open seas

Over the weekend, I took some time aside from 'normal' life, to check out a travelling photographic exhibition. The photos were of nature; animals and landscapes of the most amazing quality. I could be seen wandering around the temporary gallery, oohing and ahhhing, commenting in awe - as if talking amongst friends - but it was just me, the frames, the walls and the cornered worlds they created.

One stunning black and white image of a whale underwater caught my attention, and reminded me of something from long ago.

When I was a little girl, my Dad worked from an office complex that shared its space with many varied businesses. One of the neighbouring offices had the most beautiful image hanging from its wall - and every time I would visit my father, I would stand mesmerised by this photographic print. I can see it now - black and white image - white boarder, thin black frame - it was enormous (or perhaps it just looked so, to a small me). The photo was of a perfectly symmetrical whales tail, breaching the surface in an almighty wave of water. I thought it was amazing. I used to look at it and think that someday I'd like to see a sight like that myself, for real. Even back then, I recognised how a photo could capture a moment so wonderful, magical, that it could move me to take a step back in awe. While the photo amazed me, the scale of it scared me, and even now I can't think about it, or look at a similar image, without a quickening of my heart.

Source

I shouldn't have any particular affinity with the sea - I practically live in the desert and I'd barely scrape double digits if I had to count the times I have swam in the ocean.  Still, I love to watch it when I can.  I love thinking about the world that exists beneath the surface - where creatures like these rule. (Which is why I fucking hate seeing the Japanese hunt them for their "experiments" - it's a disgrace... however, for another time). The ocean makes me feel small, it reminds me that beyond the decisions and actions of individual people, beyond my mind - there are forces much greater than us - it humbles me, and strangely comforts me.

I have been drowning in my own seas of late - within the depths of my mind.  Sometimes I can feel so far out in the deep, I forget that there is land, or that there will be again. I have felt vulnerable, that perhaps I'd perish - tired of treading the water. As my feet begin to find land now, I start to recognise the way forward - I might stumble, but I will continue to move. I have been thrown a life jacket - and I feel silly for thinking at the time that I might never make it from the waves, for thinking I was alone out there. But, I think perhaps at one time or another, we are all swimming - we all have our seas, some deeper than others.

SB

oh crap

It is entirely possible that I completed an entire session at my local gym yesterday, with a "POW!" sticker attached to my ass.

More disturbing still, when I got home and said sticker was discovered - it had ripped in half, so it actually said "PO".

Pop art greatness from Roy Lichtenstein

See, only bad things can come from exercise.

SB



tiny triumphs

Beautiful creation by Rachel Howard, 'Black Dog'

I have now replaced ugly emotion with Easter egg chocolate and internet shopping. So I will get fatter, and also be poor.  Plus, there's a cat that keeps hanging around the house - so I could just start my cat collection now. 

I'm only being semi-serious when I say these things... On the plus side, my sense of inappropriate humor is still intact.

SB

the state of the hermitage

I haven't been writing a lot lately, sometimes because I've been exhausted, a little because I haven't had much to say, and sometimes because I don't know how to say what it is that I'm feeling.

In the past, I have shocked some people with the insight into my thoughts - perhaps for a few reasons.  Maybe they didn't expect it; they didn't understand; or because they thought that my thoughts were rubbish.  The last statement I agree with, because yes, sometimes my thoughts can be utter waste.  But, I think when I try to censor my outpourings, I run into problems - because when I'm not truthful, it means I'm obscuring things - and this gives the hidden parts a chance to chatter in dark corners. They have been chattering, and I have been listening in, and it has been ugly.

I have been told, by what I would call a reliable source (a Psychologist) that we all have an internal monologue - that is, without sounding 'crazy' - a voice, in your head, kind of commentating or observing.  I think some of us are more in-tune to it than others; I hear mine a lot and it is not a particularly nice monologue, because mine is paranoid, frustrated and mean. Perhaps my sensitivity is a consequence of spending too much time on my own - there hasn't been anything to drown out my doom radio.

Today was quite a rough day.  There weren't the usual amount of distractions available - some members were missing from the workplace, and there was ample quiet time.  My work struggles, and people struggles are well documented here; I always feel that I am ill-fitting; I don't belong; I'm not wanted.

Despite whether these thoughts or 'observations' are real or truthful is beside the point - because I hear them so often that I believe them. My doom radio is like an investigator, or a bad P.I. at the very least - because any behaviour, or occurrence that might support these notions, just becomes further "proof" that I am lonely, that I am not wanted - that I am all the things it tells me I am.

People that know what I speak of will nod their heads in agreement, others that haven't experienced such things - I suspect I lost somewhere around the "we all have an internal monologue". But it is all very hard to explain, because it is not in the real - rather, it is the imagined space that sits atop our shoulders - dense and isolating.

I am Brad Pitt and Edward Norton, "Fight Club" style - it is 'feeling' me and 'doom radio' me, punching it out.  It's all harmless play fighting... until it's not. Until the bruises hurt, and the bones break.  I feel like I'm breaking today.

