the reap

You reap what you sow, that's what those wise folk tell us, and for me at the moment - it's harvesting season.

I've had a lot of trouble at my work this year. Between shuffling roles, and the displacement that has caused; a delusional office 'romance' that never left the ground and shall we say - personality clashes, I've had a bit of a rough time.  Nonetheless, it's a roller coaster that I've been doing my best to ride with grace. Every time I think I can't take anymore, I survive another week and battle on for that looming long-service-leave that keeps me hanging onto the nastiest of cliff-faces.

The inner turmoil has had it's ever flowing affect on my home life, my health and my self esteem. Everything with Manchild and the feelings that accompanied this massive failure in discernment had me doubting myself.  Allowing myself to shrink, and feel this need to be wanted, was nothing short of disturbing. How could I be so willing to hand my power to someone else? At the time, I'd heard about the transformative power of one simple thought; that is: "I am enough". I clung to this like a lifeboat; if I saw it enough, if I thought it enough, if I repeated it enough - perhaps like magic, it would help put together these broken parts of myself. I purchased myself a mantra bracelet, and etched into it three words: You. Are. Enough.

I took that bracelet off yesterday. Prematurely perhaps? The bracelet caught a few peoples eye over the time I wore it - some would comment on it. And I began to think to myself - am I giving my secret away? Am I handing strangers and familiar alike the keys to my destruction? This girl has no self esteem... She thinks she's rubbish... She has no confidence... How can I exploit this? How can I convince her she's not enough? It started to feel like it could be a target. A sign saying - hey - here's my glass jaw! Come hit me! Despite the inner-voice-implied subtext, I persisted wearing it, until yesterday - when I decided that I was strong enough to do without.

It's Tuesday, and it's already been a tough work week.  I have been on the receiving end of some cool behavior, which has honestly shocked me. Manchild has been all but ignoring me - avoiding my vicinity, my eye line and anything I say. That started most intensely yesterday - and I called him out on it today, to which he denied. He was lying.

Some may say I deserve this. I've been cool with my coworkers for some time now, in the name of self-preservation I stepped back, I did not engage with people. I've been unhappy, and perhaps at times I have outwardly wallowed in this frustration. I am also a human. But, I recognise blocking these coworkers on Instagram might be seen as some kind of call to arms. I say I don't want people I work with seeing my inner most thoughts and observations, and feeling censored for it.  And if any of them should ask I'll tell them the same thing. I'm not going to apologise for wanting 'space'. If they want to stalk me, they can put in some effort and do it the old fashioned way.

But still, I thought I had remained steady with Manchild. Even after things cooled off and he lost any interest he had in me and found a real live girlfriend. Not only is he freezing me out, but he's being actively nasty and hurtful, and it's not pretty. It's not a side to him that I have seen before, and I think that has been the most shocking. It's ever so disappointing when those rose-coloured glasses come off unexpectedly, and the things you thought you knew about someone are suddenly exposed in a new light. He is nasty and angry and untrustworthy to boot. And might I add, a gutless pussy.

Perhaps I have hurt him, or perhaps this has been him all along? It's an awful thing to feel dismissed by people, and his behaviour feels as if it's rubbing off on others too. I think I'm paranoid... it's complicated. It's not helping those grasping hands on the sharp cliff-edge. Evidently I'm reaping the 'rewards' of my misery, but boy I hope it lets up soon. I refuse to let this break me.

lost myself, again

Look at me I’m such a basket case
Delivered to you wrapped in cellophane
Waiting on your doorstep, every day
Delivery, a basket filled with pain...
- Sia

Something snapped in me a couple of weeks ago. In the lead-up I'd been dealing with quite a bit of work stress, I'd been chatted to by my supervisor, about my 'overworrying' so I was trying so very hard, to not try so very hard - or at least make it appear that way... I understood what I was being told, but I was trying to prepare myself for any foreseeable outcome, I was trying to arm myself with every weapon in my arsenal, but I simply couldn't carry the weight. I was trying to be perfect, flawless. I was told it was unrealistic, it was unnecessary. I knew what they were saying, but I was trying to prove myself. I've been trying to prove myself my whole life.

Work has been a mixture of strange feelings for the past weeks. I'd been thrown back into a role I hadn't done in a long while, back with people I didn't necessarily mesh well with, relying on their assistance and my own skewed sense of competency. I'd also been sitting across from the source of my malignant workplace crush: Manchild. Working with him made getting out of bed in the morning easier, work more bearable and weekends became excruciatingly long. This 'crush' has also come to make a dire mess of me.

