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.

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?

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!

truth seeker, secret keeper

Someone asked me a while back what I was passionate about.  I struggled to find an answer, I couldn't pin-point one thing that I thought: yes this makes my heart beat faster when I think about it! I found that profoundly disturbing.  Today, I think I have the beginnings of an answer.

It's weird to admit, because I consider myself a sort of misanthropist - but I think maybe people are my passion. But hold-up, not all people; 'authentic' people - this is where it begins and ends for me. I am awed by people who are open, honest, vulnerable - the kind of people who say "I don't give a fuck" and really mean it. Maybe these people excite me, because they represent who I want to be? Or perhaps it's because I've had my heart trampled on a few times, or maybe because in this world we're living, I simply see an opening - nay - a positive need for every day brave hearts. I simply love the people who trust me with their truths.

I'm not a talker, I never really have been. I find small talk excruciating, because I'm simply not much good at it, but I am always thrilled when someone reveals pieces of themselves to me. I mine those truths like the precious gemstone they are.

Sometimes I'll meet someone, catch their eye and know they are someone I would like to know more about. I'd like to think the appearance of a wicked set of sleeve tattoos and a manly, yet well groomed beard don't steer me too obviously to this conclusion - but hey, I'm only human. Sometimes the intuition and attraction lines gets a little blurry, I admit.

Anyway....

Sometimes upon meeting someone I just want to get right to it, I want their story, I want their heartache, I want to know what makes them tick.

If I could meet each and every one of you, I would ask you what you day-dream about? What you really want out of life? Where's your joy at? I'd ask you to tell me about your scars. And it's not voyeurism that drives me, I'm not a gossip, I'm not trying to tap you for ideas.  I see it as a gift - the act of listening, of receiving. When you ask someone about themselves, when you engage their heart, there is a palpable soul exchange - you leave marks on one another, like fingerprints. And if you believe in the idea that everyone you meet in your life serves a purpose, regardless of how long they stay, I think these are the exchanges that matter the most.

I hope this doesn't sound like a whole lot of wank. I've fallen out of practice of writing, and it is a vulnerability of my own to declare this, and put it out into the world.

"I would like to beg you, dear Sir, as well as I can, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now.  Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."  (Rainer Maria Rilke)

I'm also passionate about the idea of finding contentment.  My whole adult life, I have been plagued by the idea of finding answers - because surely life must be logical, and I have so many questions and doubts, that there simply must be answers.  I think soul-mining the people I encounter is my way of making peace with these questions, and also serves to remind me that perhaps the answers aren't so important?

she let go?

"She Let Go"

She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go… She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyse whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.
- Rev. Safire Rose

The very idea paints such a wonderful picture. Imagine, just for a moment - letting go of everything you thought - about yourself, about other people, about what you think other people think about you. Letting go of expectations, and should's and might haves and what-if's. I feel like if I could let go of all of these things, I might cease to exist, or perhaps float away on the breeze, like a bubble or a helium balloon.

Letting go... it's an idea that bears thinking about.

are you there yet?

I was assisting in a group therapy program recently, when a lady known to us, but not part of our patient group tried to insert herself into the activity.

Even to the untrained eye, all it takes is one look to know there's a lot of darkness, loneliness, sadness behind that lady's eyes. Her stare vacant yet intense, her words rambling and desperate - maybe because she's constantly searching for someone to listen?

One of our group participants knows this lady.  He takes me aside later and tells me how "lovely" she is and how much she likes to talk.  "Some of us call her 'The Budgie'.... 'cause she never shuts up!" he tells me with a laugh.

I couldn't shake this from my mind. I wondered what had happened to her in life, to make her so jarring. She held an unnerving disharmony, that you know couldn't be shaken out. Not for all the therapy or pills in the world.

I feared becoming the "strange lady" myself someday.

And then I thought.  Are we, each of us, just one bad experience away from tipping the scales of our life-shit into this realm of broken? Just one sharp blow in the right spot from being cracked beyond repair?

