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.

the things I didn't know

the amazing source

When I look at this picture I feel less alone. Maybe because it looks something like hope.

I had been doing fine in life. I had been getting along as best I could. Then I went and did something stupid like go wandering in the facebook woods alone, unprepared for what I would stumble upon.  I stalked John and found something surprising and confusing.

His profile had disappeared for a while - it's not like I did a weekly check or anything, but last time I did, he wasn't there.  Last night however - he was back.  He has a new relationship - which he actually declared on his page - she is a perfectly ordinary looking woman - with a baby.  There were photos of him and her (with the little him) plastered all over, and all I could think was that he looked happy - really, honestly happy.  It seems like finally he has the instant family he said he always wanted. I'm not sure why it shook me so much - but I was left reeling.  One moment I'm finishing a late night cup of tea, and the next I'm discovering things that required much more emotional intelligence than I was able to muster on a Sunday evening.  What the hell happened while I was drinking my cup of tea?

I'm not sure why I've reacted this way.  Perhaps I'm jealous, or disappointed that it wasn't me who put that joyful twinkle back in his eye. Or maybe it's just that I wish I had the pictures to prove I'd moved forward. Truthfully - she looks like the kind of girl I would get along with, be friends with even. Further truths be known, I'm almost relieved to find he's no longer with the other one - the bad apple.

Anyway, I guess these are just the kind of flips and dives that life takes, even when you think it's moving predictably straight. It's a reminder, not to be complacent.

baggage handler

As I crushed dried coriander leaves between my palms, I remembered something.  A small moment in a night, some two years ago. 

It was a Friday, a few of us went out for pizza and drinks - celebrating a students final placement. Truth be known, I usually shy away from things like this, but it was John who had asked me, so at the time the decision was simple.

Out in the back beer garden, we sat at a round wooden-slatted table - far too big for the six of us.  My work friend who was sitting next to me had to leave, so I ended up sitting in a lonely quarter of the table, trying to reach out with giggles and smiles.  John sidled up next to me, saying something about not leaving me on my own - I thought it was nice of him, and I appreciated the gesture - I think he could tell I was feeling uncomfortable. We were eating our pizzas, he talked to me about lots of things - come to think of it, some strange things; like how he liked girls with long hair: "the longer the better" he said; he spoke about his family and I reciprocated.

I pushed my plate of untouched pizza slices toward the centre of the table - I urged the boys to eat my leftovers, assuring them I had eaten enough. John noticed I had removed all the coriander pieces out from under the drizzly melted cheese mess, "don't you like coriander?" he asked, "my Grandmother told me if there's one thing for certain, it's that all women like coriander." I found this a strange thing to say, but brushed it off, "nope, not me" I said. 

At that point, he should have known I was different. 

And I should have known he was looking for a kind of long haired woman who likes coriander.

I wonder if he even remembers anything of me; if random moments ever briefly hit him, blinding, like a shard of light breaking through the clouds on an overcast day.

before the falter

I always feel like I'm living inside that small window of time - between the falter and the fall. Every moment - an anticipation of my fumbling feet, or the state of recovery afterwards. When does it get right?  When do I get right? When do I break even?

Is my brain wired poorly? Am I incapable of reaching the land beyond this foggy confusion? I hope not.

Last night, lamenting my week away from work, which has now passed - I wanted to cry - but I couldn't.  I couldn't release, I couldn't let myself fall willingly; tears might dry on their own, but they don't change anything. Besides, who is to hear my cries? The people around me who are powerless to change anything for me, unable to fix me?

I booked myself an appointment to see my doctor.  I want to talk about coming off the meds.  I'm scared.  I don't know what will happen.  My lows may become deeper, more intricate caves - maybe I won't find my way out of them so easily? Easily? It's not 'easy' now. A momentary thought passed that perhaps my new found 'bravery' has nothing to do with the pills.  I cannot imagine tiny armies are contained within those shiny maroon capsules.  I have to believe that I have learnt some things, I have to believe I am brave, all on my own.

I remember when I first started taking the medication - I noticed how the pills would rise to the roof of my mouth when I took a gulp of water - little buoys that were going to save me.  It's funny, but I don't notice that so much anymore. Maybe because I'm no longer sinking?

