Apparently I'm 'normal' in all the ways that can be measured. And in all the ways that can't be..well who's to know?
I went to the doctor today for the results of all my tests - no explanation for my bodily freak out two weeks ago; oh well, I have chemical, molecular, freakin' GP certification that I am O. K. So why don't I feel it?
I had another run in with e-vil facebook. John was on just now, adding photos, doing general John things. I made myself 'active' to chat, thinking maybe, just maybe he might say hello. Nope. Seemingly that is expecting too much. He writes me a random email, like three weeks ago, he never responds to my response - dammit, sometimes I just want to cry for the futility of it all. This stupid waiting game.
You know, John is one of those men who five minutes before dinner, tells his wife he's going out for a pack of smokes and never returns. Stupid ass. Him, and me.
My unhappiness used to be relatively uncomplicated, now it's just littered with stupid man stuff.
"don't even try, still get the guy"
"let men chase you"
"engage the apricot"
Excuse me Zoe Foster, but I think you're just a little bit full of shit. This advice coming from the woman who hooked the co-author (i.e Hamish Blake) of this stupid book that I paid actual money for. Please note hazard #32 of online shopping for seriously insecure and desperate females bearing credit cards. Be an apricot - what the fuck does that even mean Zoe Foster?! Lets be honest here, I want to say I'm the apple high up on the tree, but actually I think I'm that mushy one that rolled onto the ground last season, that no one can be assed picking up. That's my fruit metaphor.
The book should've been cheaper - that's all I'm sayin'...
Boy, am I in a rotten mood. It's not genetics's fault, it's not facebook's fault, it's not John's or even Zoe Foster's fault, really. It's just the life and times of a Monday evening in the life of me.
Worse things happen at sea, right, at least that's what the oldies tell me.
SB xx
Monday, January 30, 2012
speaking actions
Between saying and doing many a pair of shoes is worn out.
(Italian proverb)
Today I sat in a room full of highly paid, we'll say, mostly intelligent professionals and never have I seen so many people dance around issues. It's utterly disappointing, coupled with a feeling of complete powerlessness.
God, I wish I could change the world.
SB xx
(Italian proverb)
Today I sat in a room full of highly paid, we'll say, mostly intelligent professionals and never have I seen so many people dance around issues. It's utterly disappointing, coupled with a feeling of complete powerlessness.
God, I wish I could change the world.
SB xx
Saturday, January 28, 2012
straight to me
Lisa Mitchell did the most amazing rendition of Nick Cave's "Into my arms" and I wish I could find a clip to share it here. It was completely beautiful.
She reminds me of the kind of delicate, graceful woman I've always outwardly wanted to be; to be seen as a fragile bird, people treat you gently. Sadly, there is nothing about me that inspires gentle behaviour or sweet approach. I am a little Lisa, but only on the inside.
SB xx
Friday, January 27, 2012
alrighty then
I can imagine no more comfortable frame of mind for the conduct of life than a humorous resignation.
- W Somerset Maugham
I resign!
SB xx
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Shivers
Some Australian talent on this Australia Day. It's weird seeing the tortured voice of Nick Cave, coming from such a youthful face.
SB xx
SB xx
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
got gumption?
I had a timely encounter with the Shit-Face who inspired these spewings today.
I had the great misfortune of arriving at work the same time as she did - and the greater pity of her 'seeing' me. Jesus! Happy Tuesday to me! But, as they say... when life gives you lemons... "Hello" I said (I couldn't completely ignore her - I'm not advocating complete rudeness here!)
Why she bothered waiting behind for me, I do not know. Now don't think I didn't try to straggle - play the whole whoops - did I leave my car unlocked?...handbrake disengaged?...fuel tank on fire? thing. No avail.
Resume: I said "Hello Shit-Face - howyagarn?.." (you know, the obligatory 'how are you going' you say, when you're trying to appear polite). That's. It.
