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 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!

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.

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.

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

breaking up with Facebook

Dear Facebook,

We've been dancing around this issue for a while, but I finally have the courage to say.... it's over between us.  I just don't like you anymore.  Truth be told, I'm not sure I ever really did.

Yes, to start with you made me feel more included, more connected - you used to be fun.  Pictures of people I hadn't seen in years were enlightening, inspiring even. Travels could be tracked, virtual catch-ups were heartwarming, and even the stalking came in handy... once in a while.

But then, it became about numbers.. how many 'friends' did I have, who requested me, who didn't?
Who dumped me as their 'friend'?
Who wished me happy birthday this year?
Who 'liked' my photo?
Who commented? What did they say? What did they really mean?
Who is that?!
Who cares?

With so many 'whos' I've been asking myself why. All you do is bring self doubt and frustration to my fingertips.  For every legitimate good thing you've given me, I've scrolled through dozens, and dozens of bullshit posts, adverts and 'selfies' oh, how I hate the selfies.

And then there's the way you crept into my conversations.  Something innocent I had learnt on Facebook, would escape my consciousness and in answer to "where did you hear that?" I had to confess: I saw it on Facebook. Urrrgh I feel dirty.

You kept gnawing at my time; anytime I sat idle for long enough to reach for my phone, all I had to do was tap that little blue icon - for that 'just in case' look.  I couldn't help it, I'd become dependent on knowing everything, anything.  It has become a sickness, the desire to know things that I don't really need to know - I'd become torn between acceptance and freedom.

For I'm sure that all the 'good' reasons Facebook started, have now long since faded away.  Now we're all right back where we never wanted to be - high school.  All the cool kids who still don't want to be your 'friend', watching assholes continue to be assholes via their pictures, bullies with endless rants, and the bad spelling - so much bad spelling.

You are an enabler Facebook - you have allowed every wank-fest, whinge-fest, aren't I so funny/clever/ironic/hot/sad/happy-fest to go on, and on, and on.  And I won't take any more of it. You are a terrible 'friend' Facebook. And don't think I don't know you're using my likes and preferences as a way to shove more marketing and rubbish down my throat!

Now you see, I just don't care. I've always had one foot out of the 'normal' world anyway, the way I see it I may as well step through and get comfortable where I'm standing.

As 2013 rapidly draws to a close, a year which has been choc-full of rubbish - I'm finally cleaning up.  I'm simplifying my existence.  Who knows how long it will last?  When that first pang of guilt or fear hits, will I be tempted to rejoin the masses?  Whatever happens, just know Facebook - that in this dysfunctional relationship, it's not me, it is most definitely you.

guilt & fortune

I had my future read today, well a version of it at least. The tarot cards told the reader, who then told me about great changes coming, lots of travel, future study, a soul-mate and an offer of love, oh and a pregnancy.

I wanted to believe that she was going to pull out her magic wand, and bring all the lovely things into existence, but this reader was smart.  As she put it to me, that I invite the changes, that it is all in the decisions I make.

The love is supposed to arrive around nine months from now, and the soul that is waiting to be birthed from me (poor thing, bad pick there mate) should hit around the twelve month mark.

?  ?  ?  ?  ?

I'm not sure what I thought as it was all happening. I suppose I was thinking it sounded nice, but mostly I was thinking really, this is all going to happen to me?  And later, when my sister said that humans have the gift of free-will, that we could choose and change things all around anyway, it was a bit 'Sliding Doors' and disappointing as I realised I'll actually have to participate to make anything happen. That I'll have to make changes, difficult choices, lose things to gain others and go... just go.

...Life is it, life is it, it's where it's at
It's getting skinny, getting fat
It's falling deep into a love,
It's getting crushed just like abut
Life there's no love, it's getting beat into the ground
It's getting lost and getting found,
To growing up and getting round
It's feeling silence, feeling sound
It's feeling lonely, feeling full
It's feeling oh so beautiful!...

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.

anything could happen

On the eve of my 30th birthday, staring down the barrel of two weeks annual leave - I'm not where I thought I would be by the time I reached this age, but it is just a number, and who's to know what might happen tomorrow, or the day after, or the week after, or on some lazy unassuming Tuesday...

Somebody wrote in an early birthday card that my existence should be celebrated and right now, I'm inclined to believe them.

the lead balloon

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

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

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

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

gift horses

Today is Friday, which is great all on its own, except I have other things to be grateful for.