This is the part where I tell you this song reminds me of John. I don't know why - but I hate that this beautiful song has a permanent taint.  I am glad to have left him behind me, but sometimes I can't help wanting to glance in the rear-view mirror - just to see if he's waving at me. I hate him for making me waste myself. For that time, I hate myself, for wasting myself - all on my own.

I fear my inability to cry is because I accept where I am, that I accept there is no fighting my reality.  But, I don't want this to be 'it'. Where do people go to figure this shit out? Is there a whole generation of 'twenty-somethings' wandering the Earth screaming "where did it all go wrong?" I sort of hope there is, at least then I wouldn't feel so alone.

SB

when you say nothing... like, at all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SB

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

sometimes I remember

Remember.

SB

the empty places

Today I had to return to my 'old' workspace, to collect some final things we had left behind. It felt strange, to be in the place where for so many years, it had been my work-home; a place where many moments have passed - some joyfully memorable and others I would prefer to forget.

Now, the rooms sit empty - a shadow of what they once were; suddenly the peeling paint and imperfections are more noticeable - a burden to the beholders eye; and echoes of nothing where the walls once bounced with laughter are oddly cold now.

I had to go into John's old office, to pull some personal things off the walls. I stood for a time, in my loneliness, at the very spot he once sat - it was a sobering moment to realise that the place he once occupied was now empty - not only in that room, but within me too.

I still think about him from time to time, and momentarily wonder how he is and what he is doing, but it is an old habit that washes over me quickly now, as I realise he scarcely has the same regard for me. I miss him, I do - but I think now I look upon him like a fragment of nostalgia - much like how one might pass a photograph on a shelf, briefly stop and maybe smile as they recall the moment the picture was taken. I do not measure the distance between us anymore; like a weighty balloon, it has finally lifted and floated away.

Mostly I am left with disappointment, because we used to support each other - and it would've been in times like these - this week - this month, that it would have counted. Today would have been a nice day for someone to ask me "are you ok?"

Why yes, I think mostly, I am. Best of all, the way I'm feeling has nothing to do with him anymore.

SB

Fool me twice...

You used to be the one on my secret pedestal, sitting casually, swinging your legs to the beat of your own drum. I thought you were going to be the one to change my life, make it right somehow. I used to think that I would do anything to climb up that pedestal, to earn my right to sit alongside you. Now I have pushed you off, or maybe you jumped off? It doesn't matter, because at least you are gone. And that wobbly pedestal, with its splinters and awkward size - now I like to watch it burn, because I realise a house is no place for a single towering pedestal, and neither is the mind.

To me you were once a man-shaped heart; a world of possibility - with eyes of the ocean and your body, a place to make a home. Now, I see those eyes, still beautiful - but empty and cold, like a well, hidden in the shade. You are blood and bone - just a man - filled with fear, guilt and maybe pain - you are so full, but so empty.

I have been foolish - to hurt my heart, to offer it as sacrifice to someone who never asked for it, who never cared to know it was there. Someone wiser than me, tells me this is an human experience, that I shouldn't be ashamed - part of me is though, for being so silly for so long. Shame on you for tricking people with your charm, but shame on me for taking the bait - again, and again.

Like the lyric says "if failure don't hurt, then failure don't work".  Oh, it worked, and it hurt - so I guess it was a successful failure. I won't lose the lessons though. I dare say you haven't even begun to scratch the surface of these cold truths yet. Pity you.

That wise person also tells me that I wasn't wrong in the choosing, but perhaps just wrong in the choice. Next time I choose, I'll make sure he is willing... and worthy. Because I say now, without a shred of doubt, that you, are not worthy.

SB xx

Tangle

Apparently I'm 'normal' in all the ways that can be measured. And in all the ways that can't be..well who's to know?

I went to the doctor today for the results of all my tests - no explanation for my bodily freak out two weeks ago; oh well, I have chemical, molecular, freakin' GP certification that I am O. K. So why don't I feel it?

I had another run in with e-vil facebook. John was on just now, adding photos, doing general John things. I made myself 'active' to chat, thinking maybe, just maybe he might say hello. Nope. Seemingly that is expecting too much. He writes me a random email, like three weeks ago, he never responds to my response - dammit, sometimes I just want to cry for the futility of it all. This stupid waiting game.

You know, John is one of those men who five minutes before dinner, tells his wife he's going out for a pack of smokes and never returns. Stupid ass. Him, and me.

