Dw i newydd ddechrau darllen mwy. Mae gen i lyfr gan Mair Evans, o'r enw Pwy Sy'n Cofio Siôn, a dw i wedi darllen hanner y peth yn barod. Rhodd Mair y llyfr imi yn ystod 2002, ond dw i erioed wedi ei orffen fo. Bryd 'ny, o'n i'n arfer darllen yn araf iawn – o'n i'n edrych am airiau yn y geiriadur trwy'r amser. O'n i angen hanner awr i ddarllen un pennod. Nawr, medda i ddarllen un pennod mewn munudau.
Mae hynny'n fy synnu fi, achos dw i ddim yn defnyddio fy Nghymraeg yn aml, felly o'n i'n meddwl fy mod i'n ei cholli hi. Dw i ddim yn darllen llawer; dw i ddim yn sgwennu llawer. Weithiau, dw i'n mynd i Freenode a chael sgwrs yn #cym, ond dw i'n byw yn Saesneg nawr. Ond, mae'n ymddangos fy mod i wedi cadw'r iaith yn dda. (Wel, da-ish.)
Mwy na hynny, dw i wedi gwella. Dw i'n mwynhau darllen Pwy Sy'n Cofio Siôn, achos dw i'n gallu darllen yn gyflym. Ie, rhaid imi ddefnydio'r geiriadur o bryd i'w gilydd, ond nid fel gynt. Os dw i ar y tiŵb, dw i ddim yn poeni am wybod bob gair, dw i'n jyst dyfalu.
Gobeithio, bydd hynny'n meddwl y bydda i'n darllen llawer mwy. Ac os dw i'n darllen mwy, byddda i'n sgwennu mwy hefyd.
Growing up, I used to frequently be mistaken for my Mum when I answered the phone. The women who attended my mum's exercise classes would call and as soon as they heard my voice would launch into long and detailed explanations of precisely what had happened to Doris and why she wouldn't be attending this evening. Usually they would pause for breath at some point and I would get the chance to say “I'll just go and get Mum”.
Since then, things haven't got noticeably better.
Sky are the worst. I haven't had an account with Sky for years, yet somehow they keep stalking me, thinking I am my Mum. They first mixed us up when I was living in Reading. For reasons unclear, they thought I was her, and kept addressing things to her at my address. But then I stopped living in Reading, and stopped using Sky, and for a while my address was my parents' address, and I didn't hear from them again.
Today, however, I had junk mail through the door addressed to my Mum. How the hell do they know I am here? And why do they still think I am her? I've never told them I moved. She's never told them I moved. I stopped having anything to do with them years ago. Yet they are convinced I am her, and somehow their evil little tracking ninja spies have followed me here and now I'm getting her junk mail. Not that I'd wish it on her, mind you, but it does make me wonder.
How do they know that the person they think is my Mum is here? Who sold them the data? I haven't actually moved any of my mail from Dorset to London, for various admin reasons it's better to keep it all going there, so it's got to be one of the utility companies, the scumbags. Although that doesn't make sense either as I'm down as me on all the bills…
Or have they implanted an RFID chip in me and I just don't know it?
