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. 

giving words wings

I do declare that someday I shall make a grand bonfire by setting alight the vast number of 'self-help' books in my possession (save for perhaps a dozen or so 'favourites').  The rising smoke shall be the chicken-soup-for-the-heavens-soul.  And I will dance around those flames with ridiculous abandon - mostly because of the space I would have created on my bookshelves, but also partly because it will signal a time when I don't feel the need to fix myself anymore.

I decided a little while ago that 2016 should be the year of big internal shifts. In order to have my life change in all the positive ways I want it to, things have to alter.  It's a multi-pronged goal, that quickly summarised would look a little like this: 

1. Discover who I am;
2. Be OK - nay - happy with who I am;
3. Be confident enough to take my place in the world, as this authentic me, and
4. Make no apologies once I get there.

That 'place' is proving a little elusive, and its distance varies from day to day.  Some days I think I'm going ok, but most days what I really want is for someone to side-step into my world, and flip that fucking switch for me.  And the truth at the heart of everything I've been trying to say, since I started forming words, is that all I really want is to be loved like I've never been loved before, and I want to feel, be and emit the glow of that glorious love like no one before me.

supreme source

Everyone deserves that, right? Isn't that why we're here?

always me

Love is a dwelling known from a place of dreaming, and at its heart, a room.  A room filled with mirrors, trinkets and things.  

Not loving oneself is like a hand grasping out at those glistening treasures, but not believing there is a right to reach for such delights. It is a gesture, a hesitation that screams I don't deserve this. And so, all those 'things' remain in some sad, stateless place, gathering dust and shit. Hidden from view.

Until of course I decide I am worthy, and realise that those treasures are mine to do with them, whatever I will.

I hope to dwell here awhile.

Illustration by Lisa Falzon

the man has spoken

I simply couldn't put my hopes for 2016 any better than this, not with all the words and wit in the world. 

All hale Neil Gaiman.

the miss list

As 2015 clambers through its final days, I tried thinking about the things I had achieved, the notable experiences and such that had marked my 32nd year on this planet.  It turns out I wasn't able to produce much of a list - so, in the absence of the groundbreaking, heart-shattering, mood altering list I had hoped to yield, I instead have a list of things not yet achieved.

1.
As a 32 year old female, attempting to adult her life, I shamefully admit that I have not been able to master the fine, and delightful art of the 'winged eye-liner' (à la exhibit 1A). The style, so beautifully worn by the likes of Angelina, Adele and Dita, still eludes me.  If I die before I successfully recreate this look, someone please ask the mortician to grant me a set of kick-ass wings for all of eternity. Maybe I should put this in my will.  Hmmm, I don't have a will. Should I? Fucking hell.

Exhibit 1A

2.  

Considered writing a will. Fuck you, item number 1.

3.

Fallen in love - or been fallen in love with. Frida Kahlo said that one should, "take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic". That's what I want, I want that (see exhibit 3A).

Exhibit 3A - I feel like this image sufficiently conveys aforementioned look of magic. *swoon* 

4.

Successfully mastered my body and mind. (This one might take a while).

5.

Maintained regular writing activities, and/or blog entries. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

6.

Become a musical genius.

2016 - look out!

shadow self

I am so profoundly broken.

Death, life, grief, pain, time and life have pummeled me. I don't remember who I used to be, all I know is that I am not that person anymore. She is gone.

I feel as if, in her place, is this shadow version of me. This half-life me. She's ugly; bitter, angry, tired. I can't conceal her anymore.  She is the person I have become when all my other masks fail me. I have no energy and I have no means to keep her hidden. I don't know what to do.

I wish I could run. Home doesn't feel safe anymore. I am judged here, by people, the past, the mirrors. I want to run to a place where I can scream and cry and not be condemned for what may escape my mouth.

I am at the end of my tether.

artist unknown

Vale Bonnie

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die... Eccles. 3.1

I had to say goodbye to my best friend yesterday. She'd been in my life for 11 years.  

Life was kind of shitty when we first met.  I was going through college, carrying out someone else's idea of my life.  I'm not too sure how my sister and I finally swung it - but the parentals had finally agreed to let us have a pet dog.

Mum and I rushed to the pet store this Friday afternoon.  I could even tell you what I was wearing, as if that mattered.  There were a couple of different kinds of puppies for sale. In one enclosure sat a white, fluffy, delicate little thing, and next to that there was a shy, fuzzy, brown bundle we deemed most likely to be loved by Dad.

