standing on the street of old sorrows

The thing about grief is
It knows what I did and
It knows what I did not say
It sentenced me to a long long life of excavating
Things my little head can not yet understand
But I patched it all together with string and rubber bands...

("The Thing About Grief Is" by Clare Bowditch)

I wear my grief like a trench coat in the summer. Heavy, tiresome, unnecessary - perhaps a supplement for something else, I don't know.

I thought I shed it six nights ago, washed away with the tears of understanding; a 'thank you' for your lessons and a release of all that wasn't, that couldn't be now. Cruelly, returned to me in a dream - it robbed me of precious sleep and sound mind at 3.46am. Bastard. An unshakable curse.

The local newspaper astrology section rates this, a five star day for me. Five stars my arse.

SB xx

The Black Dog

These lyrics are from a song by Andy Bull, featuring my old fav Lisa Mitchell. The song is called 'Dog' and I can relate.

This old black dog is hounding me
It waits 'round the corner and hides in the trees
I feel the chill of something blown in on the breeze

In the light of a cinema screen I hide
Laughing I only feel empty inside
Crying means nothing, I've nothing to say
I wish I could kick this old black dog away

And the worst part is knowing my part in it all
Yeah the worst part is knowing it's nothing at all

Oh if I can pull myself together I'll try
I can't explain the tear that sits in my eye
I try to outsmart him but somehow he knows
Wherever I am, that fucking dog goes
I'll kill him the next time I swear I won't fail
I'll kick in his ribs and I'll rip off his tail

And the worst part is thinking it's something it's not
Yeah the worst part is thinking it might never stop...

SB xx

Ode to the Bad Photographer

Sadly many individuals in my family lack some basic photography skills - such as the ability to focus and frame their subjects - as well as general ill timing. Because of this, I tend to be the subject of many poor photos, and given that another Christmas has rolled around, with yet another hall of shame photo reel starring yours truly - here are some photos to celebrate the art of bad photography...

There's just no accounting for taste

I really do believe, with that plaid - it was destined to fail

She'll come to regret this someday

Who thought this was a good idea?

It's the beardless Santa hanging from his neck that lets this one down

Oh dear

This is going to end badly for someone

A little awkward

SB xx

don't you be a traffic light

The Ting Tings, singing about lights and things...

This acoustic version is a nice spin on the original - which I love.



SB xx

living by the mighty pen

I have a history with writing controversial letters when the mood strikes me. It usually happens when I want to say 'damn the man' in more detail than those three words can lend. I kind of did it again today - via email. It wasn't so much anger, but a resolution to rally my immediate team together for a greater good. I received a response from John to say he appreciated all I said in my email and he wished me 'good luck with it' - as if he's already checked out, or mocking me - or both; I couldn't tell. I think the Christmas spirit lent me an unusual amount of optimism - I wish all the things I said in the email were possible, but I'm not sure. Pushing shit uphill comes to mind.

When I left work today, John and I hugged; we were alone and it seemed fitting - it was the first intentional body to body contact we've ever had. It was a proper chest to chest hug too - none of this pat on your back, minimal contact business. He's taller up close than I realised - but then, I might've just been dwarfed by the moment. I never had a hug that left me hurting so much. It certainly is a week for painful firsts.

But now, to muster my energy and soak up the spirit that is Christmas. Leave behind my troubles, worries and naive wishes and try to enjoy the moments - even just for one day. Christmas has the ability to bring out the best and worst in people - luckily for me it's usually the good that surrounds me. Merry Christmas to all, and may we each be smothered in all things Christmas and love.

SB xx

dealing cards

I returned to work today, after having a day off, and in the top of my document tray sat a red envelope with my name on it. The writing looked familiar, so I forgot about it for a while. Then, I looked back and realised it was Johns handwriting. What could this mean?? He doesn't seem the Christmas card type.

I waited until he had left the room and I opened it. The words contained within the shiny card were lovely, and sweet and not really something I expected (...clearly I am easily impressed when it comes to John). The stab though, it was signed off 'Love & Best Wishes, John'. Oh. My.

I don't know if I'm just weird, but I kind of get a bit funny about the way I sign letters and cards off. Perhaps I over think it a bit - but I don't deal out 'love' very often at all. If it's someone I don't know overly well, I might sign it off 'Best Wishes, StrangeBird'.... if I'm feeling a mutual appreciation for the person, I usually sign it off with a love heart. If I actually write the word 'love' in its entirety, it's after much consideration, and usually only if I know the person on the receiving end will be comfortable with it.

