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.

violent tendencies

Recently I had admitted to my psychologist that I was becoming increasingly frustrated with my boss, and that I was beginning to struggle with hiding those feelings.  I thought that perhaps these feelings were 'seeping' out of me, and being picked up those around me and making for a more tense atmosphere. Therefore creating a big ol' dirty circle of angst.

In order to diffuse these feelings, she suggested that whenever I was around the aforementioned boss, I should try to think of something funny to lighten my mood, similar to the imaginings of J.D in the TV series 'Scrubs'.

I saw this movie "Identity Thief" recently, and while it was not a terribly great movie, it did contain the inspiration for my 'mood-lightening' thought.  See 0:36 below for the golden moment.

The only problem is that this didn't work for very long, and my 'mood-lightening' thought has now taken a violent turn.  When my boss is hovering over my shoulder, or ignoring my transferred calls, or being dismissive, I now like to imagine that the sandwich-maker is being hurled at her head - by me.  As she's walking past my work station.... as she's exiting the door... even a surprise blow as she's sitting at her desk with her back to me - I imagine smacking her square in the melon with that platinum silver sandwich press. That's bad, right?

I don't think this is quite what the psychologist had in mind.

not today Louise L. Hay

A few weeks ago, I purchased myself a Louise L. Hay book, in an effort to pull myself out of this funk I find myself in. Frustrated with work, life and myself; frightened by uncertainties and general stuck-ness - I thought she might have some wisdom for me.  I'm sure she's very clever, and positive, I don't imagine she even has cause to swear or raise her voice - but today Louise L. Hay - you just can't help me.  Today I'd like to smack Louise L. Hay over the head with her own book.

Sorry Louise L. Hay.. it's not you, really, it's just the whole sad sight of self-help books swallowing my shelves and desk.  And.. maybe a little you... mostly because I'm suspicious of eternally positive people.

I'm annoyed - 3-year-old style annoyed; stomp my feet, fall to the floor, pound my fists on the ground - frustrated. I DON'T WANT to do anything I don't want to do - I don't want to go to work, I don't want to be at home, I don't want to be alone but I don't want to be around people either. I don't want to feel grateful for a job I am growing to hate... mostly I don't want to feel like this any more.

I know adults can't behave this way. I know all of the above is silly, self-absorbed and petty.  I know once all is said and done, I can't bury my head in my hands and cry for my mother because:
a) that would be weird, and
b) it would get me nowhere.
As an adult, we have to come to the realisation that there is no one to blame for our situations; we can yell and scream and sulk all we want, but there's no one to hear us.  Somehow we have to pick ourselves up.

I don't have the answer on how to successfully do this without the drama. But I know we each just have to figure it out as best we can.  We have to be courageous to walk towards the things we don't want to face - work, a doctors appointment, an uncomfortable conversation, a foe, a decision...

I'm not perfect, I spent much of the day groaning and biting at my family if they dared approach, and I frequently revert to my depressive/anxiety driven habits - but I do know that the time we want to run away, is precisely the time we have to roll out of bed and face the new day - come what may.

strategies for working with stupid people

Every now and then you meet a person, who on every conceivable level annoys the complete shit out of you. It's as if your aura's clash and repel like charged magnets, or batteries, or whatever the laws of science say. I have one of these people in my wider work team, and I'm really struggling to deal with him. From this moment on, he shall be referred to as 'Beet-Boy'.

I used to consider myself a 'nice' person, but the longer I spend in the approximate company of Beet-Boy - the more nasty and horrible I become.  I am unable to hide my disdain for Beet-Boy - I verbally, passive aggressively assault him whenever the opportunity presents itself. I know this isn't right - it's a poor reflection of me and it's mean to him - but I just seem to lose control of my face and mouth where he is concerned.

He's like an eight year old in a forty year olds awkward body - he has zero social skills, is lazy, nonsensical and arrogant.  He wears inappropriately short-shorts, eats cold baked beans from the can and likes beetroot way too much. He has googly eyes which pierce (and not the good kind of piercing), and overall I just can't stand the sight of him without my face hardening and my words turning venomous.