She was so small, you could comfortably hold her in one hand - soft and lively, delicate in her own kind of way. I wish I could tell you about the ride home with our new puppy.  I wish I had been smart enough to soak those minutes in so that I could recall them in full-colour-high-definition now.  I suppose I was just too excited to be going home with our special little bundle.

We thought about names overnight, made lists, but nothing stuck. I remember 'Tess' was on the list (as I recall, "Mcleods Daughters" was popular with us girls at the time) along with many other possibilities.

Saturday morning came, and I had to go to my crappy part time job, a place where you weren't allowed to call the boss by his first name. He was a naughty boy stuck in a bearded mans body. 

I finished work, slipped off my wretched shoes and found she had a name: "Bonnie".

Bonnie was so small, she got lost in vastness of our backyard.  As a young pup, she took pleasure in bathing herself in her giant water bowl, and rubbing herself all over the green lawn.  As she grew, she loved to play - she got big enough to enjoy the toys we'd brought her, when really revved up, she would run in circles, huffing in excitement with her tail tucked under as if conforming herself to a more aerodynamic shape.

But, she had little frailty's too. She became nippy, and at times short tempered, especially after we had her spayed. We'd wondered if abuse was in her past.  She wasn't great with new people, tall people, or people with booming voices - she would crawl with her tail sideways, and urinate if they reached out to pat her. Poor Bonnie, she was a bit damaged, like me - and that somehow made her even more special.

She'd bark when the roller door opened, and when the doorbell rang . She'd chase nearby doves like a warrior when someone caught her by surprise, and took pleasure in keeping cats out of her territory. If she were inside when you got home from work, she'd be first at the door, greeting you with her shy little shuffle.  It wouldn't matter what had happened that day, she was a reason to crack a smile.

Like me, she loved her food, and I was always happy to share my peas with her.  She loved spaghetti, and roast chicken and had an uncanny ability to hear the peeling of a carrot, or the opening of the biscuit barrel.

Most nights I'd have a cup of tea, she'd wake and share some biscuit with me. It was our routine, our tradition.

Life is made up of increments of time, pieces of things put together to make a whole day. Bonnie was so ingrained in almost every part of my life, I'm utterly devastated by her absence now.  Now there are wide, gaping holes in the days - the silence is crushing, time has slowed to snails pace these past two days - I feel sick when I remember for certain she's gone.

I could go on and on about her, but I won't.  I know some people don't understand how animals can be grieved so fiercely. And to me, those people aren't such great 'people'.  My Bonnie - for all her faults and flying jumps was beautiful. She wasn't conventional, or easy to understand, but she was my friend and the best kind of 'person' I might ever know.  Up until yesterday I don't think I've ever felt so alone.  My 'almost Tess', my friend under the table, my hello at the door, I will miss you forever.  And forever feels like a very long time right now.



Rest in peace my little Biscuit.

return to sender

Dear God,

I'd like to make a return please.  Your conditions clearly stipulate that one is only given as much as they can handle.  I don't know what the others have been saying, but I am not doing OK with this load you've given me.  I think there's been some kind of mistake?

If you need me to fill out some kind of form, I'd be happy to oblige - but you have gotta take some of this crap off my hands. I don't know who you might be able to "redistribute" these things to - I'm hoping you might be able to recycle, or better yet, liquidate things altogether.

The incessant neck pain,
                the never ending fucking headache, 
     the earache, the plantar fasciitis, 
              the fat pad atrophy (great sense of irony there bud; real nice of you to shrink the single most important piece of fat in my fat-rich body!)  
                 the bad hair, 
      the big ugly feet, 
   that fingernail on my right hand middle finger that Just. Keeps. Breaking
                         the asshole boss, 
                                         the crooked nose, 
          the instinctive pull to eat my feelings, 
                                        the poor sleep, 
                   the fear, the angst and all the sadness,
                                        the complete and distinct void of purpose in my life 
                                                                        and that glorious innate reflex to run,                                                                                 anytime something seems remotely                                                                                  hard or uncomfortable or scary.  
And you know what? To me, pretty much everything is scary.

Enough already.  I'm waving the white flag.  I just can't juggle this many things at once, truth be known I'm a terrible juggler - two things - tops!