It was a Thursday, my last day in this challenging work rotation and it was set to be a long day. I was strangely well-composed, even 'chilled' on the exterior. My last hoorah - come what may! In the late afternoon, I hit a speed bump - I was overtired and frustrated. Manchild had been away for work, was due to return this afternoon, it had been three days since seeing him. As I was reaching speed on my decline, he walked in... he shouldn't have been there. My heart leapt and I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to cry my eyes out. It was as if my very own knight in shining armor had knocked at my castle door. People talk about being unable to wipe a smile of their face - I now understood this kind of smile.

Unbeknownst to me he stayed. He stayed until I finished. He stayed for me? Then as I was collecting my things he told me he had decided to pursue a longstanding passion that would almost certainly take him out of our shared workplace, and out of our hometown. Tears were welling in my eyes.

It was like John all over again. A lesson not yet learned, manifesting in some new cruel way. I had to flee immediately. I feigned part exhaustion, but I fear even a blind soul could sense my upset, my tears freely leaking.

I had to rush to the safety of my car. Sobbing part way there - begging the Gods that I not bump into anyone I know. I got to my car and I sobbed heartily the whole way home. I'm quite surprised I actually made it home without incident. My parents could not understand why I was in the state, and neither could I really. I continued to sob in the shower, as I pleaded with God, the Angels, or whoever dared listen: please, not again.

I went to work the next day. On the drive home at the end of the day, I became a similar teary mess.

Monday rolled around, back to my old menial role...ripped from the company of Manchild, I slipped further into an ugly black hole. I started crying, in front of a coworker. I couldn't collect myself - I had to hide away in a dark room - more than once. I could hear other coworkers, including Manchild having a jolly old time in another part of the office. It seemed an added cruelty on my already frayed emotional state. Much of that day was spent fighting the urge to cry. Each evening going home, feeling ill with this darkness. Tuesday, Wednesday...fighting tears. Evidently I had lost the footing I had so solemly maintained after John, after changing jobs, after the death of my beloved pet, after so many knocks. I'd finally succumbed to the black dog again, and he had me in his jaws.

This week just passed, went by in usual fashion. I thought I had begun to make some headway - but another work incident knocked me on Wednesday, and I went down again.

I have whimpered and howled in bathroom stalls, showers and in the dark silence of 'bed-time'. I have hidden sneaky tears at customer service counters, and inhaled and exhaled the muted upset to just make it to another day. To make it to another day in which Manchild would finally declare his feelings.

"I can't do this again" is what I cried to the Divine. Wrong. I won't do this again.

Again, I have lost sight of who I am, near-drowned myself in the shadow version of me that I thought he'd like. That I thought, the 'cool-girls' would like. I've been trying to be ok with eroding myself. I'm so messed up with these muddy thoughts that I don't even remember what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I cannot believe I sabotaged myself again. I cannot believe I fooled myself again.

It's late, and right now I should be sleeping, but I needed to get this out. I had hoped to spill everything; for as sure as I know I put myself here, with my thoughts, I know also that the situation does not belong solely to me.

But most of all, with this anger-tinged clarity, I needed to write down, for the 'me' that will undoubtedly weaken momentarily again... I need to tell her - that this guy, these people, this bullshit morphing of myself is utter fucking crap. That none of it - that none of our late night imaginings, warm affections and sassy office repartee are anything other than slight of hand, smoke screen distractions from our self. I - we - started a journey of self discovery, we knew that the path to love was going to start with loving our own self - even the dark parts. I got lost. I got transported to another dimension, but I will get back to myself.

Manchild is not the answer you seek. Nor is an attentive boss, a flattering friend, an approving parent, a complimentary stranger. These archetypes are not the missing piece of the puzzle, they are not going to make everything better - the power you are assigning to these faceless figures does not exist. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is something we must believe - we must know, that all the power we will ever need, all the love we are seeking to find is already there, inside ourselves. Believe it. Don't be distracted by anything else, because this is the only love that matters, and it is the only thing that is going to fix you. 

the cookie incident

There are a certain number of truths I carry around with me in life to help me maintain my sense of equilibrium in this crazy world - the kind of comforts I can lay my head on at night.  Things like 'the Kardashians are mostly made of plastic', 'chocolate is good', 'baby pink does not suit my colouring' and 'you can never have too many pairs of earrings', so on and so forth.