Perhaps John is simply a 'love and best wishes' kinda guy - but it's kind of like going from 0 to 10 on the 'John affection scale'. No wonder I'm confused. I gather he gave all of my work mates cards; maybe he was feeling sentimental after making his decision to leave, and perhaps he even wrote the same stock-standard kind things in every ones card. It might not seem much from the outside - but to me it kind of felt like a semi-big-ish deal.

Put it down to the season, a momentary lapse in common sense or me being swept away with the vibe of Christmas - but I started to tear up. I know, lame. Really lame. I held the closed card to my chest for a moment, pondered my sad thoughts and then pulled myself together. You cannot get emotional this early in the day StrangeBird... save it for home. I sat the card back in my tray, as if untouched. If it were appropriate and possible for me to do so, I would've hugged him tightly then and there.

When John came to talk with me later on in the morning, I noticed a brief but obvious glance at my document tray - as if to say 'I wonder if she's seen it yet'. Yes I have and no, I can't acknowledge it right now.

It wasn't until I walked out the door at the days end, red envelope tightly in hand, that I thanked him for the card. I've looked at it once since, and promptly hid it away again. It must seem silly, but never has a card dealt me such a sad blow.

Never do I take for granted, that words have great power.

SB xx

like a moth to a flame

I just can't help but hurt myself. It doesn't matter how many pep-talks I give myself; the logical arguments and facts of reality reviewed, I am drawn to terrible John.

I made the fatal mistake of looking at his facebook page recently, to see numerous gorgeous women messaging him and one recent post of a tarty girl being suggestive and asking him things only she'd know if she was in recent contact with him. At that moment I hated him, and I hated myself even more. Even now, devoting yet more blog time to him makes me want to poke my own eyes out with a nearby pen.

I figure that there are two possible explanations for my general state:
1) he is crazy and internally conflicted, fleeting from kind country boy to man-about-town player in the blink of an eye... or
2) I am crazy, and he is just normal

There's nothing consistent about him - he is a complete enigma. And my compulsive attraction to men who pay me zero attention is also enigmatic in a sad and pathetic sort of way. Enough...

Christmas is nearing, and I still haven't found my spirit. My spirit got lost and now something is missing...

One exciting thing did happen recently. I went to see my ultimate band U2, in concert. They were amazing. Surrounded by 55,000 odd people, I was flying solo in my mind - it was awe inspiring. The thump of the bass and noise inside my chest - absolutely thrilling. They sang 'With or without you' and I suddenly found myself crying quietly (I thanked God it was dark at that point). I don't know what the tears were about. I think I'd had the silly dream so long to see them live, to share their space and it was finally realised. It sounds corny and girlie - but it's hard not to be moved when you look around a football stadium bursting with people, only to feel like you are not singular in that moment. Dazzling. I think I've fallen in love with a feeling I didn't know existed.

SB xx

I wish I had a river... and I wish I could skate

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace,
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.

But it don't snow here,
Stays pretty green.
I'm gonna make a lot of money
And then I'm gonna quit this crazy scene.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on.

I wish I had a river so long,
I would teach my feet to fly.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on...

I'm not sure any explanation is required - the song lyrics say it all. Me and Joni Mitchell, we have something in common tonight.

SB xx

with age comes honesty

Have you ever noticed that when you ask an elderly person how they are, they'll usually give you a two minute run-down of all the things wrong with them that day?

How are you Pop?
Ahhh, not too good today - I didn't sleep that well, the hips are aching and to top it off, I think my new medication is giving me a crook guts.

It's the hard and fast truth; a matter-of fact account of how they are this very minute. Talk about living in the moment, no age bracket is more in touch with themselves than this bunch.

Then, you ask the same question to a younger person - someone like me. I'm good.... I'm well.... good thanks... not bad. Even when everything in me is screaming that this day is rotten from top to bottom, start to finish, I submit the stock standard answer. It's like we're compelled to lie. Geared to keep it to ourselves - loathed to admit we aren't good. It's all about the brave face when you're young, the mask you put on to show everyone you're doing fine.

That's why I sort of admire 'old people'. I think they get it right. Most of them say what they want, do what they feel and make no apologies. They've lived so long, they figure they've earned the right to be outwardly grumpy, whiny or honest... and I guess in a sense they are right.

I hope I get old enough and comfortable enough in my wrinkly skin someday, to flip the bird to the world every now and then.

