SB
Saturday, March 31, 2012
slow down my beating heart
This song never fails to give me goosebumps.
I remember I was in the midst of year 12 when this album was released. Reduced to depressive, stress-riddled sobbing one day, I had this song playing on the stereo in my room. I sat on my bed, facing the stereo - tears streaming down my face. I didn't know what to do, there wasn't anyone that could help me; life was hard, making decisions was difficult - I didn't want to plan the rest of my life, I just wanted to survive the year. As I sat there, surrounded by song, I willed Bonos words to come true; I told myself... in a little while things will be better...just a little while longer.
SB
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
I should'a crossed...
By God, this is the sexiest song going around! It has been taunting me on the radio for weeks - finally today I learnt what it was!
Ainslie Wills, you make me want to slink across a dirty bar dance floor, with that thumping beat in my hips and shoulders - certainly in kick-ass heels, hot jeans, wild hair and maybe even red lipstick too. I want to dance like I don't care! And. I. Don't.
I feel a theme song coming on.
SB
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
the way it ends
I found out some things today that ripped open the healing wounds of my heart. There doesn't seem to be a point in going over it all. In a way, I sorted it out while laying on a treatment table, counting holes in the ceiling - my mind went still and I felt it kind of slip away, or maybe I let it all go.
I think "running out of fools" has been quite prophetic, for different reasons. I'm not going to be anybodies fool, ever again. Character building... building character.
Today, I said my final good bye to John. Facebook, for once, served me well. I will be so bold as to declare, that never before has the 'unfriend' button seen such a weighted, but triumphant result. That bastard will never get another piece of me. I'm ok if he never even notices I'm gone - just knowing, in the very depths of my mind, that I am not his anymore - electronic, or otherwise.
I will dig and hunt, collecting back the pieces of me, slowly. I will put them in a velvet lined box, keep them warm and safe - and give them to someone who deserves them. It will not be easy, my box is battered, but I know someday, someone will look upon it as treasure.
SB
I think "running out of fools" has been quite prophetic, for different reasons. I'm not going to be anybodies fool, ever again. Character building... building character.
Today, I said my final good bye to John. Facebook, for once, served me well. I will be so bold as to declare, that never before has the 'unfriend' button seen such a weighted, but triumphant result. That bastard will never get another piece of me. I'm ok if he never even notices I'm gone - just knowing, in the very depths of my mind, that I am not his anymore - electronic, or otherwise.
I will dig and hunt, collecting back the pieces of me, slowly. I will put them in a velvet lined box, keep them warm and safe - and give them to someone who deserves them. It will not be easy, my box is battered, but I know someday, someone will look upon it as treasure.
SB
Monday, March 26, 2012
'cause she's just like the weather
...can't hold her together...
I have been indulging in this song - in my car - every opportunity I get.
...born from dark water... you bet your arse.
SB
Sunday, March 25, 2012
fools are free
I kind of got shat on, one too many times over the course of this weekend. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, or maybe this is at least a half truth?
I think the loneliness has finally set in and I'm bored with myself. The last thing I want to be doing is wishing my weekend away. But I'm tired of feeling like the only crazy in this nut-house.
Someone told me last week, as he walked out the door, wishing me a great day. He said "if you don't have a great day, there's only one person to blame...YOU" he said "if you're silly enough to let someone ruin it for you!" I know he's right; but I don't have the strength for my crap, along with everyone elses too.
A client also told me, while discussing the merits of having the curtains open during a therapy session "did you know, looking into a dark room, from a brightly lit area, that you cannot see what's inside that room?" I didn't know this, but I know am the dark room, and no one outside can see in from their sunny positions. Nor do they want to, it seems.
SB
I think the loneliness has finally set in and I'm bored with myself. The last thing I want to be doing is wishing my weekend away. But I'm tired of feeling like the only crazy in this nut-house.
Someone told me last week, as he walked out the door, wishing me a great day. He said "if you don't have a great day, there's only one person to blame...YOU" he said "if you're silly enough to let someone ruin it for you!" I know he's right; but I don't have the strength for my crap, along with everyone elses too.
A client also told me, while discussing the merits of having the curtains open during a therapy session "did you know, looking into a dark room, from a brightly lit area, that you cannot see what's inside that room?" I didn't know this, but I know am the dark room, and no one outside can see in from their sunny positions. Nor do they want to, it seems.