FACT: I can cook a kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookie. Anyone who tries aforementioned cookie, loves it, and me - by way of the heart route via stomach phenomenon.  I could hang my hat on that certainty.

I recently had my first year anniversary at my not-so-new job. Baking seemed appropriate, it seemed like the kind of thing Jesus might do if he had earned his one year badge with an employer. I went to the recipe - I carefully, perhaps even lovingly sifted, chopped, weighed, measured, mixed, spooned, baked and packed, to perfection, said kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookies. This morning I took them in; I even hand wrote a kooky-yet-charming sign inviting my co-workers to partake in the cookie eating.  I didn't expect a fanfare, I just wanted to say, you know "thanks" (read: "thanks, for not being complete assholes all of the time") and perhaps hope they would enjoy them as much as every other human who has ever encountered them before.

Tasting got off to a VERY slow start.  None of this pre-10am business.  "Pussies" I thought. Pfft - I had one at 7.25am. My boss finally tried one, and seemingly loved it, reaction was baseline kick-ass cookie - grateful and kind. Someone else tried one, after I suggested it a couple of times, said nothing - may as well have been eating dirt I guess. Someone else tried one, told me I did "well" (like - what the fuck?) and kept moving on. Someone else gave them a go on her lunch-break and also indicated her enjoyment, even went back for a second in quick succession. By the end of the day, there was one lonely cookie left. As I walked out the door, picking up my box with it's single lonely kick-ass cookie, I asked my old supervisor, knowing she hadn't tried one yet, if she wanted it, "No thanks" she said. Then, I turned to the only dude that works in my department and asked if he would have the last one. "No thanks, I already had one". "Fuck you" I said (in my head). I'm not a pretty face, by no means can I sway and seduce with any form of charm or charisma - but no man - no man has ever declined my fucking cookie before.  It hurt. It hurt real bad.

Maybe I expected too much. My previous bunch of coworkers loved the absolute shit out of these cookies.  I'd get baking requests, recipe sharing requests.  The damn container was always empty at the end of the day, and if there happened to be one morsel left out of politeness, I wouldn't have to ask more than once before a taker or two quickly appeared.

Had I lost my baking prowess?

Had my faithful recipe betrayed me?

Had I asked too much of the great cookie Gods?

I've been trying really hard not to hate the people I work with. (It's really challenging some days). I've had some frustrating setbacks, and experiences this past year and I've just been wanting to accept, and carry on like the good soldier I can be. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there is sniping and there is always swearing - but Jesus, I try! And I made these people my prize fucking cookies!

I smoldered on the drive home. What is wrong with these people? What did I do to deserve this? How DARE they? I just couldn't reconcile the days cookie intake, or reaction. By the end of my short drive, I concluded that they simply must be queer.  It also occurred to me after some venting, that it had been quite important, that they like my offering. This result did not meet my expectations, and I must own my part in wanting that acceptance to transfer to me. The person, not the kick-ass cookie.

It shits me to tears, but it is an undeniable truth that, right or no, all I ever want of people is for them to like me, accept me, appreciate me. Learning that this isn't always possible, is a lesson hard-won.

But seriously, who in their right mind says "no" to food offered by a half-blood Sicilian? It's unheard of. Work dude better watch out. He's going to have to work seriously hard for my throwaway laughs now. Fucker. And just as I was starting to like him too.

to the other boy

I spoke to John yesterday - not on purpose of course.  He called work, and I was the only sucker around to answer the phone.

"Hello StrangeBird, my name is John - I used to work there, I'm not sure if you remember me..."
(yes, the conversation really started like this)
(what, like I send intense love letters to all my previous co-workers, and then forget who they are?!)
(fuckwit)
Blah-blah and pleasantries followed, and then when he met his quota of appropriate interest shown, he got down to business and revealed what he wanted.

Of all the days in a month, of all the minutes, seconds, hours contained within a single work day, he had to call at precisely that moment.  As I was talking to him, I was aware it was awkward, but it wasn't until a few minutes after I put down the phone, that unease rippled through my gut.

Of course, he doesn't have the power he once had over me.  And it's only now, with the benefit of distance and time that I can see the cracks in his presentation, and the massive voids of clarity that once impeded my view of the world with him in it.  But, he's still the first boy who ever really broke my heart. And that warrants a slight pause I suppose.