Admittedly I don't have a lot of tolerance for stupidity - but I really do need to feign some form of respect for Beet-Boy, who is technically my 'elder' and my work superior.  I hate feeling like a bad person, and just wish I was able to rise above all the shit at work that brings me down like a sinking stone.

Until that lotto win happens, I might have to grow accustomed to keeping my mouth shut - or biting my tongue, turning the other cheek, twisting my own arm, pulling someone elses leg.... wahhhhh!  I thought nature was supposed to 'natural select' the stupid out of a species.

everything is debateable

It's hard being me sometimes.  If I told you the ways in which things are screwy right now, you'd scarcely believe me that someone could be so... unlucky? In an effort not to be self indulgent (and to keep the blood pressure in the acceptable range) let's just say I'm one off-hand remark away from going all Michael Douglas "Falling Down" on someone's ass.

I sat at my desk this afternoon at work - willing the minutes away until I could lock the door and leave the day behind, and I thought to myself how nice it might be to suddenly, I don't know, fall pregnant by immaculate conception, or win lotto, or meet a strange millionaire who takes a liking to my tired face - all this, just so I could check out of my life the way it is right now. So I could feel something other than the festering anger and almost complete hopelessness that I feel almost every moment of every day. I just want to feel something other.  There's got to more. I'm just a relatively normal girl, trying to live a modest, reasonable existence - there has got to be more. 

ding dong the witch is... gone

These last couple of months at work have been quite difficult for me.  My 'boss' returned to her former position as supervisor/maker/tyrant of my work-world, and I have struggled with this.  We had a falling out of sorts, maybe 2 years ago - and I've never been able to go back.  I haven't been able to forget what happened, or how it made me feel.

The difficulty with this of course, is that when you can't stand your boss - every decision they make feels like a personal attack, every thing they do, every thing they don't do - grates on the metal link of the weakening chain that is supposed to hold everything together.

I don't hide my frustration very well either, which makes things awkward.  I suppose I'm like a simmering pot of water, once I reach that level - boiling point, it is an ugly shitting mess and impossible to go back.  When I say that I haven't been able to forget, what I really mean is that I will not let myself forget.  There's that bullshit song "forgiven, not forgotten" - I can't forgive, I can't really forget. Maybe I'm a bad person; certainly I must be a poor Catholic. I know God must be shaking his head at me in disgust sometimes.

I know I turn into a bad person, my heart turns ugly for a time, and I hate myself for being this way.  I acknowledge that my expectations of people, of life, are far higher than they have any right to be.  I know I can be self righteous and judgemental, my version of "right" is always better than anyone elses. I can say she does this to me, but really, I let her get to me.  Like those wise ones say, we can't control the world, but we can control how we react to it. Well, me and the world have a volatile relationship - guess who's going to win.... (hint: it's probably not going to be me) Does this change the battle?... Not. One. Iota.

Today my boss served her final day as my boss, which should excite me - should make me feel proud for surviving it all - but really, I look down at my dirtied hands and rub tired eyes, and I know I am not a winner here. Our paths clashed furiously, and my road will be permanently kinked because of it.

She won't be gone completely, she will still have close links to my place of work.  I may not have to see her everyday, but her name lingers on the lips of those around me; her shadow threatens to cast in cold corners.  Worst of all, from the outside, she is perfectly charming, her humour is disarming, and by the look of her, you cannot tell she's rotting underneath.  The washed out Italian blood that runs through my veins quickens in fury at the thought of 'her', and it may be responsible for these dramatic descriptions. 

At times I have been utterly graceless and conniving, and of this I am not proud. But, she is gone - and for that I am thankful.

I'll try to grasp the lesson with both hands.

Drowning Girl

'Drowning Girl' - Roy Lichtenstein

I am tired of this fever. Tonight, my repertoire of emotion is limited to anger and frustration.  I have a cold that won't go away - my head is heavy with fatigue. Add to that, I am seemingly physically incapable of creating GHD curls and that just fucking pisses me off, no end.

I see the GP tomorrow, where I plan to talk about the meds issue.  Perfect timing, as always.

May peace be with you at least.

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