SB xx

Merry Shit-mas

Normally I love this time of year. Things are winding down, excitement is creeping, everyone is more open to acts of kindness and generosity and whatever the case, you know the year is coming to an end and that knowledge brings with it a promise of hope for the year to come.

This year it would seem, I have The Grinch sitting atop my shoulder. My generosity still remains (my credit card bill is testament to that) but the energy, excitement and goodwill to all men (and their men) just isn't there.

I think a lot of this looming non-specific, non-joy stems from my depleting energy levels. I'm working more hours than I am paid for - I'm stressed when I'm at work, I'm stressed when I leave work and the punches just keep coming.

I knew it was a possibility, and then when it was confirmed at my Christmas work party, I started feeling a little sick. John is leaving work. He is applying for jobs every which way that lead away from my humble home town; so not only does he plan to leave work, but he leaves home, and my vicinity - forever and ever, Amen. I don't know why I care so much. I guess part of me was hoping he'd get a boost, a jolt from somewhere and work with me to push our team forward - to make the changes that need making. And I guess a big part of me was hoping, selfishly, to keep his green eyes around long enough for him to see in me, what I see in him. It's ridiculous, romantic and completely naive - but 'tis the season for all things corny and miraculous and I just got dealt a truckload of shitty coal and reality.

I have to remind myself that I can't fight the flow of things. I cannot control him, I cannot control my world. Things are 'swell' for some, some paddle, some float and I am drowning.

It's probably a good thing in the long run that he goes - saves having me distracted and torn up. I think the hardest thing to say goodbye to, will be the chance. While he's here, anything is possible - when he goes - that's it, out of reach, chance blown. Game over.

Baaahhhh - I just want life to slow down. I just want something good, (for all men and) for this one woman.

SB xx

I am, everything I'm not

It's an interesting mental position; this one of wondering and estimating, debating and fine tuning. Trying to twist myself into something else, thinking about the things that must be wrong with me.

Wanting a boy - just a silly boy, and wondering why he doesn't want me in return? In this day and age identity is hard to come by - self expression is sometimes stifled, and then sometimes you just don't know where to begin to look, to uncover who you are. Sometimes you waste years trying to bury it and spend the rest of your time playing a new role.

It becomes an all consuming game of guess work and doubt. A delicate dance of what you think you project, what you suspect he wants, and what you truly are. I don't know what's real anymore.

Is real love about devotion in spite of what you are? Being defined by the things you fail to be, and accepted nonetheless? Does one half always settle, just a little more than the other? Or should 'it' be a perfect union of yin and yang - an ideal collision of opposites that make a logical whole?

There is one thing I am very sure of, and that is, that I don't know anything about 'it' at all.

SB xx

next stop

I was strangely mesmerised by Justin Timberlake playing Elton John in this clip. I wouldn't say I'm a fan of Sir Elton, but this song is nice and goes well to portray my mood today.



SB xx

Keep calm, carry on...

...and for fucks-sake, have some self respect. This has been my internal monologue for the past few days.

Where did my common sense go? Out in the trash, along with the snotty tissues, filled with the tears wept over John. Something clicks and I'm right back where I was - that vicious cycle all over again:

this might be it, this is my time > he's just messed up > he IS attentive > he's distant > he's gone > he, doesn't want me? > he's got someone else > he does NOT want me > why doesn't he want me? > hate me > hate him > hate me > acceptance > [insert incident] > here we go again....

Recycling the old stuff. Is it me? Is it him? Does he know? Does he care?

They got that saying about love and loss all wrong. True - I guess it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all - but what they've forgotten about is the poor souls who want someone they can't have and won't ever have. Now that's a soul crushing curse.

SB xx

oops, I did it.... again

Dust off the red leather jumpsuit, get out the clippers and call me Britt - because I have done it again. I heard news today that John has broken it off with SpottyApple (again) - this should mean nothing to me - but it's had my head in a buzz from the moment I heard.



Why can't I shake him? He's a player. He must be. He plays me so well.

That's what Britt and I think of players! Oh the fury!

Even she judges me with her crazy-eyed stare.

SB xx

when Nostradamus gets it wrong

My emotions betray me tonight. The fury has been brewing since I sat through another work meeting, which was so filled with bullshit that it was hard to see any truth in any words. So, like a dormant volcano I smoke and rumble intermittently - but instead of spewing a fiery, sticky and burning tirade of lava - I'm just left with the overwhelming urge to cry. WRONG EMOTION!

I know, it's my decisions that have ultimately lead me to the position I am in. Like the parent of a naughty child, I just keep wanting to believe the best. However, every now and then I get a reminder that I don't matter to my work colleagues. What I think-feel-want-say does not matter to them; at all, and remembering this just burns.