My niece started walking today - which means she has finally begun on her track to normal childhood milestones; which means one less thing for my anxiety ridden sister to worry about.  It means, of course - chaos - because she's going to be a little menace, but for my niece it means freedom, for her, a tiny triumph in a world chock-full-of stumbles and roadblocks.  I'm pleased that she has mounted this one successfully.

Yesterday was my sisters birthday, and I was able to spoil her with gifts - which I suspect made her feel, for just a fraction of that day that she was important - and for that small time, her mind was not fogged with worry and doubt.

I had a doctors appointment today.  I had to wait nearly an hour to see my smiley GP (who I suspect has more patients... and patience than time) and I got kind of what I expected - plus by utter strange coincidence I ended up sitting next to the aforementioned hot tradie.  I couldn't believe it - as if scripted in some midday rom-com movie, all the choices and moments collided right there.  Well, there was a little awkward, and no actual talking - but I did learn his name.. and that he breathes really heavy (an asthmatic perhaps?) But it was a surprise I didn't expect and a reminder that you just never know what's around the corner.. or in the GP waiting room.

I also received some mail today - some items I purchased for myself (so kind of like presents - if I forget who paid for them) but also other sparkly, surprising - beautiful things that would make your heart whistle (if it could whistle, healthily... hmm).

Also, the weather was a glorious 34 degrees, as opposed to the scorching 44 we had days earlier - so I was happy to walk in the sun without feeling my skin fry.

All of these things, these little unrelated things, crashed together and made for a day littered with great moments.  I guess all we can really hope for in life, is a series of great moments strung together in close succession.  Today I wear these moments like a string of pearls.  Tomorrow may hold any number of things, but just for now I'll be thankful for my moments, and I will not - I refuse to look that gift horse in the mouth.

And, as a complete side note, a celebration of this hot little biscuit Matt Corby...

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.

sense and sensibilities

I haven't written freely for a while now, for many reasons - most of which boil down to fear. Sometimes I succumb to the fear that I've run out of useful or interesting things to say; sometimes the only thing in my heart is hurt and I fear that expressing this may upset, bore or frustrate anyone who comes to read it. Other times I simply have nothing to say; then there are days when I just can't seem to find the words - because I fear I'm not intelligent-experienced-important enough to put a title and a label on a paragraph that measly ol' me made up. On the extensive play list that is the jukebox of my internal monologue "who am I?" and "what am I doing?" are on frequent rotation, and I pretty much always come up blank. I suppose this means I'm at a point where I need to reexamine why I started in the first place. Like Anne Frank, I just wanted to get the inside stuff onto the outside, let it fall into a protected place where I might learn to examine it from a safe distance - to understand it, and maybe as a bonus along the way, be understood.

The longer I ponder on these things, the more I realise no one can really understand you better than yourself. I guess that's why all those people have written that airy-fairy crap about 'being your own best friend' and 'learning to love yourself'. It's sentimental and dripping with self-help ejaculations, but I suspect it's also kind of true. I'm not very good at this.

I thought recently about giving away the writers' group - I can't seem to connect to it the way I had hoped. I want to write about real stuff, or learn real things - but these people just want to write about smashed fucking vases, clowns in car parks and cats. But maybe that's just me, trying to arrive at the destination before even really starting the journey.

I admit it, completely and wholeheartedly, I'm about as lost as they come. I'm alone in the desert - I've broken down without any preparation, I abandoned my vehicle days ago and am now wandering aimlessly in circles, chasing mirages and my own footprints.

Spending all this time at home, feeling ugly and petty and removed from life has made me think more about the kind of things I wish for. Like an occupation that absorbs me, that takes all that I am but pushes me forward still to achieve something special - something completely and totally me. I'm not just talking about a paid gig - but a real life-long pursuit. I don't know what this could be; strangely seek.com are all out of jobs of the 'inspiring' variety. Sometimes I get so scared that I will never find anything that makes my heart soar - that I missed my chance somewhere along the way. I figure I was probably hiding my head beneath a cushion at the time my car drove past that sign post - either that, or I was too absorbed looking behind me, missing that fateful junction.

I suppose it doesn't help that I have seemingly adopted vampire habits. Sleep eludes me while the remainder of the world is resting and dreaming - instead during the day, as the sun climbs higher in the sky, my eyes grow heavy and I all but crash my body to the nearest soft spot.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I hope to begin to figure it out really soon. If a time comes when I don't have the minutes, or inclination to write here anymore, I hope it will mean that I have moved on to a comfortable place where self-reflection and therapeutic rants are no longer necessary for the sustainability of my mental health. Until then, I'm here, maybe alone - perhaps delusional - documenting the journey. 