SB
Friday, March 23, 2012
sticks & stones
Am I ok with not being like everybody else?
Most days? Yes.
Today? Not so much.
As everyone was packing up to leave work this afternoon, talk turned to work drinks tonight. I did receive a pity invite, I think because I was in the room at the time it was raised. I declined the generous offer. Then, a comment was made between two others about 'tomorrow night'. I wasn't thinking, I asked the wrong question "oh have you got a big night planned tomorrow night"...yes, yes they do have plans - no, I wasn't invited.
I know I can't talk about how shit some people are, and then expect invites to social gatherings from them. I know this is the price I pay for being socially awkward, for saying 'no' a lot of the time - and I know the fact I don't really drink, weirds people out. But it still hurts sometimes.
I'm not going to cry, because this is the lonely bed I made for myself. Maybe at my age, I've dispensed with the small talk, the fake and meaningless because I don't tolerate it very well, and figure perhaps that life is meant to be more?
God, how I wish I was "normal" - I wish I was chatty, perky and loved to get drunk. But I just wasn't made that way.
At least the dog likes me. She doesn't discriminate.
SB
Most days? Yes.
Today? Not so much.
As everyone was packing up to leave work this afternoon, talk turned to work drinks tonight. I did receive a pity invite, I think because I was in the room at the time it was raised. I declined the generous offer. Then, a comment was made between two others about 'tomorrow night'. I wasn't thinking, I asked the wrong question "oh have you got a big night planned tomorrow night"...yes, yes they do have plans - no, I wasn't invited.
I know I can't talk about how shit some people are, and then expect invites to social gatherings from them. I know this is the price I pay for being socially awkward, for saying 'no' a lot of the time - and I know the fact I don't really drink, weirds people out. But it still hurts sometimes.
I'm not going to cry, because this is the lonely bed I made for myself. Maybe at my age, I've dispensed with the small talk, the fake and meaningless because I don't tolerate it very well, and figure perhaps that life is meant to be more?
God, how I wish I was "normal" - I wish I was chatty, perky and loved to get drunk. But I just wasn't made that way.
At least the dog likes me. She doesn't discriminate.
SB
Thursday, March 22, 2012
perfectly messy
I almost did something stupid today, I almost contacted someone who must be left alone.
Perfectly stupid idea.
SB
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
reflections of a thought
Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I don't recognise the person staring back at me. It only happens occasionally, usually during quiet times, when there is no purpose to seeking out my reflection - no makeup to remove, or blemish to inspect - just an innocent glance that leads to a locking of eyes. Me out the outside, and her in the reflection, or is it the other way around?
It's as if in those moments, it is the artist looking to converse with their creation; consoling, justifying. The strokes and lines starting to build a person, a face for the world to see. I'm confused at any given time, about the face that I'm presenting to the world.
I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated at my work. I am supposed to be a therapy aide - I'm supposed to be helping people - physically hands on. At the moment, and for a long time now, it has been all hands on the phone - I'm a glorified receptionist. People treat me like a receptionist, and I fucking hate it. Most people don't even see this as a problem, which is where it really annoys me. Because if I were doing it simply because I had time to fill, or I was asked to help out during a time of short staffing - that would be ok; it is the assumption, the implication that my first and foremost position is at that stupid desk.
The problem would not be being a receptionist, it's just that I'm meant to be more than that. The problem with me is that I will always want to be more than I am. I expect it of myself.
Today an overpaid specialist doctor held a small clinic from our offices and at the end of his day (which consequently was 30 minutes after the time I was supposed to finish work) he came to me to ask about bookings for his next clinic. "Who are you? What do you do?" he asked me, so I told him; "well surely then you should be doing my bookings" he said, at which point I wanted to thump him in the forehead. I wanted to scream I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU, I AM NOT HERE FOR THE EXCLUSIVE USE OF MY FUCKING TELEPHONE SKILLS, FOR YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE... I am not here... the real me, is not here. If this were a diary, this would be the point where I'd be writing dear diary, I hate my life.
Thinking about how I answered his question, my heart quickened with anxiety at the thought, what if I'm never more than I appear to be? What if I'm only ever going to be the front desk girl, when all I want to be is the brains in the back office. What if the seven people who follow this blog are the only seven people in the whole world to hear my thoughts? To know me for me? What if I'm never more than I am right now? That is a positively torturous notion and it scares the hell out of me.