Hearing his voice, and the suggestion that I might have removed him from my memory, sort of made me wish that I had; that I could have.  It made me want to change - transform like caterpillar to butterfly, and fly away - forgetting what things were like, before I had my wings.

That night, I pondered the experience before pushing it to outskirts of my mind, where it belongs. And it made me think of the 'other' boy I'd met recently. The wonderful conversationalist, and part-time yogi who found me on the dating website those weeks ago. I still haven't heard from him.

I know I should forget him.  But, there's a small part of me who holds onto a speck of hope that he will contact again, when he is ready.  And, if we were talking, I might tell him about what happened yesterday. I might tell him I write these posts to him.

I want to hear from you RiverBoy, so incredibly much.  I don't know if you'll ever be in the mood to listen to me again, but maybe I'll keep the conversation going anyway. Just until you tell me to shut up.

evolution is hard

This year the universe has been screaming at me to change; I'm trying you fucker is what I usually scream back in the dead of night. After I've read my latest self-help book, completed a guided meditation and over-thought my actions of the day (not necessarily in that order, that would definitely defeat the purpose of said activities).

Seriously, change is on the menu, as is being a better human.  But it's not easy work. Evolution is not easy, despite what the bible says. Dear God, please don't send me to hell for that comment.

At work, I am positively surrounded by self-obsessed assholes - and it takes every bit of my self control some days, not to outwardly mock their tone and narcissistic verbal diarrhoea.  You know I'm doing it in my head right, and sometimes it sort of just slips out...

Anyway, being around these kinds of people, aside from shitting me off, also reminds me about the kind of person I don't want to be.  Not in a self righteous kind of way, more just in the vein of I don't want to be a jerk.  The thing that erks me about these variety of humans, is the way they treat their underlings, because you know that totally speaks volumes about someones true character. Talk is cheap. You could be the richest, smartest, most beautiful person in all the land, but if you don't show respect to the people around you - I'm gonna think you're a turd.

So, this journey of bettering myself (for want of a better term) has led me to reading some interesting things. I came across this lovely quote the other night and it fitted perfectly with how I've been feeling.

"When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them." - Martin Buber

I realised this is what I'm searching for.  This is what I'm trying to reap, sow and cultivate in my own life and I love it.  I want to be a conductor of this type of energy - whether you believe it comes from God, or some other source, it doesn't matter.

This also provides direction for 'The Dating Experiment'.  To some guys I'm obviously a set of breasts and a hoo-ha, which is not ok.  So really, it's great when they out themselves that way inclined, because I can quickly avoid them, and move on.

Imagine my surprise, when over the weekend some really cool guy contacts me via this dating website.  I'm talking out of this world calibre of conversation. I don't even know where he lives, but it doesn't matter, because he wants to know about me, he wants to know what I think - he's incredibly interesting, and dare I say, too good to be true?  What scares me most of all, that I can write to him as me, carefully selecting and constructing the things I want to say, because I know he appreciates it.  I don't know where it will lead, but I hope we continue to write to one another, and maybe, at the very least I'll have a friend in him.  It's just so exciting to find one of 'my people'... it's serendipitous.

Being surrounded by assholes, makes the discovery of someone authentic even more sweeter.

secret sickness

They say that you're only as sick as your secrets.  I have a few in my closet - but there is just one making me really unwell right now.

And it is this:

I've never been anybody's girlfriend.

30 years on this Earth, and romantically, on my own that whole time.

I have literally been waiting my whole life to find someone to break through.

Try to imagine how much shame I feel just admitting that, and know I only do this, because here I am StrangeBird. And here I'm free to admit that I'm a mess, that I'm insecure and completely mortified. I get to leave this computer and this persona behind, but I always carry this secret with me - down the street, at work, around the dinner table, as I lay in the dark trying to get to sleep, and nobody knows how much it's stripping me, of self worth, hope, humor. It's a bit of a joke, except there's no punchline.

And this, this is why online dating is so completely mind-fucking to me. It was such a big decision to sign up - to think about chatting with people, talking about myself, 'selling' me, meeting up with someone in real life? Not liking them? Or worse, liking them? I have had to confront almost every fear about myself that I possess with this ridiculous ritual.