For the love of all things good in the world, will you please give a girl a break and ease up?  And, if you won't take anything back, will you at least send someone down here to help me out?

Kind Regards,
Me xx

a cautionary tale

I still live at home with my parents (I know, I know!) and as such, am able to observe them in rather close quarters.  When 2014 knocked at our collective door, we hesitantly answered its call and since then so much has happened within the family, that it's been difficult to come out unscathed.

Unbeknownst to them, my parents have been teaching me invaluable lessons.  Lessons in how not to conduct your life.

My Father is a conventional man.  If ever there was a person that contemplated their own navel into political-geographical-socioeconomic significance - it would be him.  He's a classic overthinker, stubborn and fixed in the logical realm. He can't buy anything without researching its intricacies. He doesn't believe in anything you can't prove, see or test and he doesn't like anything made in China. Conversation. End. In fact, anything shit that ever broke - it's China's fault.  He is the Godfather of preparedness, consideration, hand-on-chin, forehead rubbing, deep problem thinking. He'll think and wait, until his dreams are invaded by the metaphors of his inaction.  From my Father, I learn: don't think so fucking much.

All this, and he's the last one to see that people can be devious and self serving.  He is loyal to an absolute fault, and lives his life thinking people are generally nice, and logical - like him.  He'd have to be stabbed in the front by someone, before believing anything really ill about them. He's booksmart, but incredibly naive. Because his world is full of good people - good things happen, patience is rewarded and loyalty is highly regarded, which is why he's also so shocked when things don't work out that way.  From my Father, I learn: don't be so fucking stupid. The things you want are not going to tap you on the shoulder politely and announce excitedly "weee...here I am" - they are more likely to run over your foot and cause you injury as they speed past you in their red sports car, on their way to somewhere else.

My Mother is a basket of contradictions.  Fist-wielding impatient and stubborn she will sometimes scream for change, excitement and opportunity and then cower in the corner beneath a blanket when it threatens to visit.  She is completely immobilised by change. She is suspicious of everything. She can kill good intention with the power of her mind and converts ideas to apathy effortlessly.   In stark contrast to my Dad, she is reactive, negative and completely unpredictable. From my Mother, I learn: evolve or erupt.

My Mum is also completely unaware of her internal environment.  I fear she is so out of touch with who she is, or what she wants, that the things she grabs for, she only does so because they are there. There's no 'inside' voice; she doesn't give any real thought to forming her own opinion on most things - she exists to serve her family, and she doesn't seem to want an identity removed from that.  I wish I could go back in time, and know my Mum, before she was 'Mum'.  From my Mother, I learn: know yourself; and to thine own self, be true.

I've been learning these lessons for a long time, but cruelly, it was only today, when they all came crashing down to consciousness.  And, when I put them altogether, I think about the sadness of lives led in the shadow of these non-rules.  The remnants of hopes, desires and dreams that are trimmed and discarded out of fear and the unknown. I hate today, I just hate it.

When I learnt some disappointing news this afternoon, I had to leave the confines of the house, for fear of combusting.  I went outside to our 'spare room', the place in our home where Christmas decorations, and exercise equipment goes to die.  After some hysterical laugh/crying, I tried to calm myself down with some basic yoga breathing. Afterwards I lay on the mat, listening to Tuesday afternoon tracks of tweeting birds, barking dogs and cooling breeze, I look upon my view which was completely encased in corrugated iron, aside from one small square of blue sky.  I looked at that tiny square, and I was thankful for it, but I couldn't help feeling like everyday that square gets smaller and smaller. I'm shrinking into this horrible existence, when what I want to do is burn the roof down.

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.

the big dump

This is my 'Sliding Doors' moment; with my freshly reinstated full front fringe, I am blond Gwyneth Paltrow. In an alternative universe, I would, at this moment, have been fifteen minutes into my first 'date', with someone I met through this online dating business.  Except, and in the fashion that only I seem to be able to achieve, I managed to talk myself out of a coffee date, and remove myself from a potential suitors sea of female fish friends. Fuuuuucck.

I don't know what happened...

That's not true - it was me, all me.  I over-thought things, and then tried to make them 'better' - but what I ended up doing was making things confusing.

We'd been chatting via email for a week or so, when he asked if I'd like to grab a coffee.  I put it off for that week, and so, when the chatting recommenced, as the previous decliner, I thought it was my duty to do the asking this time.  It was affirmative, it was set - he had no idea what I look like, but that was a minor detail. Until it wasn't.