I never want to get to that place where I can't go back.

the other f word

Fibromyalgia is a pain disorder associated with an increased sensitivity in the pain related-nervous system, causing otherwise mild sensations to be felt as pain.  It is characterised by the primary symptoms of chronic widespread pain, sleep disturbance and fatigue together with multiple other symptoms.

Recently I attended a Fibromyalgia management workshop, because I live with this word now. I sat in a room filled with people just like me; damaged, worn and guarded - just like me.  It was nice not to feel like the only freak in the room.

I'm only beginning to understand what this all means.  Some days I think I'll be ok - that it's just another label - like 'brown' or 'shy'. But, unfortunately it's not so benign, nor is it as easily accepted as the colour of ones eyes, or their personality traits. There's no cure, no known reason and not much understanding.

While at the workshop, I began to feel empowered - the room was like a safety bubble for us Fibro-people. We couldn't hurt ourselves in there, we could say almost anything and not be judged, a 'well' existence, mental physical and spiritual balance felt like it was just outside the door, waiting to be asked inside.

But now away from that room, away from my comrades I feel fear biting at my ankles. I don't know if I know how to make room for the space in my life that this can demand.  Today I might be ok, tomorrow, I don't know.

Part of our job from the workshop was to go forth and educate at least one person on Fibromyalgia.  So, to you, my special nine - may at least one of you pass by, have a read and carry the knowledge forward into the world with you.  And perhaps, when you next meet a person who has Fibromyalgia, you'll know a little of what that means to them.

river flows in you

I usually feel completely lost; utterly frozen in some ordinary life, scattered with just enough crap to make me sometimes sad.  In flickering moments, dotted throughout the threaded line of my existence, I get a strange feeling, like this place in time was made just for me. I get a glimpse of the plan, like the Angels accidentally dropped their notes, and between blinks I get to see it, and know that maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

I'm learning all the time. And then, sometimes I regress, I hate where I am, and my situation.  Like when my sore foot is being a bitch, or a migraine comes to visit, and stays awhile. But, I'm reading a lot about peoples versions of life, and pain, and peace - and I understand we all have our shit. I want to become a better, happier person, in spite of my shit, maybe even because of it. Wouldn't that be ironic?

And to you, The Boy Who Stopped, I realised that while meeting you was refreshing and scary, sort of like the rush of sensations you get when you slide into a really cold pool, I wasn't ready for anything more.  I thought I might've been, but I wasn't.  So it's sort of ok that you stopped talking. Because I don't know really who I am, and I don't like myself very much - and that's in the pile labelled 'shit I need to figure out' and I'll be forever locked out of the next stage of life until that job is complete.

So I'm a work in progress, and I suspect you are too. I do hope our paths will cross again, when the time is right.

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.

not OK

I did it.  I haven't heard anything.  I might have blown my chance, but I've done the best I can without looking like (more of) a complete nut.

But I have been struggling.  As I so often do, I have taken this non-contact rather personally, a hint that there are any number of things 'wrong' with me. And then all those old thoughts, that I'll be alone, forever. Forever, forever....

It's only in the mistake that I have learnt I need to let go.  Let go of my expectations, let go of my fears and put them away.  Otherwise, things (opportunities, people) bust through my secure door and leave rather promptly out the nearest window. But it's hard, it is so hard after being closed up for so very long - I think I'm rusted in this defensive position.

"Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith" - Margaret Shepard

somebody stop me

I have this terrible itch.  This itch to contact non-date dude again.  To try and talk myself out of seeming crazy.  Is that a bad idea?  I can't tell anymore. I wonder what the general success rate of that argument is.

I can't help but think, if I'd just shut up - if I'd just not made a big deal of what was essentially, two adults meeting at the same table for a hot beverage - then perhaps I wouldn't have spent the bulk of the weekend feeling like a stupid shit.  Seriously, it wasn't a marriage proposal?! Perspective StangeBird!!

I can't help but think.
That's it - I think way too much. And then, when I act on the thinking - it's catastrophic.