My unhappiness used to be relatively uncomplicated, now it's just littered with stupid man stuff.

"don't even try, still get the guy"
"let men chase you"
"engage the apricot"

Excuse me Zoe Foster, but I think you're just a little bit full of shit. This advice coming from the woman who hooked the co-author (i.e Hamish Blake) of this stupid book that I paid actual money for. Please note hazard #32 of online shopping for seriously insecure and desperate females bearing credit cards. Be an apricot - what the fuck does that even mean Zoe Foster?! Lets be honest here, I want to say I'm the apple high up on the tree, but actually I think I'm that mushy one that rolled onto the ground last season, that no one can be assed picking up. That's my fruit metaphor.

The book should've been cheaper - that's all I'm sayin'...

Boy, am I in a rotten mood. It's not genetics's fault, it's not facebook's fault, it's not John's or even Zoe Foster's fault, really. It's just the life and times of a Monday evening in the life of me.

Worse things happen at sea, right, at least that's what the oldies tell me.

SB xx

there's a feeling in your bones

Children Collides song, "Loveless". Dedicated to John.  It's ok, because I think I finally get it. In this equation, I am Peggy and he is Donald Draper, and that is the way it's always going to be. And that is ok.

when your time has come and gone
when your final race is won
when the flowers kiss the trees
when the king is on his knees
when your eyes don't speak the truth
and denial is your muse
when your life follows a plan,
your convenience is banned

you're loveless, it's okay you've planned it well
you will be happy to know that I've moved on as well

when a lion has it's teeth,
and the sword rest in its sheath
when the liar plays the fool and the fool makes every rule

you're loveless, it's okay you've planned it well
you will be happy to know that I've moved on as well

you're loveless, it's okay you've planned it well
it's seem less, I already know you well

when you're alone with every one,
know a place to call the sun
there's a feeling in your bones,
you just might end up alone

when you're just so self assured,
now you're rotting at the core
when you're challenged by the truth,
find some friends who lie to you

you're loveless, it's okay you've planned it well...

SB xx

scream queen

I just want to scream, have somebody hear me and tell me that they understand. And I want that somebody to be you.

I checked facebook, I knew it was a bad idea the moment I started typing your name, but I did it anyway. Stupid, stupid idiot.

There she was again, a post from three hours ago - she included you in her evasive status update. Obviously she's one of those people who likes to lodge every bowel movement on facebook. He sees her every time he goes back 'home'; it has to mean something.

I want to squeeze tears from my eyes because I think, maybe it'll make me feel better - but I can't bring myself to do it. Because there's nothing left to cry? Because there was nothing tangible lost - just time and my heart...and maybe my mind.

I don't know this girl, but I know I already hate her. From her fake 'I'm a down to earth chick, really' information crap, to her pouty and suggestive profile pictures. I hate her name - spelt with two 'r's when one would suffice, but more than that, I hate myself - I hate myself for not being the one he wants - because obviously I need to be all of these things, and I can't be, because I am me. Just lonely, awkward, repulsive me.

Clearly, cocktail's do wonders for my mood.

SB xx

Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born

I'm retiring to the comforts of my bed earlier than usual tonight. There is a chill in me that I cannot warm, and I just want to remove myself from waking existence right now.

Oh, it's not all that bad. Work is just kind of crappy at the moment, and I'm doing my best; I'm trying to be flexible and understanding and calm - but some days it takes all of my patience just to show up to work. There are just loads of really stupid people in the world, and selfish ones too. Perhaps someday I will get to the point of sympathising for the stupid... but right now, the overwhelming emotion I feel is frustration.  I think I will always expect more from humanity than I will ever get. Supply is not meeting demand. I know I demand too much. I demand too much of myself sometimes, and certainly I can expect too much from others.

I haven't heard from John in almost two months I think. I have made a conscious effort to leave it be. Even fighting my own fleeting impulses of loneliness to write just 'one more email'. As difficult as it is to admit, I accept that I'm just not a priority - I simply can't be. But, it's ok, because he has made that point pretty clear. I did send him a Christmas card of sorts yesterday though, with a small novelty gift. No, I'm not being pathetic... at least I don't mean to be. I found this gift months ago and had always intended it for him. I got to the point where I just wanted it gone from sight. So, I say now, with complete honesty, that I am not invested in any particular outcome from this card and gift - John will do what John does, and I will continue to move in some semblance of a forward direction. A male coworker joked today that denial is a man's go to strategy for everything that happens. It's an interesting insight. If I were a boy...