Some days, I can approach it with curiosity, and sometimes with humor.  But lately it just leaves me with an overwhelming sense of shit-ness.

I must be the problem... The almost-meet-up guy is now ignoring me, even after I wrote a vulnerable explanation and apology for being confusing.  At first it made me sad and bitter, but now it just kind of shits me off.  That even behind the protection of a computer screen, he hasn't got the balls to say the real reason why he lied about being "busy", or the guts to simply say "I don't want to talk to you anymore".

Seriously dude - WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Of course, he would have no idea that I angst-ed over troubling him for almost an entire weekend.  That I kicked myself for thinking too much, for panicking and knee-jerking.

Depending upon my level of confidence and ignited-wog-passion - I bounce from feeling violently rejected, angry, all the way to sunny indifference.  His loss, right?

I don't know what's so wrong with me?  I know I'm not perfect.  I'm not terribly pretty, I have curves in the wrong places, a mind-field of internal dialogue and edges.  Rough, obtrusive bumps on the exterior of my complicated package.  But I know, I know, inside there are parts that are pure gold. But nobody seems to want to scratch beneath the surface to see that.

Is it just a waiting game?  Is it timing? Do I just need for the right species of butterfly to flap its wings in the town of Shitsville, at a certain point of planetary alignment? Can I really be such an unusual case, that my time, place, person have to match up just so?

I don't know.  I prayed not to be lonely forever, and the next morning on the music lottery of my iPod, Bon Jovi told me it was my life, that it was now or never and then Shania Twain immediately followed by telling me that the thing about love is that there ain't no particular way. (Yes, I have these songs on my iPod... seems to be the post for hideous secrets).

You can listen to a song dozens of times, and never really 'hear' it. Maybe people are the same that way.

I hate public pools

As part of my foot 'rehab' my only form of exercise at the moment is almost entirely limited to that which can be executed in a large body of water. I don't have a pool at home, or have access to an ocean, so I am forced to slum it at the local sports centre.

As if it's not bad enough I have to wear a ridiculous bright blue foam belt that makes me look like a giant she-child while "water-jogging" [read: doggie paddle and/or furiously thrash limbs in deep water]. Nope, nothing remotely dignified about it.  In fact, I could arrange my hair into a delightful french roll (no, that's not true, I can't actually do that, but I could pay someone to) while parading a string of pearls atop my rashie, and the only thing that could make that scene more graceful would be me submerging my entire body under the water, and never resurfacing again.

I didn't realise the intensity of my hatred for public swimming pools until just recently.  Of course, every time I walk through the doors, the heavy air hits my skin and that unmistakable scent of chlorine violates my nose. All those old anxieties and fears born of being a poor swimmer, turns me to my former eight year old self and I actually have to stop and think "no, it's ok, you're an adult now".  But even as an adult, pool-etiquette is fraught with potential anxiety.  There's the fight for space and small shreds of privacy, and then the fact that without lane ropes, people become savages.  Straight lines people - what have you got against swimming/walking/ogling in straight fucking lines?

really? what's the point here?

Poise is not easily achieved at 7am on a Sunday morning, especially after learning all the lanes are occupied, or empty but signposted "Closed to Public" and therefore off-limits.  Today I had to share the small heated pool with 'extremely hairy man', and his sidekick (who can only be distinguished from his 'friend' purely by the lack of excessive back hair).  I had applied my "fuck-off" face, because, I don't know, I just don't want to 'chat' when I'm trying to exercise; I don't feel like smiling politely that early in the morning, I don't even want to acknowledge that I'm really here, because in my mind, I am trying very hard to be far, far away.

For the second weekend in a row, I had a lifeguard do his best to casually approach me, before cutting straight to the hard hitting question...
lifeguard: excuse me - is that a-
me: NO, it's a rashie!
lifeguard: oh yeah.... cool
You can't get eye contact from them any other time.  No, God-forbid someone was actually drowning, they'd be too busy stalking someone they suspect is wearing street clothes in the pool. Dumb-asses.

Sure, they'll let hairy, sweaty, inconsiderate people in - but they'll shit their pants if you're found to be wearing 'street clothes'.  I tell you, they could do with letting some people wear ordinary shirts into the pool - I'm probably one of them, but 'extremely hairy man' is definitely a strong candidate.  I am thinking about getting some paint, or bleach and etching into the back of my rashie "yes, this is a rashie". Dumb-asses.