Peace. Out.

origins

They tumble from the walnut brown velvet bag; shiny, heavy hoops - rings of the Gods.  Brilliant bright silver with a speckled texture, as they drop into my open hand I feel the weight of them - these are not for the faint hearted.. or thin lobed.  They are a little bit Lily Allen circa 2006 - which might be why I love them so. No, truth be told, I love them because of where they came from.

On the way back from our explorations, we pass through the shaded market area by the old castle that I am unable to name. It's incredibly hot; we've been roaming the cobble-stoned streets, snapping obligatory daggy photos while hopping on and off our dodgy version 'hop-on-hop-off' tour bus.  It has been exhausting. I welcome the sight of the markets - I recognise the area as we came through here this morning.  Familiarity in a foreign country is travellers gold, I know where I'm going, I am not lost. Ahead we can see a stall selling slushies - we are drawn to it like magnets.  The cold condensation on the outside of the machine makes me want to lick it - my mouth waters at the thought of the sweet strawberry brain freeze I am about to experience.  They could've cost 10 euros, and I absolutely would not have cared.

After we buy our slushies, we linger in the area, making the most of the cooling shade.  There are the usual touristy items on offer - postcards, key rings, general junk - but then, behind the hanging woven bags and cheap t-shirts sits a jewellery stand.

Laid out upon four tables, arranged edge-to edge in a square, are sparkly jewels of all kinds.  A older man stands in the centre of the tables, I suppose watching for swift fingers - but he is perfectly lovely when I ask him if the items are sterling silver. "Yes, they are all sterling silver, I don't work with anything else." He is the maker of these things. After some time, and some mental negotiation with myself, I settle upon a pair of kick-ass hoops - these are not like anything I would find back home. Well, of course not - they would be from Rome!

I wear these hoops today because I am trying to relive the magic from almost one year ago. Even though they are a little more 'dancing on bar tops' than 'heading out for the weekend papers' - I don't care. Lately the universe has been conspiring against me, reminding me how much I want to go back to Italy. I pine for it now.  As I eat leftover potato bake for lunch today, I say to my Mother, who sits across from me at the table "I want to go back to Italy".
"You want to go back? Really?"
"Yes, of course, why do you think I'm wearing my Rome earrings today?"
"Oh" she says.  She doesn't get it, of course, how would she know? She goes on to tell me I should go with my uncles family or another uncle who is planning a trip. "Your father - he wants to go, why don't you go with him?" Sure Mum, because every girls dream is to explore Rome with her sciatica-suffering father. No thanks. She does not understand.  Maybe I'm being silly now, remembering only the good stuff and neglecting the troublesome memories. Still, maybe I could be brave some day, and do it on my own? Just imagine.

big girl problems

Ahh, there's nothing quite so attractive as the sight of someone shoving Vicks Vaporub up their reddened nose with a cotton bud.  It's moments like these you really know you're alive...

I'm in the midst of some 'ugly days' at present.  I usually say I'm having an 'ugly day' when I just feel, regardless of effort or time, that I am intrinsically unattractive that day.  Be it a spot on my face, my hair misbehaving or simply the 'vibe'.  I wonder if everyone has these days?

For me, there's no more sobering a sight than seeing my own ugly rear reflected at me in a target change room. Is that really what people see when they are behind me? Wow I am ghastly. And I wasn't even the one trying anything on. Low blow.

I can't speak for all large/overweight/obese people out there - but for me - I know I'm big, but I never think I'm that big.  The photo is taken from a bad angle, the clothing item didn't suit my shape, sizes are changing, blah, blah, blah... It's only until you catch an unexpected glance in a reflective surface that you realise the scale of yourself - my upper arm really is that big? Is that how much surface of the chair my ass really takes up? It's like normally you look at yourself in bits - like through a peephole or those glasses they use for an eclipse - I'm not usually taking in the whole picture, because deep down, I know, it's not pretty.

This stuff is difficult for me to talk about, because it is so delicate a subject for me.  It is my achilles heel, my glass jaw, my vulnerable weak spot.

There's a joke I've seen that goes something like "I am in shape - round is a shape." That may be true, but hate is hate.

