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.

the damage

I lost a good friend of mine to cancer recently. For the past couple of years, it was a battle that defined her, and it finally ceased on 30 June 2016. I'd learned a few days before that she was in a bad way, so the bad news just kept rolling.

I've been finding it difficult to come to terms with what a loss like this means to me, and to the wider world.  You see, she was quite a wonderful creature. A fiercely loyal friend, passionate, caring, protective and unafraid. She was the first real friend I had that used "fuck" a lot, and it delighted me.

She was the kind of person, who really wanted to know how you were going when she asked; she didn't waste words; she didn't cower away from her differences to make her life easier. She was courageous - even before the cancer. The world positively needs more people like her in it, as do I.

My grief has been tinged with the sourness of guilt.  We lived several hundred kilometres away - and since her diagnoses she would decline my haphazard requests for a catch up. I recognised that she probably didn't want me to see her, and while I respect that, I also wished I had tried harder. To add insult to injury, I couldn't attend her funeral.

M was one of those special people, you meet and you know instantly that you have found a member of your tribe.  I think, selfishly, what upsets me the most is that I won't have this wonderful spirit in my corner anymore (not physically at least). In this war called life, I have lost one of the most valuable members of my army.  I don't have a lot of people in my tribe, and M's absence is a massive void.

In a frantic letter I wrote to her before she passed, I told her that I see reminders of her everywhere.  In encounters with strangers, in bold reds, Greek reminders, moments of compassion and sharp witted folk. God, how I will miss her.

Years ago, we went to see Gotye together - the show was held in some amphitheatre in the bush.  There were so many rules - we had to abandon pillows and blankets, and we had to deal with pushy hipsters and assholes too.  At the end of the concert, as the line of cars abandoning the empty stage stretched the horizon, we parked, turned up the music - opened all the doors to the car and danced in the dark field until the cars went away. That was a very M thing to do.

The last time we saw each other in the flesh - we'd spent quite a few hours together, had a meal and a good chat, she dropped me back at my hotel, and before she left, she hugged me so hard. I was crying my eyes out, she said "I love you" and I told her I loved her back.  We held each other for such a long time.   It wasn't long after that, that she texted me with the news of her cancer.  I'm sure she knew that last time we met, I think she spared me, I think maybe she knew that was the last time we were going to see each other. I wish I'd known.

I don't know what happens to people when they die, but I refuse to believe they stop 'being'.  I hope they go somewhere nice, where they don't have any bad thoughts anymore; a place where they don't have to worry about pain, fear or loss. Where their spirit is free to flit and meander wherever it so desires. Perhaps as we live we leave invisible star dust trails woven in the people and places we encounter. I keep M in my heart, and there she shall stay for as long as I am waking.

Good bye beautiful M.

..No one's ever lost forever
When they die they go away
But they will visit you occasionally
Do not be afraid
No one's ever lost forever
They are caught inside your heart
If you garden them and water them
They make you what you are
No one's ever lost forever
When they die they go away
But they will visit you occasionally
Do not be afraid
No one's ever lost forever
They are caught inside your heart
If you garden them and water them
They make you what you are.
~ Amanda Palmer and The Grand Theft Orchestra

always me

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

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

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

I hope to dwell here awhile.

Illustration by Lisa Falzon

the 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!

the making of things

So, it's been quite a while.  I have thought about you quite a lot, I wanted to drop by and say hi, (so many times) but so much time had passed that I didn't really know how...

I came across this video a while ago, and stashed it away for a later date.  Today seems as good a day as any other to share it.

In my own way, I'm striving to make something beautiful.  Something important, and authentic, and resounding. My own tattoo on time. But not one of those dodgy ones that people get in the heat of the moment, and then three years down the track they are having it burnt off their flesh with laser therapy.  That's why I'm taking my time.

I suppose I always imagined that being truthful would be easy, turns out it's not.  It's risky to live, to love, to be any version of yourself, but especially the 'real' one. 

I'm learning things about myself all the time.

For instance: I like Milo just fine without added sugar (you just need to up the Milo to liquid ratio), I am quite fearful of plunging to my death in a sinkhole, Chris Pratt is hot (both versions) and life, even in its complete ordinariness, hurts.

Jesus Pratt - enough with the sexy eyes already

a Sunday kind of love

It's all getting very serious around my end of the woods. It seems I'm surrounded by folks who are making all sorts of mature commitments, like getting married and/or having babies. And while I'm terribly happy for these people, it also kindles that little loneliness candle I have tucked away.

While I'm day dreaming of a different life, or falling in immediate love with inappropriate, unattainable men (such as the lovely Italian stallion with the delicious melty-brown eyes who owns the restaurant I sometimes visit, 600kms away...) I've realised all I really want is a simple Sunday kind of love. 