Mostly, on days like these, I hate public pools because it is so glaringly obvious that I have submerged my [clean] body into a large cocktail comprised of water, probably snot, definitely at least a little pee, almost certainly shit, without a doubt sweat, hair, dirt, chemicals and a band-aide - there is always one band-aide.

death to smiley faces

I used to throw one in every now and then.  I once felt it appropriately symbolised my feeling at the time. But now, my boss has killed it for me.  In mass emails, notes, on the sign in board for sobbing out loud.  It's too much. Just. Too. Much.  I'm finding now it's having a reverse smiley effect on me - now when I see one, I want to vomit, and when faced with a situation where I might've ordinarily used one, I quietly shudder.

I feel that smiley face over-use is definitely a punishable offence. Jail time even.

*spew*

workplace wars

All this time I had been treating it like a battle - when suddenly I realised no one is going to come out a victor.  There are no winners in these situations; there will be no medals of honor or pats on the back to be handed out.

I fight, I ache, I wonder and ponder on how things should be right.  I lose.

'They' get the better of me, push me out, isolate me, underestimate me. At the end of their days, they are still shit people and therefore, even though it seems like a win, they still lose.  

When I stopped thinking about how I was going to gain the days ground, I realised the absolute futility of it all.

the source

"You have to remember, the world is made up of all kinds of people - some of them are really crap, and some are OK.  But you can't change any of them." Papa Bird tells me.

He's right. But. There's always a but...

Instead of thinking about how I was going to 'stick it to the man/woman' today - I had to change the focus:

What am I going to do for myself today?

Am I going to do whatever I can, to move myself in the direction of where I want to be? In the direction of who I want to be?

Focus becomes more about what I want, and less about what 'they' don't want.  And that is the way it should always be.

The fact of the matter is the moment we start angst-ing, crying, developing an ulcer over other people's actions, our attention is diverted from where it should be - on ourselves. And we serve nobody, least of all ourselves, with that bullshit.

bitch be raging

Things have become so outrageously out of hand in these recent times.  In my external environment, at work, it's like a topsy-turvy world where nobody makes sense.  I feel like I'm the only one stumbling around, scratching my head asking what the fuck is going on? Has everyone been body snatched? Where have all the good people gone?

Without too much detail, I've been trodden on one too many times, so it is now a desperate hunt for a new job.  I've been at my current job for almost six years, and these past months have been some of the most hurtful and upsetting thus far.  Every time something new happens, I shake my head and wonder why. Do I ask for these things?  Is there something in me that attracts rubbish people?

I'm such an easy mark too - not a great deal of confidence, not really assertive - I'd probably roll over if you asked nicely, and even if you didn't....

But for sobbing out loud (and I have been) isn't there any loyalty anymore? Respect? Decency?

Perhaps I expect too much from people? I do expect some shred of fairness from the world.  I do expect my everything to count for some thing.  But lately the world has shown me, no, no they fucking don't.  I can see it now, the universe wagging her index finger, tut-tut-tutting at me...

Why do I have such a 'warped' sense of the world? Because I'm a fundamentally good person - in spite of my frequent profanity use.

For too long I've let it slide - but now I realise I am actually worth more than the sum total of the collective assholes who think it's ok to shit on people, just because they can.  And I've decided - I'm not putting up with it anymore. I'm just not.  I'll move on.  And if the next bunch of people turn out to be turds, I'll move on again.  And I'll keep moving on and on, and on, and even if I don't stop moving until I find myself adopted into a pack of wolves, that's ok. Because I just don't want to be around people that make me feel bad anymore.  Life is too short.

I can't change the world, or the people in it - but I sure can control where I'm standing.

the lead balloon

I had 'the talk' yesterday. I spoke to my immediate work team members and told them of my plans to leave my current role. It had been coming a long time, and lately the realisation that there was no going back flew at me light-speed.  It wasn't an easy conversation to have, because I've been at my current job for over five years - I've put my heart, sweat and tears into it, so to raise the white flag - to actually say it aloud was scary and confronting.

What followed my declaration has been varied.  From the people that matter, it has been kindness.  From others, it has been somewhat disappointing.  Now more than ever I feel like I'm walking on eggshells - acutely aware I'm not going anywhere until I find another job.. they know that and I know that.  Perhaps my honesty wasn't appreciated.  I think the decision I made for myself is now being used against me.  It's not all giggles at the moment.