I know we should accept who we are, for what we are - but I cannot.  It's not like I eat healthy and exercise everyday and just happen to look like this because I have big bones.  No, I know that while genetics can bear a little of the blame here, I am ultimately my own keeper in this personal hell.  I hold the keys, I have the way out, but I seem incapable of initiating the escape. Why?

For one, it's not fucking easy - sometimes I naively think it'd be grand if I could make myself vomit.  I'm scared of failing, of falling 'off the wagon' like the million times before.  To an extent, I think I'm scared of being attractive - if men starting paying me attention, I don't know how I would deal with that. Or, maybe, food is one of the only things that makes me happy, and I'm not willing to give it up.  Perhaps it's as simple as that.  Perhaps I don't want another 'problem' that makes me different from everyone else, again.

But when I see myself, really see myself, chocolate is the furthest thing from my mind.

Right now, I think if I could make a deal to never eat chocolate again - and in return wake up to be thin and beautiful, I would do it. How I wish it were easy.  How I wish this self hate, the internal dialogue I have with myself every-single-day would at least contribute to massive calorie burning.  Maybe that would make the chatter worth it.

But, I guess if things were that easy, that if deals could really be made - then hell would likely be full of 'former fatties' and there would be no room for the truly horrible people.

I know I've said it before - ashamedly I say it most Sunday evenings - but I am going to make some changes.  I am going to start with little steps, and hope that with a little practise I can dance the whole routine of self acceptance someday.

SB

lessons in being awesome

Tonight was my first piano lesson.  A longtime 'one day' wish of mine has always been to play the piano.  I think it has something to do with the grace, skill and complete mindful state pianists seem to be able to access.  I like to imagine myself, someday, sitting at a beautiful glossy wooden piano - hair, dress and fingers flowing like spirits.  The mental ability to keep two hands moving in completely different ways, reading two lines of music and just 'knowing' where the keys are.  It seems such a long way away.  It seems impossible.  But then, I guess at 17, the thought of easing the clutch, accelerating, changing gears, changing lanes, flickers, lights, rules and steering all seemed too much as well. However now, I could drive asleep if I had to.

Until I can discover that musical genius within (if she does in fact reside somewhere in there), and until I can play as below - I must be content with the knowledge that I have right now. One step, one note, one page at a time. 



Interestingly, while waiting in the hallway for the lesson to start, I see a weathered, unassuming flyer clinging to life on the wall.  It calls for interest in a writing group.  I took down the number, I don't know if I'll have the balls to call it.  But sometimes in this life, when we are scrambling for signs and direction, screaming "for fucks sake - will someone just tell me what to do here?!".. sometimes a sign so delicate can be found in the oddest of places. It gives me a chill to think this elaborate set of decisions and meaningless chance - could all have led to that single flyer.  It could mean nothing, or it could mean anything.

Kismet is a keen musician, it seems.

SB

the sun also rises

I felt so defeated at work today that I wanted to scream and cry. Isn't anybody paying attention around here? I want to let all the things that upset me, spill from my mouth and hurt others, the way these things hurt me.  I'm so tired; exhausted from being on guard all the time.  Like a soldier, crouched in the trenches, anticipating attack, but not knowing when it will come - and maybe it won't.  What are we fighting for?

And the thoughts. These fucking thoughts. Who is to know what is real? Is what I'm feeling real - are these true accounts of what is happening here and now - or does my perception taint the transmission? Maybe I'm the one not paying attention? Thoughts may not be fact, but they feel true - to me.

I can't talk about these things with anyone. Who would care to listen? It's like trying to explain a private universe to people that have never been.  And the truth is, we all have our own.  Nothing makes mine worse than somebody elses - it's just my personal pain that makes it feel bad - for me. The point of view of the outsider, looking from above is always simplified. It must be a regular 'Days of our lives' to God, if he sits up there watching us.

Knowing what I do - that nothing is perfect - should I "suck it up" or "harden up", "keep calm and stop carrying on".  If I'm not carrying on, am I giving in? Will I have lost myself?

Yes, the sun sets - but it also rises. If this all continues to consume me, what a mess I'll be. Yes, it is scary not knowing what to do, not having a feeling of ownership or pride, feeling misplaced.  But perhaps I need to embrace the uncertainty, because maybe someday I won't have the luxury to decide who I want to be. People don't always get the choice.  So, maybe I need to start making some wild decisions and see where they lead me.

I've always been obsessed with what I don't want.  Maybe to start at the simple 'wants' is the best thought yet.

SB