I've written up a mock of what I might message him with.  But, I'm being a good girl - I'm letting it settle and seeing if it's a good idea in the morning. I'm convinced it's a good idea.

I'm also already convinced I'll send it.

Sometimes the thinking only works one-way.

that funny old feeling..

It's back, that anticipating scratch without an itch, the thick fog of thoughts and fears, maybes and should haves.  It's time... to go back to work.

Silly really, at the start of the two weeks everything looks so bright and shiny, waiting to be smudged with your fingerprint - and the best news is that you can, you can do anything, be anything, because you have the time.  Time has almost run out, and the mood overcoming me now is definitely the least optimistic of the two.

It's hard to put my finger on it really, but it's the ultimate 'out of body experience' - my body is here, my arms, my legs within my control - oh look! I'm driving... how did I get here again.. but my mind, boy, I don't know where that is. I can't reign it in, can't even hook a single thought, it's all blur and shit.

I found a couple of potential jobs for applying, but discounted one just this night - on the basis of a Facebook stalk... well, partly.  Yes, I do believe I am crazy.

I just want out.  I want out, out, OUT!

"Close some doors - not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance but simply because they no longer lead somewhere."  Paolo Coehlo

I want to slam that door closed, screw it shut, hang out the front for a while and tell everyone who passes by not to go through it.  Then I'll climb out the nearest window.  I'm just so fucking miserable at this job.

I've been reading a little more than usual lately.  Don Miguel Ruiz's "The Four Agreements", gives me four 'rules' to live by:
1) Be impeccable with your word.
2) Don't take anything personally.
3) Don't make assumptions.
4) Always do your best.
They certainly make sense, and I have been trying to keep them in mind.  But I know come next week, a few of them are going to be challenging.  At my current job, I have lost the desire to do my best, to try hard, because I just can't see the point.  I hate that I feel this way. I abhor the reality that I'm not performing 100%.

I also started reading a blogger, turned published author's book on her anxious existence. Turns out it's actually less funny, more anxiety-inducing/alarming for me.  *shrugs ironically*

I had a dream last night, I had an amazing idea for a blog post, I even had a clever name for the post, and anecdote to deliver it - I got the pad and pen beside my bed and wrote it down.  I was rather perturbed later this morning, when I realised I'd woken up and written this great idea down while still dreaming.

Perhaps this idea was driven by my guilt of not having written in a while, my insecurities about having nothing to say, being unable to find the right words.  Or, it might also be to do with seeing this in a local shop earlier this week:

I want the mug, but know I'd also kind of feel like a fraud using it. A potential pen cup perhaps?

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.

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.

she laughs at the days to come

Three days ago I felt myself crumble again. Not sure about the trigger, perhaps a culmination of all things - of feeling time press up against me, of not having an escape route. So I created my own.

Once again, side-lying - unmoving with a blank, unfocused stare. Acutely aware of the absence of visual focus, but so totally locked on the imperceptible pain and numbness that had swallowed me whole. Like pins and needles of the mind.

I was a mess of tears and words that made no sense. Stunned and mute to the thoughts and feelings I couldn't recognise. I couldn't go to work.

It's Sunday evening now; normal life looms and I feel silly with fear. I don't know how I'll feel in the morning. If those same feelings will wash over me again? I hope not. When it happened I thought I was going bat-shit crazy (again). I doubted everything. I doubted myself.

But here I sit, I have waded through. Regrouped? Delusional? Who's to know? Time will tell I guess.

If we all have the tools to be our own solution, then maybe I just need to remember where I set mine down. I know I had an almost full kit once - granted, some items were borrowed, or fashioned from the things of others, but they worked well enough.

I found I had spent so much time distracting myself; neglecting myself; I hadn't given my bundle any option but for the ass to fall out of it. It's a lame and weary saying, but we do have to be our own best friends - no, actually scratch that, we have to be like a sister to ourselves - friends you choose, family you are stuck with. In a completely non-weird way, how can I possibly stand a chance if the only person consistently stuck by my side, from birth to death, is the first one to sabotage me?