I think I dreamt last night that I was getting married. No clue as to the identity of the groom. I wonder if it was wishful thinking or perhaps a side effect of helping a co-worker design her 'save the date' card. The intoxicating feeling of being 'wanted' in my dream is the part that lingers with some intensity. Dare to dream, dare to wake.

SB xx

how my heart behaves

The cold heart will burst
If mistrusted first
And a calm heart will break
When given a shake
(Feist - how my heart behaves)

I had a rather strange and disturbing dream last night that I haven't really been able to shake all day.  It was completely of the imagined - none of the sequencing made sense, the environments, the motives - all born of strange and wanting... and it kind of felt like a warning, or a message - I don't know.

It starts in the middle of a scene where I am talking to my father - we are expecting the arrival of John.  John's maybe Grandfather has just passed away and John is coming perhaps from the funeral to see me? Why, I don't know. My father says to me (as if referencing an earlier conversation in the dream-reality) "now I know you said you aren't really looking for anybody at the moment - but you said you have a maybe someone in mind... I hope it's not him you have in mind" (speaking of John).  I start to question my father - "why, want do you mean" - he just smirks and shrugs his shoulders as if to say, you are heading for trouble and I cannot pull you away, so I must ride it out with you. We are interrupted by John's arrival - he is dressed in black pants and white shirt - he is cold and does not respond to me when I say hello.

We (my father, John and I) drive to some weird little country town - it's now pitch black as we drive.  The car is mostly silent - I feel John is seething with anger towards me, and while I am worried, my overwhelming emotion is the excitement that he is here. He speaks with my father - no one talks to me. I am preoccupied with making it to work on time.

We arrive and fashion some kind of bush breakfast - we eat together - day dawns and John and I are left alone.  I don't remember what we talk about - there isn't a lot of talking, he still seems angry at me.  Then, it's all a little hazy - but he warms to me and asks me to dance (like, slow dance) - in the middle of nowhere, to no music. I'm concerned about the no music thing, but he insists.  I think this is where the dream ends.

When I write it back like that, all fragmented, I realise how ridiculous it all sounds. It just comes at a really poor time.  I was starting to feel that maybe I'd come to terms with everything.  I haven't heard from him in a few weeks, I haven't made contact with him in a couple.  I resigned myself to the idea that I would not contact him anymore - unless it's in response to him contacting me. Then I have this dream, and it's all weird in my head and I don't know what to make of it.

Subconscious, what are you trying to say?

SB xx

shout out to paul #2

A shout out to another hottie Paul of the past - this time, Paul Newman. It may be that he reminds me of John with his stunning bright eyes and charming smile - but there's no denying he once had 'it' going on!

Before his weathered face was gracing salad dressing bottles, he looked like this...

I bet he was trouble. Yowwwww!!

SB xx

a sentimental education

This is a photograph I took this afternoon, lightly baked in Photoshop for some added drama.  It was a little test for my new DSLR - which is a lovely piece of machine, and I think we are going to have a promising relationship.  I like to think of this photo, as 'flowers from my love' because it is taken from a tree that John mentioned to me a while ago - I finally had the time to go out and look, and I found it, hidden in a place I didn't expect to find it.  It made me feel connected to him, my friend, only my friend.  I miss him at the strangest times.

I love Jacaranda trees - they begin to bloom around this time of year - sometimes whole streets are lined with the pleasant purple. From a lookout point today, casting my eyes over the town, I could see pockets of purple springing from amongst the red dirt and scrub.  Even after all the hurt, I still think of John as a brilliant beacon of colour in this rugged palette of plain. He gallivants his part of the world as if it is his own backyard - sometimes he sends me photos of what he sees. I hold onto that tightly. I know I shouldn't, but I do.

This weekend I have been steadily working on my overseas trip photo albums - they are coming together nicely, but remembering moments and stories to write within the pages is going to take longer.

The soundtrack to my weekend has been a new release from dear Washington, called "Insomnia". She soothes me.