SB
It's as if in those moments, it is the artist looking to converse with their creation; consoling, justifying. The strokes and lines starting to build a person, a face for the world to see. I'm confused at any given time, about the face that I'm presenting to the world.
I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated at my work. I am supposed to be a therapy aide - I'm supposed to be helping people - physically hands on. At the moment, and for a long time now, it has been all hands on the phone - I'm a glorified receptionist. People treat me like a receptionist, and I fucking hate it. Most people don't even see this as a problem, which is where it really annoys me. Because if I were doing it simply because I had time to fill, or I was asked to help out during a time of short staffing - that would be ok; it is the assumption, the implication that my first and foremost position is at that stupid desk.
The problem would not be being a receptionist, it's just that I'm meant to be more than that. The problem with me is that I will always want to be more than I am. I expect it of myself.
Today an overpaid specialist doctor held a small clinic from our offices and at the end of his day (which consequently was 30 minutes after the time I was supposed to finish work) he came to me to ask about bookings for his next clinic. "Who are you? What do you do?" he asked me, so I told him; "well surely then you should be doing my bookings" he said, at which point I wanted to thump him in the forehead. I wanted to scream I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU, I AM NOT HERE FOR THE EXCLUSIVE USE OF MY FUCKING TELEPHONE SKILLS, FOR YOU, OR ANYONE ELSE... I am not here... the real me, is not here. If this were a diary, this would be the point where I'd be writing dear diary, I hate my life.
Thinking about how I answered his question, my heart quickened with anxiety at the thought, what if I'm never more than I appear to be? What if I'm only ever going to be the front desk girl, when all I want to be is the brains in the back office. What if the seven people who follow this blog are the only seven people in the whole world to hear my thoughts? To know me for me? What if I'm never more than I am right now? That is a positively torturous notion and it scares the hell out of me.
SB
oh Lana
This video is glory in black and white.
Oh Lana, how beautiful you are. I know we should be happy with 'our lot' and what we have, but I do wonder what life's like when you look like Lana...
SB
house rules
I am house sitting at the moment. This particular house comes with a bipolar dog (undiagnosed), a leaky roof, a four-slice toaster and an ass-load of curtains. It's an interesting experience.
I thought perhaps being away from the distractions of home, that I might find myself thinking far too much; feeling deeper - sinking into my own crazy mind; instead I think I might be drowning in the space. My thoughts haven't gotten bigger, but instead, smaller. Everything becomes - did I feed the dog today, did I open those curtains, am I sure I locked that door... there is no space to ponder the self involved thought I might've had earlier. Maybe because I'm not alone - because the dog is forever looking at me knowingly, as if to say "bitch, where do you think you're going without me?"
I say it's an interesting experience, because it is not at all what I thought it would be. I have all the television one might want, but all I want to do is go to bed and read a book. The dog, while affectionate, is easily depressed - it perturbs me to have this on my conscience. Living with this dog, is an experience I would liken to sharing a room with Hannibal Lecter - at all hours of the day and night you will come to hear this dog licking and sucking and gnawing itself - it can't be normal, it just can't. Then there is the toilets - with some crazy blue deodoriser thing sitting in the bowl of the toilet - which when flushed emits a violent blue into the water - a sight you might expect to see if a smurf was bludgeoned to death in your toilet...if smurfs were real.
Oh dear perhaps I am thinking too much after all.
I guess this house is someones home - it's just not mine. When we intrude in another persons space, we must remember that we are stepping into their world, and in a way, into an extension of their mind. I wonder what my minds house would look like.
SB
I thought perhaps being away from the distractions of home, that I might find myself thinking far too much; feeling deeper - sinking into my own crazy mind; instead I think I might be drowning in the space. My thoughts haven't gotten bigger, but instead, smaller. Everything becomes - did I feed the dog today, did I open those curtains, am I sure I locked that door... there is no space to ponder the self involved thought I might've had earlier. Maybe because I'm not alone - because the dog is forever looking at me knowingly, as if to say "bitch, where do you think you're going without me?"
I say it's an interesting experience, because it is not at all what I thought it would be. I have all the television one might want, but all I want to do is go to bed and read a book. The dog, while affectionate, is easily depressed - it perturbs me to have this on my conscience. Living with this dog, is an experience I would liken to sharing a room with Hannibal Lecter - at all hours of the day and night you will come to hear this dog licking and sucking and gnawing itself - it can't be normal, it just can't. Then there is the toilets - with some crazy blue deodoriser thing sitting in the bowl of the toilet - which when flushed emits a violent blue into the water - a sight you might expect to see if a smurf was bludgeoned to death in your toilet...if smurfs were real.