We walked the further 500 metres from the car park, to my department and I didn't instigate a single word of time wasting, awkward avoiding, chit-chat. It was hard for me, I generally make it my business to avoid awkward silences. But, NO, I thought. Lets just play here, and see if she actually says anything - asks me anything. She didn't. She retains said title - Shit-Face.
This might be fun.
So, when life gives you lemons...make lemonade; on the proviso that you drink it all your fucking self!
SB xx
I had the great misfortune of arriving at work the same time as she did - and the greater pity of her 'seeing' me. Jesus! Happy Tuesday to me! But, as they say... when life gives you lemons... "Hello" I said (I couldn't completely ignore her - I'm not advocating complete rudeness here!)
Why she bothered waiting behind for me, I do not know. Now don't think I didn't try to straggle - play the whole whoops - did I leave my car unlocked?...handbrake disengaged?...fuel tank on fire? thing. No avail.
Resume: I said "Hello Shit-Face - howyagarn?.." (you know, the obligatory 'how are you going' you say, when you're trying to appear polite). That's. It.
We walked the further 500 metres from the car park, to my department and I didn't instigate a single word of time wasting, awkward avoiding, chit-chat. It was hard for me, I generally make it my business to avoid awkward silences. But, NO, I thought. Lets just play here, and see if she actually says anything - asks me anything. She didn't. She retains said title - Shit-Face.
This might be fun.
So, when life gives you lemons...make lemonade; on the proviso that you drink it all your fucking self!
SB xx
Sunday, January 22, 2012
hallows & hollows
Yesterday marked twenty years since the passing of my Mum's Father. It was a curious thing to observe the marking of this moment. My Nanna, and her children wanted to acknowledge the day - and rightly so, it was important to them.
Yesterday I visited Pops grave with my Mum. I never really know what are reasonably appropriate thoughts to have while standing beside someones grave. I want to say, I miss you, I wish you were here - but in truth, I barely remember him. I do wish he was still around, for the sake of my Mum. I know she has withstood a lot of pressure over the past twenty years; as the only girl in a big Italian family - she has always been the first to be called upon, and the last to be thanked.
Some of the younger kids used to call Pop 'Grandad Whiskers' - because he had a scratchy moustache. When I try to remember Pop, recalling untarnished memories - I come up almost blank. I think I remember the sound of his voice - and how it lost its power as the cancer took hold. I remember his tanned, leathery skin; a tell of his hard working life in the sun. I remember his imposing, no mess demeanour - I think I recall him laughing, while telling Italian tales that little girls couldn't understand. I don't think he was mean, I think he was just a man of little nonsense. I remember the smoking. I remember being scared of him as he got sicker.
The day he died, I recall my uncles gathering at our house - men were crying; I was confused - but I knew deep inside that something had shifted in my family. I hid behind the wall, in the dark - wondering what was going on, trying to comprehend these adult words and emotions - I hid because I knew I'd be in the way, and mostly because I knew there was pain in that kitchen - and I didn't want to see my Mum's red watering eyes, and flushed face, because that is a sight I still find difficult to bear.
Sometimes I wonder who I might've been if he hadn't died. Would I have turned out much differently? Would I have liked him? Would he have liked me? Part of me thinks maybe he wouldn't have agreed with my life. And my Mum, would she still be carrying the weight of time and expectation if her father were still here?
Today we went to church - to hear his name spoken - another departed soul on the list. I feel alienated from the church - its customs and readings; I didn't go to be saved, although sometimes I think if I suddenly connected to it all, my life might be easier. I went as a mark of respect for the man that owns a little piece of me; for as he brought his family into being, so too did I follow - a small consequence of his life's actions. Blood of blood.
Tonight I feel sad, I don't really know where it comes from. I didn't go to the family lunch afterwards, and I hope he understands why. Just as I don't need to be in a church to connect to faith and hope; I didn't need to be in a room full of people to say goodbye. Perhaps it's fitting that this now 28 year old little girl, removed herself still, from the pained family kitchen. This is my quiet goodbye.
My life right now, is a little messy and uncertain - confusing and sometimes gut wrenching in its stalled nature - but I am trying. I hope he's looking down, nodding in agreement or giggling to himself. I hope he knows this is my hello, and my goodbye.
