers me.

Sometimes, I wonder whether I should be trying to make it spectacular in some way.

Whether I’m selling my life short because I’m not jumping out of a plane, or sipping some exotic beverage in Cuba, adorned with a little pink umbrella.

Should I be filling my days with ‘bucket list’ plans and setting challenging goals to prove to myself  I’m not just a standard person, who is stuck in a standard day?

I mean, do I need to embark on saving  an endangered species from extinction to make my day count?

Would I have less worth as a human being if I wasn’t teaching English to orphaned children in Siberia,  or feeding the homeless, or participating in Yoga lead by a Budhist Monk in the mountain peaks of Tibet?

I often ponder these questions as I sit in my ordinary study, ‘stuck’-it would seem- inside the bubble of an ordinary day.

As quickly as they came, the questions in my mind concerning the validity of my perceived mediocrity vanished as my attention was redirected-for a moment-to a little Ant who bravely believed he could walk right over my left hand and get away with it.

“Do you mind Ant?” I asked him

He carried on, completely unperturbed by the possibility of his impending death.

I watched and wondered what he was doing as he stealthily skimmed the surface of my skin, weaving in between my veins and negotiating a path through my fine hair. Perhaps he had been told to collect some food for dinner? Or to grab some supplies to reinforce the delicate structure of his home?

Why do I write of the Ant? What is it’s relevance?

Good question.

Initially, my mind was delighted to inform me that I was a mediocre person experiencing a standard day, with little or nothing to enjoy.

Along came an Ant, and instantly, these self produced thoughts were replaced by the simple delight in observing the funny little antics of nature.

So is one’s sense of mediocrity simply a state of mind self-perpetuated by societal or self-driven judgements?

I think so.

One will be ‘bored’ or ‘standard’ or ‘mediocre’ if one believes it to be the case.

I believe there IS merit in ‘Striving for excellence.’ However in order achieve this, we must fill ourselves with the knowledge that we are ALWAYS so much more than we believe.

That every single moment in our lives is interesting, spectacularly unique and overflowing with possibility and second chances- until the day we die.

It is never, ever too late to realise there is no such thing as a standard day.

Each day is new.

Each day is a gift.

The ‘Labeling’ of an individual-or a moment-as mediocre is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

People will become, who they are told they are-and moments will become, what you believe them to be.

Do not spend your life’s entirety engaged in thoughts of

What if’s, If only’s, and I should have’s.

Instead, focus on what you are doing RIGHT NOW- and relish in the gift of living an extra ordinary life.

Oh, and just one little thing-never underestimate the value of an Ant!

“We are all ordinary. We are all boring. We are all spectacular. We are all shy. We are all bold. We are all heroes. We are all helpless. It just depends on the day.”

-Brad Meltzer

Just Another Day-WordPress Prompt

Posted in blogging, exercise, fitness, Inspiration, My wordpress, Physical fitness, Sport, Stories, Writing

Resentful or Driven?-The battle of two minds

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‘This morning, it was all about finding the strength to endure the bitter- in order to taste the sweet.’

 Resentful or Driven?

The battle of two minds

Author

Nicole Martin

💎

The resentful me tastes the bitter but not the sweet when the alarm clock prematurely kicks me out of bed.

It’s 0500 HRS.

‘Come on- swallow it babe, are you a man or a mouse?’

‘A mouse!’

‘Well put your shoes on mouse, grab your towel, and walk out the door’

Today, my driven self is determined to slam it’s weaker opponent into checkmate.
How does it happen this way?
I don’t know- My desire to be ‘better’ has always exceeded my resentment of the task.
 Sometimes I wish this ‘drive’ would relent and allow me to relax, but it’s because of IT, that I get up and walk out the door, swimming kit in hand.
The short journey to training proves challenging-my reaction time clearly sluggish;
“Geez, wake up girl- Somebody slap me”-my mind pleads

Resentful me re-appears after a short recess, when it observes we are not alone but have company of a distinct astrological nature.
Still pinned brilliantly in the night sky, the radiant moon is a terrible reminder that it is in fact-

‘STILL NIGHTTIME’

🌛✨

The chill in the air stings my bare feet, and solidifies the frown on my face. Yikes, an army of goosebumps stand to attention on the surface of my skin, proudly announcing their presence.

My reaction?

My foot deepens it’s relationship with the accelerator.