So tonight I sit in a place of just being. Of accepting that life is balls sometimes, and that I should probably look after numero uno. Remembering that things rarely make sense, hurt when you don't expect them to and that the world feels small when you spend too much time looking outside. It's big and it's bad, and also fucking ridiculous, so one must remember to laugh.

write, right, rite, riot

I can't write.

I think I'm scared or confused or bored but also freakin' frustrated - I just can't commit to anything.  All my thoughts seem silly, ugly.  There's some thing like pressure that comes from inside of myself, and it blocks me from trying.

Writers circle submission is due by the end of the month.  I have four days. In four days time I may have nothing except a pissy semi-retired writing enthusiast named 'Patricia' on my ass sending me hate emails.

Insert sad face.

t'was the night before

My head feels twitchy tonight, and if I don't write something down, it threatens to rattle around in my head until the wee hours.

I'm thinking about the new year.  About the things that are coming.  This MRI, a possible bad diagnosis; my thirtieth year on this planet.  There's always another disaster theory to replace the old ones.  I don't want to be afraid - mostly because I don't feel like I have anyone to confide in; I feel like it's waste.  I just want to say "it is what it is" and that's it - believe it, accept it.

I can't change what's to come.

Clare Bowditch wanted to know what her fans wish to 'feel' in the new year.  I thought about my answer all day.  I want to feel:
                           purposeful
                 content
                          love
                    free
                       settled
I want to feel how I've never before.

I've been thinking about friends - how maybe I'm a bad one.

I declined L's invite to a New Years Eve dinner with her and her mate. I think she's pissed at me - but down to the gritty root of it all - I actually don't give a fuck.  L does what she does for L - and I'm not saying that's necessarily a bad thing - but it doesn't mean I need to do things for L too.  Every time I think I should feel guilty, I remember how she royally screwed me on the Italy trip we were meant to take - and then, strangely, I don't feel so bad.  I'm not trying to punish her - I'm just doing what I want for a change - taking her lead.

I wonder if these thoughts make me a bad person? Probably.

I think about other friends too. Missing random conversations and deep truths stumbled upon in shallow ways. I want to reach out sometimes, just to say "come back, please talk to me again." I don't think I'm crazy. I just don't want to be alone in the craziness around me.

I want to make things 'right' with the people that matter.  There aren't many, and I include myself in that short list.

2013? Will it be rolling with the punches, or swimming with the current?  I wonder if I'm capable of that.  Will I be throwing any punches of my own? Well, I kind of hope so.

a turn up for the books

Well, thank Christ that didn't happen! It's quite nice to be on the other side of an apocalyptic prediction.

Here we are one day away from Christmas, a time when glitter is finding its way to unusual places (and will continue to do so for many months to come); and pork crackling is being coveted at disturbing proportions.

I get a funny kind of feeling this time of year; a mental itch that maybe I haven't done enough - for myself, for others. As the year is skidding to a close, I remember all the things I should have done, the changes I should  have made - and I feel guilt, and fear.  

All I can hope for tomorrow is that it is spent mindfully - that while I open presents, my mind isn't wandering to the days ahead; that as I eat delightful Christmas foods, I won't be thinking about the many ways I need to change myself.  Just for tomorrow - may there be peace of mind.

And for the lovely nine, who support me from afar, a Merry Christmas to you. May you be right where your hearts wish to be, and may you and yours be blessed beyond measure.

troughs and waves, peaks and dives

I had a session with my counsellor today.  As her cat Nala laid sleeping peacefully atop her desk, she told me how well she thought I was doing.  She told me that she doesn't feel I need to book any more sessions just yet, and that I should contact her again if I feel I need to chat.  I suppose when sessions touch on the merits of eye-lash tinting, it's probably a sign I have grasped my bundle once again.

I feel a little nervous, but also good.  It's still one day at a time, it's still challenging, but at the moment, seemingly controllable.

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.