SB xx
Yesterday I visited Pops grave with my Mum. I never really know what are reasonably appropriate thoughts to have while standing beside someones grave. I want to say, I miss you, I wish you were here - but in truth, I barely remember him. I do wish he was still around, for the sake of my Mum. I know she has withstood a lot of pressure over the past twenty years; as the only girl in a big Italian family - she has always been the first to be called upon, and the last to be thanked.
Some of the younger kids used to call Pop 'Grandad Whiskers' - because he had a scratchy moustache. When I try to remember Pop, recalling untarnished memories - I come up almost blank. I think I remember the sound of his voice - and how it lost its power as the cancer took hold. I remember his tanned, leathery skin; a tell of his hard working life in the sun. I remember his imposing, no mess demeanour - I think I recall him laughing, while telling Italian tales that little girls couldn't understand. I don't think he was mean, I think he was just a man of little nonsense. I remember the smoking. I remember being scared of him as he got sicker.
The day he died, I recall my uncles gathering at our house - men were crying; I was confused - but I knew deep inside that something had shifted in my family. I hid behind the wall, in the dark - wondering what was going on, trying to comprehend these adult words and emotions - I hid because I knew I'd be in the way, and mostly because I knew there was pain in that kitchen - and I didn't want to see my Mum's red watering eyes, and flushed face, because that is a sight I still find difficult to bear.
Sometimes I wonder who I might've been if he hadn't died. Would I have turned out much differently? Would I have liked him? Would he have liked me? Part of me thinks maybe he wouldn't have agreed with my life. And my Mum, would she still be carrying the weight of time and expectation if her father were still here?
Today we went to church - to hear his name spoken - another departed soul on the list. I feel alienated from the church - its customs and readings; I didn't go to be saved, although sometimes I think if I suddenly connected to it all, my life might be easier. I went as a mark of respect for the man that owns a little piece of me; for as he brought his family into being, so too did I follow - a small consequence of his life's actions. Blood of blood.
Tonight I feel sad, I don't really know where it comes from. I didn't go to the family lunch afterwards, and I hope he understands why. Just as I don't need to be in a church to connect to faith and hope; I didn't need to be in a room full of people to say goodbye. Perhaps it's fitting that this now 28 year old little girl, removed herself still, from the pained family kitchen. This is my quiet goodbye.
My life right now, is a little messy and uncertain - confusing and sometimes gut wrenching in its stalled nature - but I am trying. I hope he's looking down, nodding in agreement or giggling to himself. I hope he knows this is my hello, and my goodbye.
SB xx
Friday, January 20, 2012
C.B.A
I have decided, that there are just some people in this world who need not be bothered with. This particular breed of human are selfish, self involved, rude, arrogant bastards - the kind of people who if, say, during an evacuation, they didn't make it to the muster point, you probably wouldn't be too concerned about risking life and limb by going back. I'm pretty sure these people aren't even liked by their mothers - that is if they have them, and they weren't spawned from the bottom of a stagnant pool of water.
People like this make me really, really mad - because I do not understand their drive to be this way. I don't think it's hard to be courteous. Most of all, I hate the way these bastards push other people down.
There's a particular character at work, who is just like this. I have tried - whenever our paths collide, to be friendly, show an interest - but this has never, ever been returned. In fact, if this person ever asked me how I was, I'd probably lapse into a deepened state of shock. Her asshole-ness was further deepened when she was promoted to a senior position at work, so now she thinks she actually has proof that she is better than everyone else... and I'm pretty sure somewhere on her imaginary business card, she would have "shit don't stink" following her name. I don't say this lightly, so when I say it, I mean it - she's a fucking bitch.
Why do people like this bother me so? I suppose it's because meek and mild people like myself are expected to feel bad about themselves around these characters; and because for small slices of my life, I allow these people to make me genuinely doubt my worthiness as a person. I. Hate. That.