I'm tired of fighting an un-win-able fight, of trying to make my passion matter to anyone other than me. And I'm so utterly gutted that you can give yourself to an organisation for half a decade, and be disappeared into the shadows in the blink of an eye.

Humans keep disappointing me. So I wonder, do I expect too much from life, or am I just hanging around the wrong kind of people?

freedom on my mind

My boss has what she calls "intolerant days".  Days where seemingly anything and anyone can be the instigator of her intolerance - depending upon the way she feels about the animal/vegetable/mineral at any given time.

Every now and then, I get hit with a shard of her intolerance, and not only does it confuse and insult me - it also makes me feel a bit crap. It gets to me mostly because I'm forever trying to do my best to function and move and talk and engage when all I really want to do is none of those things. Most of the time, I don't feel like being the shit-kicker in the organisation, but I'll be sure to receive a swift reminder at those times I fail to remember my place.

I don't necessarily want to be the highest paid person in the building, the one with the biggest title, or the greatest sway - but what I would like is respect. Not to be second guessed, and not to be the target of someones frustration just because she's having a momentary lapse of tolerance.

tonight, tonight with the haters

I just read something on facebook that infuriated me. Written in comment on a status update, one of my recently ex-coworkers wrote a note of congratulations to a mutual 'friend' on her "escaping" my hometown. Little fucker.

I'll be the first to acknowledge this town has its limitations, but it did support that ex-coworker with employment, sealed roads, fresh air, beer and amenities for the past 18 months. That entitled, arrogant hipster snot, with his Ray Bans and Converse sneakers can shove his witless little digs up his skinny jeans wearing ass. What a punk.

ROOOOAAARRRRR!

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 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

Just another bad day

My top lip has a permanent red scar from the mean cold-sore of 2007. I'd like to thank my dear sister for this, as it was her bridezilla tendencies who created a very stressful three days for me during a bridesmaid dress expedition. Today, I awoke to find a very angry red scar... and very quickly a bubble... then the pain... and the itch.  Good fucking morning, bitches!

I don't even know how I got this asshole of a virus anyway.  I only wish it was through kissing some hot bad-boy in a darkened pub corner. I suspect that it may have come from a poorly washed cup, utilised by my bastard pig of an ex-boss, during my part time job, about seven years ago.  Either that, or being the born worrier that I am, the virus sidled up next to me and just decided my body was where it wanted to be. I feel that both of these hypotheses are equally possible. (Hypothesis - now there's a word I know I haven't used since 2009).

So, I woke up with a cold sore today, and bad hair... and just a plain old bad attitude.  I always feel more vulnerable to general worldly shittiness when I feel ugly - like there's a chink in my armour, and thanks to the cold sore - everyone could see the chink. This provides almost perfect proof that attitude and outlook determine so much.  See, it's interesting how I know this, but yet I am still unable to shake the pissy, frustrated attitude I find myself wearing more frequently these days.

Then, add a family drama.  Today my sister had to take my five-month old niece to see a paediatric therapist (who belongs to my department at work), for follow up on a fairly benign issue.  I hear that at this appointment the stupid, old, bitter therapist tells my sister some horrific things about the state of my nieces head - introducing words like 'brain surgery' and 'never in all my years'.  At first I was a mixture of concern and anger - and then selfish thoughts, like why me... I can't take any more today. Then I got upset because I knew this 'news' had sent my sister into an episode of tears and poorly informed google-ing. So, I was trying to calmly talk it out with a co worker who I trust, but then of course, my voice starts to shake and I get teary - because in my heart I'm fearing for my niece, but in my head I'm wondering how someone with half a centuries experience can be so fucking insensitive with a new mother.

I just get so scared when I think about anything being wrong with my nephew or niece.  Like a parent, I want to protect them from bad things.  I don't want to see them disadvantaged, hurt or sick. I am genuinely scared, and they aren't even my kids. I also can't help but feel a little responsible; because of where I work, I encouraged my sister to seek out assistance with the initial problem... and now she's just in a state of utter panic, because of what my co-worker said to her.

There are just some days where I wish I could melt into the walls unseen - remove myself from waking life and just be deleted for a little while.  I wish I could have done this today, and taken my lovely niece with me.

I am so worried about all of this; I hope that it all turns out to be nothing - but that giant neon 'WHAT IF' hangs above my head.  I guess all I can do is hope, and pray and love the shit out of the people I care about, while I can - because the scariest truth of them all is that I can't control anything.