Oh dear perhaps I am thinking too much after all.
I guess this house is someones home - it's just not mine. When we intrude in another persons space, we must remember that we are stepping into their world, and in a way, into an extension of their mind. I wonder what my minds house would look like.
SB
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Saturday, March 17, 2012
crashing walls
The front yard conversation had led her to feel as if in an alternate reality. Tear stricken, muffled sobs - they had left her open - for ridicule? For hurt? As she walked the dark driveway to her car - her silhouette could be seen to shiver with strangeness. Anyone looking from the front might notice the mascara running under her eyes - in places it's not meant to be seen. Lord knows what would be said inside the house she'd just left - without saying goodbye. She wanted to go hours ago - but lacked the bravery to get up from her new found corner in order to battle the crowd of people that stood between her and the door; between her and the way out of this party for assholes.
As she drove away, along the wide dark streets, she could be heard asking - as if interrogating herself, or God: "what the fuck just happened?" As if she could know the answer - as if anyone could tell her - as if God would.
It was four hours earlier I had been trying to find myself a valid reason not to go to this joint birthday party - joint between a person I loathe and a person I actually like. "Don't be a freak" is what I told myself "you said 'yes' so, you go - don't give people at work a reason to talk about you more."
One outfit freak-out and I was teetering the edge of the line - something pulled me back, and I went.
Things progressed ok - I had exhausted chit-chat with the unfortunates sitting beside me - some laughs and awkward pauses - I wasn't up near the keg - I wasn't drinking, save for the half a glass of wine I took in an effort to blend - but I outed myself the moment I arrived; I always do.
After a long while someone decided we should move inside as the breeze was picking up. This could be an opportunity to sneak out? Blend with the natives - move in a pack. Once inside I fumbled with my bag - seeking out my phone ..the time...exactly how much time had I invested? But then she approached.
The new addition to our team 'C' - she'd been gentle and sweet since she started - but we'd barely gotten past pleasantries. I always thought we might get along - but never cared to chance such a risk. When thinking about trying to make friends with your potential work supervisor - it always paints a messy picture.
C had been enjoying herself - I had seen her through the window, chatting with people she knew and others she didn't with equal ease - it surprised me, and made me a little jealous that I didn't have the same qualities. She came up to me - asked me how I was going at work - admitted I didn't look so happy these days. I don't recall what came first, the hugs or the hard hitting questions - at first I thought she was one of these affectionate drunks - but then she hit a raw nerve, and despite my best efforts, my eyes teared up ever so slightly. "Yeah, I'm ok... you know.." verbal dot dot dot, I shrugged. In my head, I'd long been at the point where I couldn't lie about work anymore. She saw it. She kept going. She spoke about how she felt I was lovely and kind - part of the reason she had chosen to accept a permanent position. "You do so much, I wish other people would see that" she said to me. I tried to deflect - I too had been curious to know how she was handling work - being new to a profession and workplace is never easy - plus there is a fragility about C that I've always seen, wondered and worried about. Conversation stuck firmly on me. "I worry about you" she admitted - while casually leaning on the back of the suede lounge-chair. Surrounded by people.
It was getting too much and I said I wanted to go out the front. I cried and she hugged me - I apologised. She kept going on... "if you ever want to catch up - please let me know, I'm only a phone call away... I think you're such a beautiful person" hug, hug..."I tell my Mum about you... you remind me of my sister."
I'm not even sure what I said - shocked by the circumstance. How is it the one I had my eye on to protect was the one comforting me? Worst of all, I thought, she was obviously verging on drunk - would she even remember she'd drained my watery secrets, come day light? So many hugs, some initiated by me, most by her.
I told her I was going to go and I left - without thanking my hosts - I was shattered and I didn't really know why - what had this all meant? What would it mean on Monday? What's it going to mean inside that house, when a workmate might come to ask where I'd gone?
All this leaves me feeling a little uneasy and vulnerable. It feels like one of those crossroads moments - where either nothing could happen, or something brilliant could - depending on the direction. Those insecure thoughts rattle in my mind; is she trying to make a fool out of me - is she trying to get information from me for her own selfish use - is this her way of testing me - what if she told everyone what I said, after I'd gone - can she be trusted?