So, power to me! I declare that this woman is not worthy of my nice. I will no longer make any effort with her. I know that this probably won't bother her in the slightest, but it'll sure as shit make me feel better. It takes a lot to drive me to this amount of madness and cold strategy, so you can be assured this woman is a worthy recipient... or non-recipient as it happens.
I just can't be arsed with people like this, and refuse to be treated like a piece of crap, over and over again. I'm not a mean person - not really; I just figure that people like this eventually cop what's coming to them - one way or another.
SB xx
People like this make me really, really mad - because I do not understand their drive to be this way. I don't think it's hard to be courteous. Most of all, I hate the way these bastards push other people down.
There's a particular character at work, who is just like this. I have tried - whenever our paths collide, to be friendly, show an interest - but this has never, ever been returned. In fact, if this person ever asked me how I was, I'd probably lapse into a deepened state of shock. Her asshole-ness was further deepened when she was promoted to a senior position at work, so now she thinks she actually has proof that she is better than everyone else... and I'm pretty sure somewhere on her imaginary business card, she would have "shit don't stink" following her name. I don't say this lightly, so when I say it, I mean it - she's a fucking bitch.
Why do people like this bother me so? I suppose it's because meek and mild people like myself are expected to feel bad about themselves around these characters; and because for small slices of my life, I allow these people to make me genuinely doubt my worthiness as a person. I. Hate. That.
So, power to me! I declare that this woman is not worthy of my nice. I will no longer make any effort with her. I know that this probably won't bother her in the slightest, but it'll sure as shit make me feel better. It takes a lot to drive me to this amount of madness and cold strategy, so you can be assured this woman is a worthy recipient... or non-recipient as it happens.
I just can't be arsed with people like this, and refuse to be treated like a piece of crap, over and over again. I'm not a mean person - not really; I just figure that people like this eventually cop what's coming to them - one way or another.
SB xx
Thursday, January 19, 2012
the 'other' john
John Krasinski, how I love thee. He's just so disturbingly adorable... and funny.
Dear God, please give me a man who makes me laugh. I'll love him good, I promise.
SB xx
SB xx
if failure don't hurt, then failure don't work
I adore this song right now; simply can't get enough of it.
SB xx
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
the world was moving, she was right there with it (and she was)
Joining the world of missing persons (and she was)
Missing enough to feel alright (and she was)
I feel like a bad human, because I don't own a 'Talking Heads' album. Is that wrong/right?
I feel like a missing person.
SB xx
Monday, January 16, 2012
heart trouble
I think my heart is actually broken - completely in the non-metaphorical sense. It is misbehaving; my body betrays me, and I am feeling the pressure of its weight.
If I die before I wake... enjoy the music I guess?!
Nothing like a little drama for a Monday.
SB xx
If I die before I wake... enjoy the music I guess?!
Nothing like a little drama for a Monday.
SB xx
Sunday, January 15, 2012
little hell
I think maybe hell is a table dressed in the same cloth - everyday; cracked concrete footpaths, grazed knees, big feet and clumsy hands. Never being the one that's chased; question after question after question; a headache that won't go away; that sharp pain in your shoulder blade you can't explain; a book you want to put down. There might just be a little bit of hell for all of us.
I think this is St. Vincent's version.
SB xx
Thursday, January 12, 2012
imagine
When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.
- John Lennon
Just imagine how different the world might have been, had he not died.
SB xx
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
from the mouth of babes
Tonight, after a family dinner, I begged my little nephew to let me take a picture of him in his new pajamas - he looked so adorable. I pretended to be sulky and sad when he wouldn't let me, hoping it would work. A short time later he came over to me, and said sweetly "Are you happy?... I love you Aunty, be happy."
It's funny; all the self help books, theories and meditations in the world, trying to teach us adults how to live in the moment - when all you really need is love... and to spend some time with a child. They know how it all works.
Bless that little boy. If we have someone that loves us, then we are doing ok I think.
SB xx
It's funny; all the self help books, theories and meditations in the world, trying to teach us adults how to live in the moment - when all you really need is love... and to spend some time with a child. They know how it all works.