Today I am alone, I am not good enough, I am easy to forget, I am a thorn, a raincloud, a fifth wheel, I am invisible and an eye-sore, all at once.  In my head, all of this is plausible - because the lunch room goes quiet when I'm there; because I'm told about after work drinks after everyone else is invited; because everyone has tickets to an Anzac day event that I didn't know about; because there is cosy laughter in the room until I enter; because it's all take, take, take and hardly ever any give. Nothing feels genuine and everything feels wrong. Round pegs. Square hole.

I think about wanting to come off the depression/anxiety medication - because I think I'd rather go it alone.  But if I feel this now, on the meds - what will it be like amplified - without armour?

I cry, because I want the hurt to stop; because I'm not ok inside, and I'm tired of smiling on the outside. I think it's unfair that I have to live, feeling the way I do, while everyone else gets to switch off their voices.

There is my doom radio voice, and then there is me - and we inhabit the same body, and sometimes I don't know that I can win.

SB

I'm not miserable, I'm just not like them

There are a few talents that I declare must play me, in the event that my existence makes it to a tele-movie. 

Janeane Garofalo - 'cause she's just kick-ass awesome.

Daria - you know, it could be animated?

Catherine Tate - in case it's a BBC production.

 

SB

Queen of no identity

Through others, we become ourselves...
 
SB

when you say nothing... like, at all

Yesterday was my birthday - and after my freak out about it last week, I actually had a really lovely day.  I think I realise that I am what I am, in the place where I am - and that is ok.

I received wishes from Facebook 'friends' which I appreciate - but I also received some gorgeous texts from fewer, far more special individuals.  I was lucky enough to receive warmth, love and some gifts - this extended even into today, when workmates wished me well (well, I was feeding them cake) and the universe generally seemed to give me another pass for the day.

After all the John stuff that has come and gone in recent months - I didn't expect to hear from him. I wrote to him for his birthday weeks ago, to which he never responded. This is why I was surprised to receive his correspondence today. This is what I got:

I'm a lover of someecards from way back - but to send this, with nothing else except "Happy Birthday" in the subject line? Really? No "how are you? Did you have a nice day?" - sweet nothing. This is how you choose to contact me, after months of nothing? What. A. Fucking. Wanker.

I'm not even sure I find that funny.  Wait, second thought, no, I definitely don't find it funny at all.  In my head, I think perhaps he'd like to wish me a long, boring, unremarkable existence.  In my head, I think he doesn't give a crap about anything me related. Or maybe, this is his version of have a nice, long life - without me in it.

This is actually sitting well with me.  I'm just annoyed that he felt compelled to waste the moment of his time to send this completely thoughtless, humorless piece of shit. I feel nothing, other than pity for the kilobytes he wasted sending that via email. Why bother comes to mind.

He obviously doesn't want a response. And may he get his hearts desire.

SB

WTF?

"Young children who learn how to read and write using Facebook may have an edge over their peers later in life, according to a prominent Australian linguist."

Ummmm, are you fucking kidding me?! Yeah - maybe if you want your kids to turn into illiterate little wankers who cannot construct a thoughtful sentence.. or any sentence at all.

God, there's some real shit out there. Worst of all that 'prominent Australian linguist' probably got paid to 'study' that crap.

{Insert wild-man scream}

SB

the sun also rises

I felt so defeated at work today that I wanted to scream and cry. Isn't anybody paying attention around here? I want to let all the things that upset me, spill from my mouth and hurt others, the way these things hurt me.  I'm so tired; exhausted from being on guard all the time.  Like a soldier, crouched in the trenches, anticipating attack, but not knowing when it will come - and maybe it won't.  What are we fighting for?

And the thoughts. These fucking thoughts. Who is to know what is real? Is what I'm feeling real - are these true accounts of what is happening here and now - or does my perception taint the transmission? Maybe I'm the one not paying attention? Thoughts may not be fact, but they feel true - to me.

I can't talk about these things with anyone. Who would care to listen? It's like trying to explain a private universe to people that have never been.  And the truth is, we all have our own.  Nothing makes mine worse than somebody elses - it's just my personal pain that makes it feel bad - for me. The point of view of the outsider, looking from above is always simplified. It must be a regular 'Days of our lives' to God, if he sits up there watching us.

Knowing what I do - that nothing is perfect - should I "suck it up" or "harden up", "keep calm and stop carrying on".  If I'm not carrying on, am I giving in? Will I have lost myself?

Yes, the sun sets - but it also rises. If this all continues to consume me, what a mess I'll be. Yes, it is scary not knowing what to do, not having a feeling of ownership or pride, feeling misplaced.  But perhaps I need to embrace the uncertainty, because maybe someday I won't have the luxury to decide who I want to be. People don't always get the choice.  So, maybe I need to start making some wild decisions and see where they lead me.

I've always been obsessed with what I don't want.  Maybe to start at the simple 'wants' is the best thought yet.

SB

Diamond Acoustic

This is most excellent.



Love.