Resentment once again obscures clarity but my ‘driven self’ quickly engages, utilising yet another tool in it’s repertoire-the art of  distraction-I twist the black nob of the car radio and am instantly greeted by an old man drowning in intellect and steadfast opinions, babbling on about the economic situation in China in monotone waves-I mean, where do you find these people?

I hobble bare foot over the cold, rocky gravel-my tactile feet once cozy and relaxed from slumber are now uncomfortably awake as they negotiate the edgy footpath.

I pick up the pace in aim of expediting the whole process.

The quicker I’m in, the quicker I’m out.

The water is cool at first- but a good old fashioned whinge, a few laboured laps, and I quickly adjust.

Familiarity strikes as I re-acquaint myself with the black and the blue.

My body is heavy.

My form of a few months ago, all but gone, but I know, discipline will regain it.

Making a home outside the perimeter of comfort, cursing the darkness, resenting the alarm clock, facing the constant urge to give up, and enduring the battle between two very different states of mind- resentment and drive, is all part of the Journey toward achievement.

This morning, it was all about finding the strength to endure the bitter- in order to taste the sweet.

 

Life After Blogs

Word press Daily Prompt

Featured Image

Matyas Dinai Bandi Graepel

Posted in blogging, Deep, My wordpress, Story, Writing

RED

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“When life gives you lemons, always remember…your blood is RED”

RED

Author

Nicole Martin

 

📕

The bell sounded ending classes for the morning.

Maybe they’ll let me play today-he thought.

With a little hope in his heart, he felt excited.

His locker door jammed-“yawch”

-his thumb caught the hinge.

Books and writing implements were tossed with little care- today, there was no time for his usual meticulous habits.

The locker door slammed closed-‘bang’-his desperation evident.

Such discombobulated energy disturbed the delicate balance of the bottle he was supporting under his chin.

Falling heavily to the floor, it’s contents showered a group of ‘porcelain perfect’ girls- now sneering at his clumsiness.

He hesitated for a moment, searching for an escape,  however in an attempt to redeem himself, he chose to boot the bottle across the hallway.

“Stupid, rotten thing-he screamed.

📗

Half way there and an over-sized mouthful made swallowing a challenge, but chewing his peanut butter sandwich was not a priority.

Getting to the field in time to be picked for the team-was.

He stood in the back of the circle behind some others waiting patiently for his turn.

There were two boys directing the show- the leaders.

They were always the leaders.

‘I must be next” he hoped.

-but the boy behind him pushed in, and then they chose someone who turned up late, and then they convinced some random to join in who was clearly disinterested but joined regardless.

‘Can I play?’-he asked the leader

📘

He was pale in complexion, a little heavy with wavy brown hair. His knees were his mothers – “Shaped like boiled eggs.”- His grandfather would always say.

At 14 years of age, he had one best friend-Tom.

Tom and he had shared a life together. Many timeless moments were enjoyed in each others company playing tiggy in the long grass, building forts down by the creek, and talking about everything and nothing.

Tom was four years old now; an offering from Mr Sheldon one of his Dad’s friends after his mother passed away. This precious little pup at barely 6 weeks old, had moved in-shortly after his beloved mother, moved out.

📙

“Sorry? Did someone talk?”

“Can I please play? You said yesterday that I could play today”

“Are you serious? You? Ha, whatever”

“Let him play Jack, and we’ll see if his knobbly little knees can run. Maybe then he’ll realise he’s pathetic”

📔

Their taunts were continuous, but something inside, told him to man up and endure it.

“You’re such a disappointment to your family”

He swallowed, in an attempt to wash away THAT snide remark-but it was laden with lead, and his stomach felt ill under it’s impossible weight.

“Just ignore them son” the voice of his father echoed.

“What goes around, comes around”- he would say ever so casually whilst puffing his pipe and shining the black seat of his tractor.

“What goes around, comes around…”

Strangely, this advice fell on deaf ears. It never helped. For he feared  his father was missing the point. The whole wicked, bitter and twisted,  self-confidence crushing point- That maybe they were right. Maybe,  there WAS something wrong with him.

That sick feeling-his old pal he knew so well, from before, from yesterday, form last week and last year, began to crush his will. His will to carry on and endure the emotional torment. Just short of running away, his attention was captured by the ball in mid- flight, as if an arrow, aimed to wound him.

📒

The blood, it trickled, and then it gushed.

The ground was cold on his face, that’s the only way he knew he wasn’t dead.