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.

going backwards

It feels like I only go backwards baby
Every part of me says go ahead.
I got my hopes up again, oh no... not again.
Feels like I only go backwards darling

This is melty-tone perfection.  Alex Turner's voice is incredible. I could listen to this version all day. 

a cautionary tale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

evolution is hard

This year the universe has been screaming at me to change; I'm trying you fucker is what I usually scream back in the dead of night. After I've read my latest self-help book, completed a guided meditation and over-thought my actions of the day (not necessarily in that order, that would definitely defeat the purpose of said activities).

Seriously, change is on the menu, as is being a better human.  But it's not easy work. Evolution is not easy, despite what the bible says. Dear God, please don't send me to hell for that comment.

At work, I am positively surrounded by self-obsessed assholes - and it takes every bit of my self control some days, not to outwardly mock their tone and narcissistic verbal diarrhoea.  You know I'm doing it in my head right, and sometimes it sort of just slips out...

Anyway, being around these kinds of people, aside from shitting me off, also reminds me about the kind of person I don't want to be.  Not in a self righteous kind of way, more just in the vein of I don't want to be a jerk.  The thing that erks me about these variety of humans, is the way they treat their underlings, because you know that totally speaks volumes about someones true character. Talk is cheap. You could be the richest, smartest, most beautiful person in all the land, but if you don't show respect to the people around you - I'm gonna think you're a turd.

So, this journey of bettering myself (for want of a better term) has led me to reading some interesting things. I came across this lovely quote the other night and it fitted perfectly with how I've been feeling.

"When two people relate to each other authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them." - Martin Buber

I realised this is what I'm searching for.  This is what I'm trying to reap, sow and cultivate in my own life and I love it.  I want to be a conductor of this type of energy - whether you believe it comes from God, or some other source, it doesn't matter.

This also provides direction for 'The Dating Experiment'.  To some guys I'm obviously a set of breasts and a hoo-ha, which is not ok.  So really, it's great when they out themselves that way inclined, because I can quickly avoid them, and move on.

Imagine my surprise, when over the weekend some really cool guy contacts me via this dating website.  I'm talking out of this world calibre of conversation. I don't even know where he lives, but it doesn't matter, because he wants to know about me, he wants to know what I think - he's incredibly interesting, and dare I say, too good to be true?  What scares me most of all, that I can write to him as me, carefully selecting and constructing the things I want to say, because I know he appreciates it.  I don't know where it will lead, but I hope we continue to write to one another, and maybe, at the very least I'll have a friend in him.  It's just so exciting to find one of 'my people'... it's serendipitous.

Being surrounded by assholes, makes the discovery of someone authentic even more sweeter.

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.

snap out of it

My mind had been rubbish since the pact was enacted - thinking so much about men, what they want, what they don't want, who I had to be to fit that badly constructed 'doll' I'd imagined in my mind.  And then, I realised, I just don't care.

And then I listened to this song, and the world made sense once again....

single, seeking cat

I feel that there is a special level of humiliation one unlocks when they embark on the world of online dating. I have been there people, and it is not pretty.

Weeks ago, a friend suggested we try putting up profiles on an online dating site - her, to declare to the world and her ex (who keeps sniffing around) that she is officially moving on... and me, well, to imply I'm at least in the general 'moving' direction.

When I nodded enthusiastically and verbally agreed all those weeks ago - the reality seemed so very far away. But, I have been unable to put it off any longer - she declared it must happen NOW, and after a large gulp, I said "OK".

We met at a cafe after work - not sure why... it sort of felt like we were doing something naughty, and we worked on her profile first.  Debating how to answer certain questions, writing her spiel and picking a photo.  Ninety minutes passed, one chocolate muffin was hastily consumed [read: slaughtered and/or harmed] and I finally said - I'll write mine at home and email it to you.

So, I did. I wrote some God-awful thing about how great I am - using terrible puns and mixed metaphors about fruit and other airy shite.  Talking about oneself is not very easy, selling myself seemed unnatural.  In fact, the whole process felt, I don't know - against Gods plan.  That idea I had in my head, of randomly bumping into someone lovely, reaching for the same library book, peeking at handsome strangers through extravagant fish tanks, a' la Luhrmann's 1996 "Romeo & Juliet" was dying - it was on life support.

oh Leo, I love you

I had some conditions.  No real names.  Absolutely no photo.  In my head, I had made a bargain that if anyone contacted me, and got to the next stage of approval, then they might receive a photo.