SB

singing in the rain

 "Fowl with Pearls" by Michael Sowa

 
A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
Lou Holtz

SB

I don't blame you

It's less than one week until my 29th birthday.  Ouch - that hurts to admit. Less than one week until I am uncomfortably close to 30.  It's not so much the number that scares me, but the expectations, the "shoulds" that I (pardon me) should have arrived at by now. It's like a ticking time bomb..tick tick...can't you hear your life running away from you...

"You're a FAILURE" is practically written on my cake. Does she have a boyfriend yet? Is she seeing anybody? WHY NOT?! Wasn't she studying....?

I'm chained to this life that I didn't plan, and I barely recognise the roads I took to get here.

I absolutely should have been born into a British period drama. Austen knew how to sort this shit out.

Am looking for new distraction: study opportunity, mind/body overhaul, new career and holiday destinations. Oh, and possibly considering running away for next birthday.

SB

perfect cover

There's not a lot to say about this, except to say that it is gorgeous. 

Imagine if you will, the slight Lisa Mitchell, in a floor length gown, standing alone on the darkened stage.  She gently caress's the song, barely moving - and you become so transfixed, that you forget, for 4 minutes, 26 seconds, that the world is actually turning. I can barely imagine what it would've been like to see live.

SB

Madame X

Madame X by John Singer Sargent

It is my light, said Betty X, Betty X says this light ain't yours
And so much wind blew through her words that I went rolling down the hall...
Nick Cave "more news from nowhere"

SB

kamikaze

how could that happen?
how could that happen again?
where the fuck was I looking
when all his horses came in?
and he built a whole army
of kamikaze
- PJ Harvey 'kamikaze'

I had a difficult time transitioning into high school when I entered year eight.  I had been split up from my primary school friends who were all scattered in different 'houses'. These 'houses' dictated the students who would be in my classes all the time, so I was spending the bulk of my day with them.  I didn't really have anyone; I didn't have anyone who would necessarily notice if I was absent from school.

Then, some familiar lines were found. A girl - K, she'd gone to a different primary school - but it turned out we had the same birthday! And our Mothers knew each other, and my extended family knew her family... it was all there.

Little did I know that K too had been struggling to fit in and make friends - this I discovered when my Mum told me she'd happened to bump into K's Mum, who divulged this information.  K's Mum suggested perhaps organising a 'play-date' so-to-speak (although, I think we were a little old for that).  Nevertheless, this time, the meddling was appreciated, because I thought maybe this could be the makings of a good friendship.

Then, I guess overnight, K became 'cool', and I became 'uncool' or at least unnecessary.  Either way, the 'date' never went ahead.

See, I felt a little cheated back then.  Like I was 'good enough' for a time, and then I expired.  This situation echos to this day; proof that you never really outrun your past.  Proof that maybe I am the eternal loser that I fear I am... unmemorable... unremarkable... forgettable.

Since the walls came crashing down I've been trying with C - to be chatty, to be open - I have even tried to organise a cinema date, twice, to no avail. She too has been chatty, and somewhat open - but she's also been spending a lot of time, inside and outside of work with "the cool kids".

You never really leave high school - you know, there will always be a cool gang that I'll never be a part of; there'll always be the weirdo, the one that smells, that you want to avoid, and then there'll always be me - stuck somewhere in the middle. No wo-mans land.

I've been trying with C because I genuinely like her - she is sweet and kind (especially when drunk) and she's not so self-involved like all the others. But I feel her pulling away; I'm losing her. And instead of ripping the band aid off quickly, or neglecting it so it falls off on its own, she is hanging - pulling and tugging - making it so much worse for me, and probably her. She's too young to realise you can't make a home in-between two worlds. It works in movies, but not in real life. I'm the bird, and they are the fish - and whichever metaphor she turns out to be, she cannot inhabit the middle ground - nature is strict that way.

I think I give in - the fish can have her.  I cannot tell her these people are fake, that is something she must come to see on her own... if she's equipped with those goggles.

Sometimes I wish that I was one of the flock, in the crowd of cool kids - I'd have besties and we'd hang, and people would talk to me at lunchtime, and I'd know the inside jokes and oh, it would just be so la-di-da.  I'd have a dozen more phone numbers in my mobile - I'd just never have reason to be alone. But, I'm just not like that - maybe I should just stop pretending like I could be. I'm not a renovators delight - I'm fucking heritage listed - take me as I am 'cause I ain't changing.

I'm just beginning to feel like I'm a magnet for pity, or lonely people.  They see me, they latch on, like I'm a stepping stone between the land of the lonely and 'cool-town'. Once I've served my purpose, I am discarded and forgotten.  I wish they wouldn't bother.  If they can't stand this bird - get out of the fucking nest.

I want friends, I don't want to be lonely, I want my name to be at the front of the invite list, and not an afterthought at the end - but I don't want to compromise who I am to get that. I just, I don't know how to get that.

I'm with you PJ Harvey, how the fuck indeed.

SB

a recipe

A small measure of craziness mixed with a reasonable amount of eccentricity is an attractive alternative to conformity. J.D Boatwood

Now, I like the way this person looks at the world.  Craziness + eccentricity = me. Perfecto!

SB