He heard a few mutterings

“Why did you throw it at his head?”

“He deserved it. Look at him, he shouldn’t have thought he could play with us”

📚

He sat.

It was over.

Any hope of fitting in was gone.

Any hope of anything was gone.

He felt the humiliation was insurmountable; that it was eating him up slowly but surely, bit by bit until there was nothing left of him.  He wanted it to eat him up. He didn’t care.

📖

He felt the warmth of her on his shoulder. Her hand was resting there.

“Would you like a Strawberry? I have many, look…”

He kept his head down, but she lent over and smiled.

“They are the best strawberries in the world- I promise”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, and gazed at her kind expression. His face turned sour as he dispelled the contents of his mouth. Blood, tears, dirt, despair.

She was a little older than him. Sixteen maybe.

He took a strawberry and examined it carefully before devouring it’s sweetness.

‘Thank you”-He whispered, as he proceeded to stare at the bloodied pool he’d created at the foot of his boots.

“You know…” She said quietly;

“Only the strongest soldiers are given the toughest jobs”

She handed him a tissue and he took it to his mouth in deathly silence.

“Look at your blood.”

“Pardon?” he questioned.

“Your blood…It’s RED”

This time, he lifted his head and looked her in the eyes—–Oh God, she was not from this earth. Just another person to love and lose, he thought.

She took the tissue and dabbed his lip gently.

“When life gives you lemons, always remember…your blood is RED”

He nodded, and held his gaze, giving her his full attention.

“…and as long as your blood is red, it means there’s oxygen it it…

and as long as there’s oxygen in it, it means you are breathing…

and as long as you are breathing, it means you are alive…

and as long as you’re alive, you must fight.

You must fight for your right to live.

When you are dead, your blood is blue…

but YOUR blood is RED, just like these Strawberries.

Ok?”

📓

Not Lemonade WordPress daily prompt.

Photo credit: JLM Photography. via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Posted in blogging, Daily muse, My wordpress, Poem, relaxation, Story, Wordpress prompts, Writing

Yawn

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‘I notice an impostor staring back at me from deep within the glass’

( YAWN )

WordPress Daily Prompt

Yawn

Author

Nicole Martin

….

My gaze is fixed on the coffee table.

I’m stuck here

and I’m not moving

this is where I stop.

Just me and the fine layer of dust that’s also comfortable here.

I notice an impostor staring back at me from deep within the glass

Who the hell are you?- I ask

They ignore me.

Disinterested, that’s how I’d describe them.

A timely blink forces me to refocus.

The face is gone and the dust is back.

That happened fast-I thought

I only wiped it the other day

A large speck of white catches my attention

It’s just sitting there, parked off on it’s own

making friends with the crooked glass corner

A toast crumb?

A feather?

A butterfly wing?

A diamond?

My eyes are burning,

-damn you

I close them.

and then I feel it.

A rapid accumulation of energy in my throat that wants to escape

It starts in my chest and explodes out the nearest exit-my mouth

This unwelcome yawn disturbs the edge of my stare

A tear escapes-I feel it on my cheek

“Wake up lady” My brain pleads

“NO WAY”-I reply

I dispense of the tear like a dirty old rag and re-position my solidified gaze to please myself

This time in the direction of the Kettle

Here Kettle, here little Kettle, kettle, kettle, kettle

I’m not getting up-I thought

Although I probably should

If only it would grow wings and fly to me

or sprout little robot legs and run

I’d kill for a cupppa

but my legs are chained to the couch

It’ll have to wait.

My burning eyes blink, and before I know what’s happening my head decides to lie down

I told it not to do that, but it didn’t listen

“It’s only for a minute” it reassures

-I relent

I can see the ceiling now

round and round and round it goes

purring with every revolution

it’s arms are also dusty

the fan did NOT get cleaned last week I remembered, unlike the table

I’ll have to do it another day

not today

I’m not moving.

My legs misbehave now and embark on making themselves comfortable.

-I should get up and do something useful.

They stretch themselves out like they own the place

‘The king has been overthrown’- I am no longer in control of the moment

They stretch their bones

they stretch their muscles

“but it’s only for a minute”-they inform me

“Ok. But just for a minute” I warn.

Round and round and round and round

gone.

Photo credit: DanieleCivello via Foter.com / CC BY-NC

Featured Image: Photo credit: origami_potato via Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND

Artistry is about reflection not suicide

When youth leaves us

To my Boy