I just don't know.
SB
As she drove away, along the wide dark streets, she could be heard asking - as if interrogating herself, or God: "what the fuck just happened?" As if she could know the answer - as if anyone could tell her - as if God would.
* * * * *
It was four hours earlier I had been trying to find myself a valid reason not to go to this joint birthday party - joint between a person I loathe and a person I actually like. "Don't be a freak" is what I told myself "you said 'yes' so, you go - don't give people at work a reason to talk about you more."
One outfit freak-out and I was teetering the edge of the line - something pulled me back, and I went.
Things progressed ok - I had exhausted chit-chat with the unfortunates sitting beside me - some laughs and awkward pauses - I wasn't up near the keg - I wasn't drinking, save for the half a glass of wine I took in an effort to blend - but I outed myself the moment I arrived; I always do.
After a long while someone decided we should move inside as the breeze was picking up. This could be an opportunity to sneak out? Blend with the natives - move in a pack. Once inside I fumbled with my bag - seeking out my phone ..the time...exactly how much time had I invested? But then she approached.
The new addition to our team 'C' - she'd been gentle and sweet since she started - but we'd barely gotten past pleasantries. I always thought we might get along - but never cared to chance such a risk. When thinking about trying to make friends with your potential work supervisor - it always paints a messy picture.
C had been enjoying herself - I had seen her through the window, chatting with people she knew and others she didn't with equal ease - it surprised me, and made me a little jealous that I didn't have the same qualities. She came up to me - asked me how I was going at work - admitted I didn't look so happy these days. I don't recall what came first, the hugs or the hard hitting questions - at first I thought she was one of these affectionate drunks - but then she hit a raw nerve, and despite my best efforts, my eyes teared up ever so slightly. "Yeah, I'm ok... you know.." verbal dot dot dot, I shrugged. In my head, I'd long been at the point where I couldn't lie about work anymore. She saw it. She kept going. She spoke about how she felt I was lovely and kind - part of the reason she had chosen to accept a permanent position. "You do so much, I wish other people would see that" she said to me. I tried to deflect - I too had been curious to know how she was handling work - being new to a profession and workplace is never easy - plus there is a fragility about C that I've always seen, wondered and worried about. Conversation stuck firmly on me. "I worry about you" she admitted - while casually leaning on the back of the suede lounge-chair. Surrounded by people.
It was getting too much and I said I wanted to go out the front. I cried and she hugged me - I apologised. She kept going on... "if you ever want to catch up - please let me know, I'm only a phone call away... I think you're such a beautiful person" hug, hug..."I tell my Mum about you... you remind me of my sister."
I'm not even sure what I said - shocked by the circumstance. How is it the one I had my eye on to protect was the one comforting me? Worst of all, I thought, she was obviously verging on drunk - would she even remember she'd drained my watery secrets, come day light? So many hugs, some initiated by me, most by her.
I told her I was going to go and I left - without thanking my hosts - I was shattered and I didn't really know why - what had this all meant? What would it mean on Monday? What's it going to mean inside that house, when a workmate might come to ask where I'd gone?
All this leaves me feeling a little uneasy and vulnerable. It feels like one of those crossroads moments - where either nothing could happen, or something brilliant could - depending on the direction. Those insecure thoughts rattle in my mind; is she trying to make a fool out of me - is she trying to get information from me for her own selfish use - is this her way of testing me - what if she told everyone what I said, after I'd gone - can she be trusted?
I just don't know.
SB
Monday, March 12, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
water talk
Last week I received one of those semi-annoying emails - you know the ones that start with some true story about "my uncles friends brother-in-law" who had this uplifting conversation/experience/epiphany, told in a manner that beats you over the head with some universal truth you should know, but can't apply to 'real' life. Yeah - one of those. Except, behind the wanky story it kind of had an important point; one that is quite applicable to me right now.
Basically, when the same heat of boiled water is applied separately to three things - a carrot, an egg and coffee beans - they all respond very differently. The once firm carrot gets soggy - weakened by the boiling water; the eggs interior once fluid, is now hard and tough; but the coffee beans... well they change the water don't they, the clever little beans. The coffee beans impart their essence into the water, and in doing so, create something lovely - unlike the shitty carrot and egg, which allow the hot water to ruin them. You see, in this equation, maybe the 'hot water' is my work situation... and while I desperately want to be the coffee beans - I think I might be the hard boiled egg, or depending on the day, the carrots.