SB xx

heaven is a place on earth where you, tell me all the things you wanna do

Today has been the kind of day that makes me want to wash myself down the drain, along with the bath water. Either that, or disappear my consciousness into the movie "My Girl", or something as equally disturbing and corny.

It was a slow progressing day; quiet and lonely at work - feeling on the outer, I voluntarily left my lunch break 15 minutes early to go sit at my desk - that's how desperate I was.

I felt bad about the way I had responded to John's email yesterday.  He had finally emailed me back after a little over a week, and I'm so damn impatient that I got angry. I told him that as a pen pal - he sucked.  We always joke to one another - but it was my tone.  I felt bad as soon as I had sent it. Today I wrote him a brief message to tell him something I'd neglected to mention yesterday.  He wrote back, ending with a dig about how offensive my "you suck" was.

I have this warped, secret hope in my head that one day he'll wake up and realise he's liked me all along...or that after a while the idea of me will 'grow' on him. Or, that when he wrote back to knock me down those weeks ago, he wasn't being entirely honest for some noble reason.  Which is why, when I spoke to my Mum earlier in the day, and she said there was a hand addressed letter that had arrived for me - my mind immediately went to John. No, I told myself - it can't be.. or could it? It wasn't. God, did I want it to be though.

I know it's a useless race I run - like wishing Santa was a real person, even after your parents tell you he's not.  That silly, magic hope - you never want it to die, but sometimes you wish it would crawl into a dark corner on it's own and leave you to reality.

I can't shake the feeling he's hiding something from me, but then my feelings aren't all that reliable are they?

SB xx

a history in letters

Letter writing has been a subject at the fore of my mind recently.  Last night I started Marieke Hardy's new book "You'll be sorry when I'm dead" (she had me at the title... and with that darling cover illustration of her with a flower in her hair - she is a woman after my own heart!).  She writes about her love of letter writing, and even has samples of some of her work.  It made me realise my affinity with it too.

When I was around eight, my favourite cousins in all the world (actually, probably my favourite little people of all time) moved away - their parents had separated and it was all very dramatic and sudden.  I recall writing many letters, drawing pictures and using more stickers than appropriate.  I missed my cousins terribly, and even though they would have been too young to appreciate the letters, I felt this was a way to stay connected.  Back then, it disappointed me that it would take so long to get to them - even before the age of SMS and email, I had been an impatient young Aries.  I wanted them to know I missed them, I wanted them to feel the love on the page, I wanted them to remember me. Consequently, now we have facebook - I barely hear from the young women.  That's modern technology for you.  No doubting that someone who writes you a letter thinks very highly of you. Where have these days gone?

When I was twelve, I was staying at my good friend Tilly's place, for the weekend.  She had a mega crush on the class hottie (I had worked through my crush for that fella long beforehand, so it was ok) and we decided it would be a great idea to write him a secret love letter.  From recollection, we composed our letter, typing it up on pretty paper, sealing it inside a pretty envelope and planted lipstick kisses on the outside.  We walked the many blocks to the young mans house and daringly dropped it in his letter box!  Oh, the scandal it caused at school on Monday!  People had their suspicions, but I held true to my friend - we denied all involvement - I may have even provided her with an alibi!  Eventually Tilly cracked and owned up, I don't think she ever got the guy - but she did earn some cred for being ballsy enough for the letter act.

I would've been about fifteen when "The Body" - that is, Elle Macpherson came to my home town as part of a huge tourism campaign.  There was a lot of hype about the whole thing, she was paid an ungodly amount of money - everyone went to see, just to catch a glimpse.  At the time, I was semi-disgusted with the fuss, so I wrote a letter/witty account of the day and sent it into the then cult-ish magazine 'Recovery'. It must've been published, because I received an Alanis Morissette album in the post shortly after. WOW!

As a teenager, writing letters in class was a given. Even in the presumed silence of a classroom, you could share a joke, plans, sadness and pain. Think about how thrilling it was - will I get caught... will the recipient giggle uncontrollably? If someone was having a rough day, a simple "are you ok?" on a scrap of paper could change it all.  I wish people would do that in the adult world - leave a subtle sticky note here and there from time to time - imagine finding an handwritten joke under your keyboard, an "I'm sorry", "hang in there", a simple smiley face, or God willing, an "are you ok?" If I get married, and have kids someday - I'll be sure to be the kind of wife and mum to sneak in a secret note from time to time. I don't think there is anything more exciting than receiving a handwritten note that you aren't expecting.