Maybe I was testing... does it bother you to not know what I look like? It was neither 'yay' or 'nay', but it was suggested we might exchange pictures, so - we swapped numbers.  He said he would text... and he didn't.  And I waited.  The sun set and rose once again, and I still hadn't heard from him. And with all this extra thinking time I had, I thought about the way I had presented myself.  I thought about the expectations a dude might come to have of me - and I freaked.  So, I went and altered my profile - to reflect more of the truth - that I didn't know what I want, that anything started would have to be in the view of friendship initially. And then, I broke the bitter silence and sent him a text.  I explained that I couldn't promise anything, that I needed to start with friends - and that if he still wanted to meet, then great - but if he didn't, then ok.

Seemingly, there is nothing less attractive to a man than a woman who:
a) doesn't know what she wants, and
b) possibly will make you wait a very long time before you get to sleep with her.
Well done me, for meeting both sets of criteria with one ugly action.

Suddenly the dude's status had changed from "looking to date, but nothing serious" to "looking for someone special".  And they say women are confusing. Now that I had made my intentions clearer, his life had quickly become void of any time for himself, and our 'date' was 'on hold'.

I don't harbor any bad feelings.  Actually I feel a bit shit about the whole thing.  I don't know whether I made myself seem like too much hard work, or maybe he Facebook stalked me, and decided I was too fat/ugly/old to liaise with any longer.  All I know is that I just have this horrible taste of disappointment in my mouth, rounded off by the gritty sensation of self sabotage.

Perhaps I'll come to laugh about the whole saga very soon.  But, right now all I want to do is sob loudly, while watching the following:

After the mornings dumping, my ipod delivered another well timed, musical message.  And I realised that if Sarah Blasko felt like this too, then maybe it's ok for me.  This is exactly how I feel.

these days just go on and on

I've had some truly shitty moments this weekend.  Like the time my bank card got swallowed by that fucker ATM - not through any fault of my own, but because my card's edge didn't quite align with the plastic liner surrounding the card slot. Because I had to show up at just that precise moment, use the ATM on the left, instead of the right (when in doubt 'to the left to left' thanks again Beyonce)... because the man before me and the lady after me had no problemo at all - I have to deduce that the issue here was me.

Or then at 5.30 this morning, as the birds started greeting the new day with their chirpy chirps, and the cool leaves were being warmed by touches of the sun, while sleepily attempting that tricky manoeuvre from my left side lying position, to my back, I somehow managed to crack my neck and spend the next hour sobbing into my sheets, and the remainder of my day almost exclusively attached to my home made wheat bag. Say it with me now... mother fucker.

Yet, I will not crumble, I will not succumb, because it is an absolute necessity for me to believe that these things are happening to me for a specific reason that I cannot yet identify. 

rhetoric

I'm walking this invisible line of who I am, what I want, how I feel and it keeps moving.  I'm so tired of asking myself what's it all about, what's it supposed to mean, how do I make things better?

I'm trying to live an enlightened existence, one where my footprints don't leave dents in the dirt, where I can do no harm, but still be able to etch "I was here" into the bark of a couple of trees along the way.

I have decided living generally requires courage.  In case people hadn't noticed, shit is kinda fucked, but in spite of that, you have to roll out of that bed and face each new day, because if you don't, well what's the point?

I don't think I'm in the vicinity of a point here - but I just think, amongst the shit, you've got to find something to hold onto, even if it's just your other hand, and that quiet internal coward uttering maybe you are OK?

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." 
- Hunter S. Thompson

being Pat Benatar

I had a weird dream the other night. I dreamed I was staying in a weird house with my ex-hairdresser (odd fact #1) and her brother. There was a dinner party, and then afterwards the floor turned to sludge (odd fact #2). I was there, but I didn't look like me (as a side note, isn't it interesting when we have dreams where it feels like our point of view, but we look like an entirely different person - I wonder if it's past-life-esque? Anyway...).

Anyway... after the sludge, I put on a performance for all the guests, in the hope it would impress ex-hairdressers brother.  Said performance was an unplugged version of Pat Benatar's "hit me with your best shot" (odd fact #3 - odd because I. Don't. Sing.) with special thrusting and vigorous gestures for the apple of my eye.  Yes, that's right, I was willing ex-hairdressers brother to hit me with his [metaphorical] best shot of love! And he did. And my, it was lovely.

