The Art of Thinking Clearly

I bought The art of Thinking Clearly by Ralf Dobelli in Basingstoke hospital’s WHSmith last week when the children and I had an hour long wait for the Orthodontist as we were delayed by the traffic on the A303. I am finding it very difficult to put down. It’s been a while since I have been compelled to read.

It begs the question ‘do I think clearly?’ – alas I think I do. I sometimes wish I didn’t because my life would be so much simpler if I could follow the consensus. I am practicing the art of not giving a fuck. I am getting much better at it. It’s quite tricky at times but humour helps. Not giving a fuck is very helpful – it enables me to remain focussed on the living mission.

So in answer to your questions:

1.) Yes, Hagar and I are still separated

2.) I am now the proud, primary carer of both our children.

3.) The Grenade has left boarding school and now lives with me

4.) Hagar has moved into the Officer’s Mess

Mrs Sparkle says that when people ask if Hagar and I are still together I should tell them to ‘mind your own business’. It seems strange though to run a blog and then not be candid. I am being as candid as I can be at the moment. The Menace is struggling at school and I can attribute her delayed development directly to the trauma of living with military stress. The military will willingly take your last breath if you are willing to give it. I watched Hagar give himself heart, body and soul to a service which asked HIM to decide how much he could handle. In a high pressure back-to-back ops environment seeing things my eyes can’t contemplate, working endless hours and sacrificing his soul on a treadmill that turned endlessly for over 7 years, we as a family withdrew into silence, with our heads down, soldiering on, maintaining the order, keeping the treadmill turning, slowly dying inside.

As a family, we don’t dramatically declare on a daily basis that we are trying to re-piece our lives, to make sense of our future, to protect our children and helping them grow into their potential. Despite of this, we still face treachery from those we counted as friends, who lack empathy and continue to try to trip us up, throw obstacles in our way and some even inject needles into the voodoo doll that is me. But I am not going to let a few little pricks get in the way, after all that we have endured these last years, I am Batfink, ‘my wings are like a shield of steel’.

This is the new life within the old life, and so the next phase begins. The Grenade has left the boarding school. I have been clammed like clam with regards to my opinions and I will remain silent for a little bit longer. I am from Wessex – this I now know. Now that I am back in the Kingdom of Wessex and re-united with my fellow knights of the realm, I remember who I was when I left the Kingdom some 23 years ago. I remember the influences that shaped my thinking because the Kingdom of Wessex is a unique place. It was such a place during my formative years and here back on my home turf I am glad to be re-united with my kin, to connect with the old me, so that I can let the internal anarchy begin.

 

 

 

 

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