Bless that little boy. If we have someone that loves us, then we are doing ok I think.
SB xx
Monday, January 9, 2012
going postal
I'm currently recovering from a rather traumatic Australia Post experience. I've been waiting on an important parcel - it took me ages to find the item, it's for my sisters birthday present, and it's also rather expensive. So, when I learnt today, that the parcel had not arrived... I decided to check the online tracking. The online tracking revealed that my parcel had been delivered to: NOT ME!
I flipped - called the collection centre, losing my mind in the process. Mostly, I kept my manners - until the toad on the other end of the phone verbalised her relief at not being at work the time the parcel was supposedly signed for - by- NOT ME. After I put my stern voice on, the toad went to talk to her supervisor. She came back, explained a misunderstanding, and then went to check to see if the parcel was in fact there. While she kept me on hold - that strange 'female-anger' feeling came upon me... you know, the one where you simultaneously want to scream, cry and vomit all at once. Crisis averted, the parcel is there... shame she couldn't tell me that before I'd developed an ulcer.
Tomorrow my dreaded boss returns to her throne. I feel uncertain about it, maybe even nervous; because I know all the good stuff stops now and I have to start watching my mouth again. I recognise there is nothing I can do, it's easy now to say that I am detached, but it's not usually a way of being that is easily maintained for me. My friend 'M' tells me her motto for 2012 is ACQUIESCE and ACCEPT. I wish to adopt these principles, perhaps with the addition of 'wear sunscreen'. Up until a couple of days ago , I didn't know the dictionary definition of 'acquiesce', and I still don't know how to spell it, without thinking really hard (or using dictionary.com!) but still, I hope I can achieve it. I must remember that it's not my job to make my 'formerly known as' ex-ex-boss look bad, or feel bad - because she does a wonderful job of that all on her own.
Plus, she's British, and I suspect it's her disarming cockney accent that makes most people find her funny and charming. Little do they know....
SB xx
I flipped - called the collection centre, losing my mind in the process. Mostly, I kept my manners - until the toad on the other end of the phone verbalised her relief at not being at work the time the parcel was supposedly signed for - by- NOT ME. After I put my stern voice on, the toad went to talk to her supervisor. She came back, explained a misunderstanding, and then went to check to see if the parcel was in fact there. While she kept me on hold - that strange 'female-anger' feeling came upon me... you know, the one where you simultaneously want to scream, cry and vomit all at once. Crisis averted, the parcel is there... shame she couldn't tell me that before I'd developed an ulcer.
Tomorrow my dreaded boss returns to her throne. I feel uncertain about it, maybe even nervous; because I know all the good stuff stops now and I have to start watching my mouth again. I recognise there is nothing I can do, it's easy now to say that I am detached, but it's not usually a way of being that is easily maintained for me. My friend 'M' tells me her motto for 2012 is ACQUIESCE and ACCEPT. I wish to adopt these principles, perhaps with the addition of 'wear sunscreen'. Up until a couple of days ago , I didn't know the dictionary definition of 'acquiesce', and I still don't know how to spell it, without thinking really hard (or using dictionary.com!) but still, I hope I can achieve it. I must remember that it's not my job to make my 'formerly known as' ex-ex-boss look bad, or feel bad - because she does a wonderful job of that all on her own.
Plus, she's British, and I suspect it's her disarming cockney accent that makes most people find her funny and charming. Little do they know....
SB xx
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
hello sunshine
Photo by me. Location - Nanna's garden.
The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.
Dorothea Lange
SB xx
Thursday, January 5, 2012
it goes down easy
I was told today, by someone I do not know, to make sure that I "stop and smell the roses". Songs such as these are like roses to me.
SB xx
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
enough now
"May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us."
– Prayer of St. Theresa
I want 2012 to be different. I want to grateful and gracious. I want to forget things of the past that make me sad - I want to look forward, to what ever is ahead for me. I'm not mentally 'there' yet, but I want to be, I hope to be - so, so much.
Here's to letting go, and sometimes, letting (the right one) in... and to knowing the difference.
SB xx
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