Aside from all the weird bits, when I awoke from this dream all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and dream some more.  Because it reminded me that I want someone to love me, I want to be the object of someones desires, and I would like to have sex again before my insides shrivel and wither to dust.

if you've nothing nice to say

There wasn't anything special about today, except that it was the day I realised that part of my heart is ugly.  And that made me want to start the day again.

Sometimes I get so boxed in my own head, I forget other people have their own box of hopes and disappointments inside their heads too.  Sometimes I'm so used to being on the outer, I think that no one else could possibly understand what it's like to be me.  Except, that's a load of crap - because everyone understands - not me personally, but themselves - they know what it's like to have a bad day, a depressive moment, frustration, anger... the list goes on. Maybe they feel it less often than me - but that's beside the point, isn't it? It's not my job to tally the scoreboard.

Some days I feel at odds with the world and other days I think I just expect to be. Maybe I've done such a good job telling myself no one cares, I don't matter, that I've just gone and talked myself completely out of the game.

Some days, like moments of today, I open my mouth to say something and even as the words hit my lips I know I've done something wrong; I wish immediately I could take them back.  The good part of my heart has a conscience.

Perhaps this is a side-effect of unhappiness?  You try to rush the words through your mouth in order to get through any given moment faster, and instead of being measured and mindful, your syllables are critical and biting.

While on the treadmill today, the little toe of my right foot became squished inside my shoe. It had never happened before, why should I expect it to happen today? Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes persisting - finally the shoe came off and intense pain shot through this little, insignificant toe.  Thinking about it, I remembered the role of pain.  Imagine if I'd gone an hour more, squashing and distorting - what then? If I didn't have that feedback, telling my body something isn't right here, I might've gone and chafed that toe right off.

So maybe three years too long in a job that's unrewarding has strangled my spirit, and that itching unhappiness I feel is my nerve endings begging me for a change. I guess if I didn't feel this way, I might just sleep-wake-eat-sleep my way through another thirty years, before someday snapping and driving a pair of scissors into someone's face.

So, maybe 'pain' is good.

I just wish I felt like a better person.  I wish I could be all the imaginative things I always hoped to be, and I wish I could make sure I was one of the good influences in this world, instead of the sometimes 'other'.

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.

prayers

Hearing about what happened in Newtown Connecticut has made me feel angry, confused, but mostly deeply, deeply sad. I don't know what kind of people perform such horrendous acts and I don't like living in a world where things like this just happen.  Who is accountable? God? It's moments like these I start to entertain the idea that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if the world did implode.  We've done a pretty good job of fucking up the environment, and each other. If we all just evaporated into the particles of dust we came from - we'd be free to float in the galaxy - free from these kinds of nightmares.

My heart skips a beat when I think about the children in this tragedy - which leads me to think about the children in my life.  How I love them so incredibly much and how destroyed I'd be if anything ever happened to them.  Then I remember I can't protect the people I love from this life, and the fear is momentarily crippling.

I can't do anything but try to be a good person, and pray.  I pray for the families of the ones lost, for the people confronted by this horror, for those whose lives have been cut short and for humankind. 

Bah! Humbug!

by Sour Taffy (source)

I just can't do it.  No matter what I do, the 'spirit' of Christmas eludes me.  The season has all but snuck up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder like a friend long time missed - but instead of embracing it, I feel a bit 'meh' about it all.

Perhaps the collective hours I have spent sitting in doctors waiting rooms lately has sucked the joy right outta me; or because my world's just not as exciting without eye make-up, or maybe it's because time seems to be moving so freakin' fast these days - Tuesdays turn to Thursdays, and Monday mornings pop up in a flash and all the while I feel like I'm moving nowhere.  Then there's that pesky Mayan calendar theory that might just blow my world to smithereens - which would personally be a giant piss-off, seeing as I spent hours yesterday wrapping presents - oh, and because I'd like to fall in love before I die. Call me a pessimist, but I don't think 6, or 19 days is going to be quite enough time for me to achieve that one.

At the moment things are all lemon juice and All Bran, as opposed to 'beer and skittles'.  If everyone else's life is a party, I'm the one stuck in a toilet cubicle.

small victories

When I quit finding reasons to laugh hysterically at stupid/lazy/arrogant people I will indeed need to find a new job. Or win lotto. Or run away. Not necessarily in that order.