A clever quote I read once, some time ago sticks with me most days. Reminding me what I struggle to be:
Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless - like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, you put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water... (Bruce Lee)
Only problem is, I think at the moment, I'm an ice-cube.
SB
Basically, when the same heat of boiled water is applied separately to three things - a carrot, an egg and coffee beans - they all respond very differently. The once firm carrot gets soggy - weakened by the boiling water; the eggs interior once fluid, is now hard and tough; but the coffee beans... well they change the water don't they, the clever little beans. The coffee beans impart their essence into the water, and in doing so, create something lovely - unlike the shitty carrot and egg, which allow the hot water to ruin them. You see, in this equation, maybe the 'hot water' is my work situation... and while I desperately want to be the coffee beans - I think I might be the hard boiled egg, or depending on the day, the carrots.
A clever quote I read once, some time ago sticks with me most days. Reminding me what I struggle to be:
Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless - like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, you put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water... (Bruce Lee)
Only problem is, I think at the moment, I'm an ice-cube.
SB
Saturday, March 10, 2012
pretty, empty things
I have a penchant for buying pretty journals that I fail to fill. My desk drawers are full of books with empty pages. Still, whenever I find one that catches my eye - I can't bear to leave it behind. I found one such notebook while shopping last weekend.
It still sits empty, but it has lead me to a talent named Raphaël. Check it out, because I will be.
It still sits empty, but it has lead me to a talent named Raphaël. Check it out, because I will be.
Also - I think I may be part mermaid - I too have a great fear of shallow living, but I also fear some depths...
More to come.
SB xx
Friday, March 9, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
there is a kingdom
I found a real friend. I can't say how, because in truth, I do not know. I suspect it was one of those curiously normal days, when, in closet-to-Narnia style, I stumbled upon her world and adored what I found. Gods angels may well have been holding a neon sign directing me to this woman, a sign I could not see at the time.
On this, International Women's Day, I celebrate the arrival of this woman into my world - I look back and wonder where it all began? I shake my head at the utter ridiculousness, that two peoples life-lines could clash together so fantastically; separated by state lines and time zones - some might laugh at the suggestion that I found a best friend?
I speak so dramatically about this lovely person, perhaps because in my adulthood, I had resigned myself to the reality that my time for finding and making real friends was over. For so long, not letting anyone in far enough to see the mess beneath - I figured I'd forgotten how to connect with people; maybe it was all too hard.
Sometimes life delivers beautiful and inspired surprises and on days like these, awe is the only appropriate response.
Today, I celebrate this person, because she is an inspiring, strong, courageous woman who encourages me to celebrate myself - in this day and age, who does that?
There is a kingdom, to which we belong, where we are princesses - bound not by blood - but by things far more magical - spirit, heart and other things unseen. The doll and the bird.
SB xx
On this, International Women's Day, I celebrate the arrival of this woman into my world - I look back and wonder where it all began? I shake my head at the utter ridiculousness, that two peoples life-lines could clash together so fantastically; separated by state lines and time zones - some might laugh at the suggestion that I found a best friend?
I speak so dramatically about this lovely person, perhaps because in my adulthood, I had resigned myself to the reality that my time for finding and making real friends was over. For so long, not letting anyone in far enough to see the mess beneath - I figured I'd forgotten how to connect with people; maybe it was all too hard.
Sometimes life delivers beautiful and inspired surprises and on days like these, awe is the only appropriate response.
Today, I celebrate this person, because she is an inspiring, strong, courageous woman who encourages me to celebrate myself - in this day and age, who does that?
There is a kingdom, to which we belong, where we are princesses - bound not by blood - but by things far more magical - spirit, heart and other things unseen. The doll and the bird.
SB xx
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
copy - paste - cut
It was brought to my attention today, that I may be causing upset to the artists and photographers, whose photographic work I have used in previous posts.
It bothers me immensely to think that my quiet little blog could be a source of angst - my own, or someone elses. In all honesty, sometimes I forget that anyone even reads this blog - I forget that I am no longer scribbling rants into a hidden journal - complete with pasted pictures ripped from the pages of magazines. On the occasions that I have included images in my posts, it has not been to claim them as my own, but instead in an effort to express a thought, and an appreciation for the subjects of those photographs, and in turn for the photographs themselves.
