Moments of Bliss is a Short Story Series set in Ghana.
It is the story of young Ghanaian love with its hilarious twists and turns.
Prepare to be captivated!
The computer screen in front of me lit up; the hue of the flickering brightness shaking me out of my temporal sleep. My thumb had brushed across the mouse and woken me once more from oblivion. I felt a tiny smile etch on my face as I reminisced what happened the night before.
I could feel her breath on me, that’show close she was; Her head on my shoulder, her body in myarms. Our hands were wrapped in each other and her lips were as close as they ever would be without touching mine, and yet we did not kiss. Not that I didn’t want to, heaven knows I did, but I didn’t make the move.
All thestory lineand characters are fictional. Any resemblance is purely coincidental
It was a cold, windy morning in Boston and another usual day for Matt Douglas and Ron Sniper. Matt brewed the coffee and they both sat on the table for the breakfast with their usual talks.
“Good Morning, Matty” said Ron
“Morning” came an instant reply from Matt.
Ron: “What do we have for breakfast today?”
Matt: “Just the pancakes, toast and juice”
Ron: “We had those yesterday. Can’t you conjure up with something new every day?”
Matt: “I can, but then you’ll have to start cooking and be my wife”
And both of them chuckled and moved to a nearby café for the breakfast
Matt Douglas originally from Belmont, had already moved in some years ago with Ron as a professor in Clinical Investigation at Boston University. This was after his parents had died due to blast in…
Huh. I just realized this was still sitting in my draft folder. A little late but never I suppose…
And now we rejoin our tale on September 11, 2016, the day after I completed my first ultra marathon:
When I woke up the next morning…well that implies that I was actually sleeping. To be honest, I don’t think I slept very much because my muscles would keep locking up. Needless to say, I was quite tired when the alarm went off. I was able to get dressed and then had to contend with the stairs down for breakfast.
I ordered my crepe and devoured yogurt and coffee until it was ready. My friend ordered scrambled eggs and bacon. There was another woman who was just finishing breakfast that had run the 28 km course and I felt a sense of kinship with her as I watched her hobble up to her room to pack. So pretty.
We bid our hosts farewell and began to make the trip back home. There were frequent stops to stretch and it just so happens that two of those stops were at fromageries and one was at a bakery for cinnamon buns. The cinnamon bun was a bit of a disappointment. I mean, it was OK and it had a maple glaze on it. I was hoping for a good cup of coffee to go with it but I’m not even sure if I saw a coffee machine. Yes I’m a bit of a snob but when it comes to food, I think it’s allowed.
We stopped in downtown Trois Rivieres for lunch at a nice little cafe called Frida which was on the river. The food was good if a little pricey and they served our food right on the trays. Yup, no plates. I guess that’s trendy or something.
By the time we hit the Ontario border, I think we were both getting tired of travelling. My body was aching in some unexpected places. Legs? Of course. Shoulders? Makes sense. Who knew my sides would be hurting?
I think even the conversation dies down the closer to our homes we got and even though we both said we were hungry, neither one of us wanted to stop.
It was about 10:30 pm by the time I hoisted myself out of my car. I left most of my gear in the trunk and hobbled into bed, so grateful that I don’t have any stairs to contend with. I had dogs all around me and a cat that insisted on sleeping on my hip and then protested loudly each time I rolled over to try and get comfortable.
For non-apologists, saying “I’m sorry” carries psychological ramifications that run far deeper than the words themselves imply; it elicits fundamental fears (either conscious orunconscious) they desperately want to avoid:
Admissions of wrong doing are incredibly threatening for non-apologists because they have trouble separating their actions from their character. If they did something bad, they must be bad people; if they were neglectful, they must be fundamentally selfish and uncaring; if they were wrong, they must be ignorant or stupid, etc. Therefore, apologies represent a major threat to their basic sense of identity and self-esteem.
Apologizing might open the door to guilt for most of us, but for non-apologists, it can open the door instead to shame. While guilt makes us feel bad about our actions, shame makes them feel bad about their selves—who they are—which makes shame a far more toxic emotion than guilt.
While most of us consider apologies as opportunities to resolve interpersonal conflict, non-apologists may fear their apology will only open the floodgates to further accusations and conflict. Once they admit to one wrongdoing, surely the other person will pounce on the opportunity to pile on all the previous offenses for which they refused to apologize as well.
Non-apologists fear that by apologizing, they would assume full responsibility and relieve the other party of any culpability—if arguing with a spouse, for example, they might fear an apology would exempt the spouse from taking any blame for a disagreement, despite the fact that each member of a couple has at least some responsibility in most arguments.
By refusing to apologize, non-apologists are trying to manage their emotions. They are often comfortable with anger, irritability, and emotional distance, and experience emotional closeness and vulnerability to be extremely threatening. They fear that lowering their guard even slightly will make their psychological defenses crumble and open the floodgates to a well of sadness and despair that will pour out of them, leaving them powerless to stop it. They might be correct. However, they are incorrect in assuming that exhibiting these deep and pent-up emotions (as long as they get support, love, and caring when they do—which fortunately, is often the case), will be traumatic and damaging. Opening up in such a way is often incredibly therapeutic and empowering, and it can lead them to experience far deeper emotional closeness and trust toward the other person, significantly deepening their relationship satisfaction.
Yep, ladies and gentlemen you can tell that I was born in a particular era when the reference for this blog comes (partly) from the musings of the wonderful Barry White. I bet I’m the first person to have linked the Walrus of Love that is Mr. White to a session of Bikram Yoga! People do say though that when you’re doing Bikram Yoga, it evokes some very emotive feelings, both physically & mentally. Well, for me the first class I did had a heat to replicate a Caribbean beach; the last, was that I knew it wasn’t going to be the only session I would do of this bizarre & idiotically crazy extreme sport & the anything else I encountered was when my head kept playing Barry’s tune in my head,
Guns. Horses. A town in trouble. White hats and black hats.
BQB here with a review of The Magnificent Seven.
So yesterday I railed against Hollywood reboots and now I’m going to be a hypocrite and tell you that I really enjoyed this remake of The Magnificent Seven (1960) starring Yul Brynner (dead), Charles Bronson (so dead), Steve McQueen (a badass even in death), Brad Dexter (also dead), James Coburn (totally dead), Horst Buchholz (the German James Dean who, like the American James Dean, is dead,) and Robert Vaughn (still alive, huzzah!)
Admittedly, I never saw the original, so the new version was new to me, which just goes to show that reboots are always new to someone and when the inevitable Back to the Future reboot comes out and some dumb kid asks, “There was an original BTTF?” then I will know my time has run out and it…