JOSEPH CAMPBELL: All the time. It is miraculous. I even have a superstition that has grown on me as a result of invisible hands coming all the time – namely, that if you do follow your bliss you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors to you. I say, follow your bliss and don’t be afraid, and doors will open where you didn’t know they were going to be.
Yes it took me this long to finally arrive at the blogosphere! Welcome to me. Actually I have made several attempts the past couple years to create a journal but I couldn’t focus enough to have it fly. Last year I actually created one with one single entry and never really put that much effort into it. Now, as the constant and obviously somewhat irritating badgering -or support, shall we say?- from my lovely husband that I go back to my forte, which is writing, and try to change the world one rant at a time has become increasingly hard to turn a deaf ear to, I am planning to keep myself disciplined to really put all these marvelous thoughts that you my readers obviously have so sorely missed in the last few years, especially since my website has gone kaput in the last year or so, in this blog.
Phew, what a sentence that was! I don’t know, since I’m reading The Diana Chronicles by Tina Brown, I uncannily had the above paragraph written in my head in a posh English accent! You might want to know why I picked the title. Yes, you are right, I was inspired by Kathy Griffin’s My Life on the D-List. It’s my guilty pleasure and I love her self-mockery style as I don’t take myself seriously either (ummm…unless when my ravishingly handsome husband fails to say how beautiful I am at least 3 times a year…yeah you are right I am a dream wife for such a modest expectation but it helps..anyway I digress).
And also the part that Hollywood is really not my style. It’s hard to be a happy person here and most certainly we shall dwell into it as days pass and my blog develops. And glister as my username apparently stands for G-lister but it also means glitter which why people are attracted to Hollywood in the first place and I think it sufficiently depicts my shiny and bubbly personality when I’m not being cross. But why G? (It was E on my other blog that didn’t fly) Why not F or Z? Well, G is close to our heart thanks to the er…elusive g-spot? And also you can “geee..” me when I am not making any sense (does it make sense? Ah well, never mind.)
As an author of two books on how to be happy, I haven’t been too contented with myself the last few years. There is this yearning inside me, which was caused by a combination of factors and issues (mid-life crisis, shall we say, and I thought I had had it when I was 19 and 29), to just…shall we say spread my wings and fly out of this cocoon so tightly wrapped around me? I am feeling like a fish -an exotic fish that is- out of water, edgy, anxy…well you know what I’m saying. BTW, I told Brian that if we were fish, I would be an exotic fish and he a dry fish (use the lotion, dahling!), ok..ok..sorry to ramble again so let’s go back to topic of the origin of my anxiety. Probably because I’m not following my bliss, which is writing (and yes you are right, also starring in big budget movies alongside Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones but that I can do without).
Yes I have written a few essays on the extreme agony of bikini waxing and postmodern pubic fashion (cough), Philoh Shitt…oops I mean Shiloh Pitt’s arrival to this world and disasterous spelling knacks of my husband and many English speaking people, Americans in particular, among other things. And I also wrote about our undying needs and appetites to reach peak after peak after peak to feel contented about ourselves.We shall revisit those pieces in this blog just to refresh you all of my extreme writing talent (cough again).But for the most part, I have been out of my elements. My pen. My voice. And that is what makes me ME. And I’m rediscovering it now. It’s half way to my recovery, already.
Before I go on, please have a look at this sweetness of male bonding of my lovely husband and nephew, Ariya. Aren’t these two lads the cutest things after Knut? Is there any better picture than this in the whole planet earth? If Angelina and Brad would like to adopt him (my nephew that is, but if they must adopt my lovely husband I actually won’t cry blood if they replace him with Eric Bana or George Clooney) and rename him Poop Flung Jollie-Pitt, I shall talk to my brother and we can discuss the proper consideration ( a 5-bedroom mansion in Malibu will do as a start). Folks, one word to you: hang to every word I say! Come here often, make a running commentary or two, rant with me and enjoy!