Still, I accept that I should not be perpetuating the bad habits that Internet conveniences tend to foster. To the artists whose work I have used, without credit - I apologise. I am unable to back-track to locate all the sources of all the photos I have used previously, however, in the future, I will endeavour to give credit where it is due.
This is still rather a new world to me. In the use of others works my intention has never been malicious; so in reference to my mistakes, I must plead ignorance. It is an awkward introduction into the real world of 'electronic publishing'.
SB
It bothers me immensely to think that my quiet little blog could be a source of angst - my own, or someone elses. In all honesty, sometimes I forget that anyone even reads this blog - I forget that I am no longer scribbling rants into a hidden journal - complete with pasted pictures ripped from the pages of magazines. On the occasions that I have included images in my posts, it has not been to claim them as my own, but instead in an effort to express a thought, and an appreciation for the subjects of those photographs, and in turn for the photographs themselves.
Still, I accept that I should not be perpetuating the bad habits that Internet conveniences tend to foster. To the artists whose work I have used, without credit - I apologise. I am unable to back-track to locate all the sources of all the photos I have used previously, however, in the future, I will endeavour to give credit where it is due.
This is still rather a new world to me. In the use of others works my intention has never been malicious; so in reference to my mistakes, I must plead ignorance. It is an awkward introduction into the real world of 'electronic publishing'.
SB
Monday, March 5, 2012
as they say
no matter how bad things can become,
how they might go off the rails, you
just have to remind yourself that
worse things happen at sea...
I have just finished reading "Worse Things Happen at Sea" by William McInnes and Sarah Watt. It was a beautiful book - about the simple things in life... and some of the complicated things too.
I don't know what it is that attracts me to autobiographies and memoirs - I think it's something to do with seeing how other people deal with the difficulties in their lives; usually it is those who attack their problems with humor, grace and a touch of fight, that I really enjoy and applaud. Perhaps this is because I hope to approach my 'rainy days' with similar tact. I like reading about their experiences, because even when these people are obviously so far removed from my reality - the common threads of human experience are still identifiable within their stories.
In reading this story of love, family and heartache - at times, it was hard to imagine any truth in the title. Could worse things really happen? I was heartbroken when Sarah wrote about the baby they lost during childbirth; and again as William spoke of scattering the babys ashes in the sea. The passing of their pet dog, and Sarah's illness were also emotional. Filled to the brim with memories and truth, the stories of these two remarkable writers were challenging - as they examined the blessings and discomforts in their lives, so too, did I.
I think what made reading this book a finer, but more difficult experience, was knowing that since the book was finished, Sarah had lost her fight with cancer. The greatest tragedy to me, seems to be that these two people are no longer together. But I do believe Sarah Watt made quite a dent in her life. I think, after all, her 'dam' overflowed with all the good things - love, inspiration, laughter and some tears.
"I began to count what I had. Not my blessings, just what I had: a car, a healthy child, a lovely man, enough money to pay the mortgage, not enough to cause worry, Australian citizenship, ten pairs of shoes. A pathetic amount in some eyes, absurdly wasteful in others.... I had taught myself to do this. I was trying to make myself a positive person. I wanted the glass half-full, no matter how much unfairness in the world, how many starving people, global catastrophes or prophecies of doom.. I wanted to hear the voice of promise and hope and optimism. I wanted to not just know that birth and death are inevitable, but to believe it, to allow for it, to be at peace with it..." (Sarah)
"What can I say? Life is a smorgasbord, so many dishes to choose from and sometimes you just choose the wrong one, but you know nothings ever wasted.." (William)
"Life is indeed a smorgasbord with so much to offer. We'll all have our time in the sun. Fashions fade and so does a life, but friendship, between old friends and new, is a tacit agreement between us that we don't have to fade alone.." (William)
"How do you measure a 'fair share' of time? By quantity or quality? Mine has been of excellent quality. I've had a great time. I didn't spend twenty-five years in a job I hate, resenting it but needing it. I've never been confined to a wheelchair. I'm not deaf or blind...I'm not a tragedy. I can't complain. I've had it good. The best thing I can do is balance the good luck with the bad and go with good grace or, in the current parlance of my children, suck it up and get on with what I have to do with what I've got. And I have a lot...Like my dad's job and personality I seem to have been a dam builder. I am full of all that I have collected, done, loved and regretted. It is a large dam." (Sarah)
"Why do we search for and expect happiness all the time, like some dumb weekend magazine article? Or even contentment. Sometimes rage is good. There are things to be enraged about in this world. There are tears that should fall." (Sarah)
SB
how they might go off the rails, you
just have to remind yourself that
worse things happen at sea...