During my final years of high school, I stupidly took geography as a TEE subject.  The teacher we had was appalling on so many levels.  Creepy, sleazy, dim-witted and completely useless when it came to equipping us with any knowledge.  One day, something happened in class that drove me to absolute fury.  During the free period that followed I penned a multi page letter to this horrid teacher - laying out the realities I felt he needed to hear.  I didn't write it with the intention of giving it to him - it was an exercise to preserve sanity on my part - but when I showed it to my good friend to read, somehow this letter got passed around and around; people were applauding me, telling me I should be a lawyer (eeek!) one even took a photocopy to keep for herself because she was so impressed with its contents.  My friends convinced me to give the letter to the teacher - I did.  Nothing ever came of it. No reprimand for me, or the teacher.  It died a quiet death - I suspect because I was a top student and they could hardly punish me for pointing out facts they already knew, but declined to act upon. Phew - that pen sure was mighty - but it didn't shed the blood that I expected it would.

Shortly after finishing high school was around the time I proper dropped my bundle.  There wasn't a name for it - I kind of denied the problems, but it was pretty clear I was going through something.  Home life was really tense and emotional.  I would bite my parents heads off before dissolving into heavy tears; sometimes I could sink into myself for an entire weekend and barely utter a word that wasn't dragged out of me. My Mum isn't the most perceptive lady, she's not really geared to understand emotions or the complexities about how thoughts affect feelings.  It's not a dig on my Mother, she was just never told to think about herself or her internal environment, when I talk about issues like these with her, she goes blank because she simply doesn't get the connection.  Anyway - one day she'd gotten to her wits end with me, and said something like "I don't know what's wrong with you... I don't understand why you are this way".  It cut me deeply that I was affecting confusion on others, let alone myself.  In the clarity of bed time, I wrote my parents a letter - apologising, and tried to explain as best I could, that I just didn't know why I was this way.  I hid the letter in a place I knew my Mum would find it.  When she did, she came to me, she told me I wrote a very good letter. It saved me in that moment.

I would've been about 20 when a bombshell hit.  One of my best friends from high school, someone like me in so many ways - tried to commit suicide.  We had lost our closeness, she moved to the city for university, I stayed behind to sort my shit out - but it hit me like a tonne of bricks.  This news came about from a series of strange emails - a distressing one from her and one from a friend of hers I had never met, who had written to explain what had happened.  Evidently, it wasn't the first time she'd tried it - her life had fallen apart and I hadn't seen it and I couldn't stop it from happening.  I felt so helpless.  I remembered a time I was staying over her house when we were younger, we had made gingerbread men and had a crazy afternoon baking and decorating.  The only way I could think of reaching my friend who had seemingly departed to a place where I couldn't reach her, was to bake her a box of gingerbread men and post it off to her, with a very long letter. I didn't know what to say - but I tried to say 'stick around'. The letter and accompanying cookies were my metaphorical hands reaching out to hold hers. So many hopes went with that letter.

Obviously the most recent earth-shattering letter was 'The John Bomb'.  My express posted little envelope of heart and truth; the ramifications of which have been well documented here.

In my time, I have written letters to loved ones, friends, enemies, myself and even God. Each time they have been a release - a wish to affect change - change in attitude, change in heart, change in understanding - in both myself and others.

God how I wish more people would write what they feel. And I really wish they would write to me...

SB xx

right breast, 10 o'clock

So I have this lump in my breast - and I've known about it for years. I've had the whole fine needle biopsy, core biopsy, countless ultrasounds and even a mammogram - OUCH (on the last one). My latest check up tells me it has possibly grown in size, so I must venture to the city for another round of investigations.

The GP tells me, she's almost positive that it will turn out to be the 'nothing' it has always been. I suppose getting it checked for sure is a good idea. Knowing me, I'd just worry about it otherwise.

Hmmm - not sure how I feel about it all.  I am feeling this song now though... perhaps because I heard from John yesterday. Boob and boy - what a combo.



SB xx

so sturdy up, sturdy up your heart

I adore this song from The Beautiful Girls.  I couldn't find a decent video of the band singing it - but this guy does a pretty good job. In a roundabout way John introduced me to this song, and I am grateful for that.



SB xx