I try to joke around the issues that bug me. Using humor to shield the hurt and sarcasm to get my point across - more so for my own protection than theirs. But, it's like smacking your head against a sharp object, in the hope to wear down its cutting edge - essentially futile, demeaning and just plain painful. I am grateful for the strength that rises in me to fight on the days I do, but I am disillusioned by the selfishness and general shitness of the people around me. What can I say - it knocks me to the floor every time and 'grounds' me.

I had a reading done a few months back - and it said that by the years end, my life would be moving in an entirely different direction. I fight the urge to leave my job, against the universes advice it seems. I'm supposed to meet Mr StrangeBird before the year is out too. Time is ticking and I gotta say, it's not looking good. Come on universe - get behind the Bird - it's time!

SB xx

If you're not angry, you're not paying attention...

This afternoon I thought I'd plug my Wii in for a little Sunday afternoon fun/relax time. My poison was 'Super Mario Brothers'. I was feeling nostalgic - missing Mario's little moustache and bouncy demeanor - hoping for a little coin action and turtle jumping. It started out ok - but then things got really nasty. To cut a painful story short - I spent about 2 hours trying to pass the same level - losing numerous 'Mario lives' and bonuses in the process. Lost my temper, my patience and I think, gained whiplash. Oh yeah, and I really really hate Mario. So, I figured out that playing Wii:

doesn't look a thing like this

or this.

That it will generally leave you feeling like this.

And therefore, the probability that this,

this

and this

happens, is almost certain.

And, if nothing else - you'll just end up wanting to smack yourself in the face
to avoid anymore pain. A la this:

SB xx

I'm special, so special

I don't know exactly what she means by having brass, but I know I want it too. What a kick ass chick!

The Week that Was....

The days ran away from me this week, so my posting has been almost non-existent. There's been ups and downs this week, but in summary here's what went down:

Mediocre Monday: the usual Monday shit with some bonus intrigue. John returned to work after his strange hiatus - nil explanations. Business as shitty usual.

Tumultuous Tuesday: the day where anything that could go wrong, did go wrong - and then some. Today was a day of bad news (not mine), bad tempers (mine) and losing minds momentarily (mine... it has mostly returned now). It was also a day for declarations of war, fury and scorn - and a day for being generally kicked in the guts (my guts). It was a big day.

(You got hit with) what? Wednesday: I got smacked in the eye, with none other than a Wiggles toy microphone. It was totally accidental on the toddlers part - but it hurt like a mofo and left me feeling bruised, inside and out. God damn skivvy wearing weirdos - get a real job! It was also a day for more silent encounters with Benchpress me NOW Boy - why won't he just say something!? I know what you're thinking - I could say something, right? True, but my self esteem is much lower than his, and besides - I know he's spying me kinda creepily, working on the cross trainer... so his punishment for watching my sweaty ass for 17 minutes is that he should have to make the first move - warrior-armed punk!

Tearful Thursday: I wanted to cry before I even arrived at work. 3 minutes before departing for work, I received a message from my boss to say she was sick. "FUCK!" I cried, as I read the message. No one should have to say 'fuck' that early in the morning - it set me up for a crazy day, but there were a couple of redeeming features to the day - serving as a fresh reminder that you don't always get what you expect, and that this can be a good thing.

Flush Friday: my expectations weren't that high - the boss was sick again, but that was nothing new - and surprisingly (or not), things are less manic when she's not there. Still, the mood was upbeat, purely because it was Friday and it meant I'd survived another week. I had a terribly clumsy day, and a busy afternoon that saw me in a bit of a fluster with some rosy cheeks for good measure. The day ended well, with a nice and surprising chat with my newest but sadly temporary work mate - who I kind of have a girl-crush on - purely because she's organised and helpful, and well, treats me like a worthy human being - she's the kind of boss I wish I had and I have had stars of admiration in my eyes from the moment I met her. When she leaves, I think I am going to weep for a week.

Strange Saturday: I went on with my Saturday business, with the strange sense that it was to be the kind of day that would change my life... it really wasn't. Guess my 'Nonna sense' is off.

Subdued Sunday: here we arrive at today. A day for reviewing the week that has been, and cringe for the week that is to come. It's hard to sum up the day, because I'm still working my way through it. Am slightly subdued and saddened that yesterday wasn't the turning point I'd hoped it to be. Perhaps next week will surprise!

SB xx