I have just finished reading "Worse Things Happen at Sea" by William McInnes and Sarah Watt. It was a beautiful book - about the simple things in life... and some of the complicated things too.
I don't know what it is that attracts me to autobiographies and memoirs - I think it's something to do with seeing how other people deal with the difficulties in their lives; usually it is those who attack their problems with humor, grace and a touch of fight, that I really enjoy and applaud. Perhaps this is because I hope to approach my 'rainy days' with similar tact. I like reading about their experiences, because even when these people are obviously so far removed from my reality - the common threads of human experience are still identifiable within their stories.
In reading this story of love, family and heartache - at times, it was hard to imagine any truth in the title. Could worse things really happen? I was heartbroken when Sarah wrote about the baby they lost during childbirth; and again as William spoke of scattering the babys ashes in the sea. The passing of their pet dog, and Sarah's illness were also emotional. Filled to the brim with memories and truth, the stories of these two remarkable writers were challenging - as they examined the blessings and discomforts in their lives, so too, did I.
I think what made reading this book a finer, but more difficult experience, was knowing that since the book was finished, Sarah had lost her fight with cancer. The greatest tragedy to me, seems to be that these two people are no longer together. But I do believe Sarah Watt made quite a dent in her life. I think, after all, her 'dam' overflowed with all the good things - love, inspiration, laughter and some tears.
"I began to count what I had. Not my blessings, just what I had: a car, a healthy child, a lovely man, enough money to pay the mortgage, not enough to cause worry, Australian citizenship, ten pairs of shoes. A pathetic amount in some eyes, absurdly wasteful in others.... I had taught myself to do this. I was trying to make myself a positive person. I wanted the glass half-full, no matter how much unfairness in the world, how many starving people, global catastrophes or prophecies of doom.. I wanted to hear the voice of promise and hope and optimism. I wanted to not just know that birth and death are inevitable, but to believe it, to allow for it, to be at peace with it..." (Sarah)
"What can I say? Life is a smorgasbord, so many dishes to choose from and sometimes you just choose the wrong one, but you know nothings ever wasted.." (William)
"Life is indeed a smorgasbord with so much to offer. We'll all have our time in the sun. Fashions fade and so does a life, but friendship, between old friends and new, is a tacit agreement between us that we don't have to fade alone.." (William)
"How do you measure a 'fair share' of time? By quantity or quality? Mine has been of excellent quality. I've had a great time. I didn't spend twenty-five years in a job I hate, resenting it but needing it. I've never been confined to a wheelchair. I'm not deaf or blind...I'm not a tragedy. I can't complain. I've had it good. The best thing I can do is balance the good luck with the bad and go with good grace or, in the current parlance of my children, suck it up and get on with what I have to do with what I've got. And I have a lot...Like my dad's job and personality I seem to have been a dam builder. I am full of all that I have collected, done, loved and regretted. It is a large dam." (Sarah)
"Why do we search for and expect happiness all the time, like some dumb weekend magazine article? Or even contentment. Sometimes rage is good. There are things to be enraged about in this world. There are tears that should fall." (Sarah)
SB
Friday, March 2, 2012
pardon the onesie
So, the happiest part of my day was stumbling upon a news report (while perusing the Internet on completely non-work related business) about an animal sanctuary in Costa-Rica.
Four words: Baby. Sloth. In. Pajamas.
The story was talking about how these orphaned sloths suffer from a disease called mange, which they become susceptible to because they are missing out on the antibodies from their mothers milk. So, at this sanctuary, they have come up with a way to cure the baby sloths - by shaving all their hair off, smothering them in a paste they make, and then swaddling them into cute little baby bundles!
I was until today, a firm believer that onesie's should be the exclusive clothing choice of human babies and toddlers only - but I now add baby sloths to that list.
I think I've decided what I want to do with my life now; I want to have a baby sloth sanctuary for all the orphaned sloths - I can wrap them in funky pajamas and give them people names like 'Jerry' and 'Violet'. Just one small problem... there's a small lack of native sloths in my immediate area... and by area, I mean country.
SB
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