SB xx

some people are real problems

Going by today's experiences - I say with complete confidence, that upon waking this morning, approximately 30% of the worlds people decided they were going to be assholes today.

Lets see - there was the nurse who tore strips off me for interrupting her break to provide her with some handover, for, lets see - HER PATIENT. I accept you might be overworked lady, but you know what? I'm not the one you need to get angry at. And I accept I probably don't factor very highly on your 'people that matter' mental list - but how about some decency for a fellow human, who by all accounts has always been, at the very least, courteous to you?

Then there was the guy on the phone who not so eloquently expressed his desire not to be seen at my workplace anymore.  I'm sorry jerk-face, did our messages concerning YOUR HEALTH throw you into a state of agitation?  You know what agitates me? When I have to waste ridiculous amounts of time and resources chasing wankers like yourself around, all because you can't be assed responding to voice message number one.

You know what else shitty people - it's Monday for me too.  I didn't sleep that well the last couple of nights, I'm fighting an internal battle with sputum and I generally don't want to be at work most days. But I still conduct myself with some manner of professionalism - I smile when I answer the phone, I'm helpful and polite even when given cause not to be - this is all actually part of being an adult. A semi-functioning, adult human being.

On days like these, it pays to remember that some people have real problems.

SB xx

ask no questions, get no lies... write an email, now that's unwise

I wrote an email to my manager before I went away last week.  I paid for it today.

In all my experiences, I don't know why I think a stirring email is going to change the shitness of the world.  It's as if I think my humble string of words, so carefully put together, is going to move people to change - guess what, people don't change - they just get mad.

It wasn't a nice email, I admit. I knew I was pushing it with the contents - and yep, it was not my finest hour.  I'm not proud of it, but I suppose I felt compelled to get something to change.  You know, in all my history of letter writing, it's been in response to things that push me to the brink, or the edge - some place uncomfortable.

The pen is mightier than the sword - the keystroke, even more so.

I'm sorriest of all - that the only thing people take from this, is what an an unhinged person I am.  All they do is feel sorry for the recipient of the email; they forget what pushed a rational person to write such a thing. The poor bastard who signs off at the end.

I learnt some valuable lessons (I mustn't lose the lesson) - namely, when you feel compelled to write an email - just DON'T.

My manager was obviously disappointed in me - but not as half as much as I am disappointed in her.  I realised today, and I know now that it's completely true - that I actually don't matter in the realm of my workplace.  I'm so utterly gutted - to hear the truth, and to damage my reputation in the process.

Damn this fiery Aries mouth of mine. Fuck.

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

The Rules

Outwit. Outlast. Outplay. So the TV show 'Survivor' might have coined this as its catchphrase - but these words collectively are a motto to live by.

So tonight, I'm crossing the road - I look to my right, there's no one coming - so I start to cross, patiently, kinda slowly - it's been a long day, and the shoes I'm wearing aren't great for express walking. Seemingly I was going too slow - I'm almost at the centre strip when a knob driving a Suzuki Swift (SPEW) with private number plates I might add (double SPEW) - beeps her tacky horn and hurls abuse at me? "Fucking Idiot" I believe is what I caught as she zoomed past me. It left me feeling a little idiotic and embarrassed. I still don't understand what happened - but mostly I became disappointed with the human race for having people like that a part of it. Outlast assault with a vehicle.

So then, I started to wonder when it became ok to treat others this way. When did it become acceptable to yell at total strangers who get in our way? I know I can be guilty of this - but at least I keep it in the 'internal environment' ... that is, my mind. In every moment we are passing judgement on those we encounter and seemingly some people think that being outrageously verbal about it is OK. Life is going to be hard work if we have to be on the defensive all the time. Outwit the dumb asses of the world, and just keep out of their way!

And work - that place is like an unattended restaurant kitchen at peak meal time. So many different pots being stirred, boiling over or boiling dry. The meat is overcooked and the veggies are soggy. So many chefs in the kitchen who have stopped following the recipe and are now trying to cook their own dishes. There are stories and rumours flying about the place - you have to think two steps ahead in the shoes of your 'enemy', then 10 steps ahead for yourself, and you must always be wary of people carrying knives! Outplay the office politics and be the last one standing.

It really is a jungle out there.

SB xx