My friend is a student and an eternal tightass from way back - so she was only interested in using this dodgy free site.  You know the kind, the sort of site you might expect to contract some unidentified form of hepatitis if you touched the keyboard too much.

When I did my pre-sign up checks (oh yeah, I've savvy like that. I ain't no fool!) I searched through the talent and wasn't terribly impressed.  Bad spellers, illiterates, guys proclaiming to have giant 'wangs' or "looking for a good time"... I felt ill.

But, I kept my promise, and up my profile went.  That was of course, after I completed a series of ridiculous questions that were supposed to indicate my personality and traits, and therefore assist the site in finding me my perfect match.  Most of the questions were relatively normal, the intent transparent.. but then came a bunch of questions about the internet:

• My friends think I spend too much time on the internet.
• I'm a different person on the internet.
• When I'm not on the internet, I'm thinking about being on the internet.
• I love the internet, I want to have weird sex with my modem and have wireless babies.

I. Shit. You. Not.  Ok, well, the last one I paraphrased - but the rest are completely legit!  Honestly, would a true weirdo read these questions and seriously select 'Strongly Agree'.  They may as well have had a tick-box to indicate freakish tendencies and left it at that.

As I looked over some of the profiles, my mind raced.  Statistically some of these men could be murderers, I thought! Most of them look like creeps, posers, some look like my Dad (!!), some look 'ok' but how would I really know!?  I calmed myself with the knowledge that I would take the process slowly, that I would choose to get to know any potential dates via email's, well before any face-to-face action. I grieved silently for my dignity before switching off the computer for the night.

The next morning, I'd been awake for approximately four minutes when my anxieties began to simmer over my cereal bowl. I clung desperately to my metal spoon as I realised: I might have to actually meet these men someday! Oh, the horror!  I was ready to give up, log-in and delete my profile.  Just go and buy the cat now and forget about this online rubbish I thought to myself.  I'm not sure what it was, but I managed to calm down - perhaps it was my strict morning schedule before work that snapped me from this heightened state of shitting myself.

Jokes aside, I'm still uneasy.  Sometimes in my head, I'll plan to drive myself to any dates, tell myself to choose public, well trafficked locations and never, ever let him buy the drinks - and then, I take a breath and try to remind myself that I have reasonable intuition and should be able to sniff out a creep.  I have had to say goodbye to all of my preconceived ideas about how girls are meant to meet boys.  And I can't help but feel a little sad for that.

fear & loathing

Life has been 'interesting' lately. After my aforementioned meltdown I gathered some distance from things, and from Google. At this point in the monologue, it might be worthwhile saying that the long weekend helped too.

The journey of this condition is so varied, so complicated.  It's as if all the sufferers are snowflakes in a giant blizzard - or perhaps plastic pieces locked in a tacky snow-globe together, but each in the path of their own fall. Alone.

Hmmm... coincidence my Santorini snow-globe fell and smashed the other day? I think not. Alas, I digress.

I have been forced to take one day at a time, because that is all I can manage. I'm learning not to fear the aches, but to respond to them as they come knocking. The most difficult, embarrassing component is what some call 'fibro fog' - which seems to be a blanket term for general mental fuzziness, used to explain poor concentration, memory loss (particularly short term) and word finding difficulties.  Word finding is the bane of my existence, particularly on days when I am short on restful sleep - to feel this word, this word I know, dodging and weaving my grasp, so that I am left wordless, open mouthed, mortified... is hideous.  I'm not one for talking too much, so I like to think when I do open my mouth my brain might have the courtesy to back me up a little.

I'm trying to keep things under my hat - but in the long run, I'm not sure it's going to work for me.  Trying to maintain a full time job, act 'together' when I just really want to fall in a heap on the ground.  Still answering the "how are you"'s with not bad thanks when I really want to scream, fucking awful actually.  Part of me still has something to prove. That maybe I'm ok, that maybe I'll be different... that maybe I won't have to reveal my dirty little secret to co-workers, so I can avoid 'those' looks, 'those' judgements.

I want to become informed, become strong, be smart and confident enough to say "ok, that's enough for today". But it's hard.  My parents know, but I still don't think they fully understand.  I'm operating in the shadows, and sneaking rest where I can - but it's not enough.  It's not enough, and I don't know how to say it without disappointing others - without disappointing myself.

"Fear is the cheapest room in the house - I would like to see you living in better conditions."  - Hafiz

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!...

shit happens to everybody?

Last week, on the day I found out I would have to stay confined to a 'moon-boot' for the next six weeks I was feeling more than a little sorry for myself.  Thinking about how I had arrived in this shitty spot almost one year ago, and how I was still trying to dig myself out, one handful of dirt at a time.  Wondering if I would ever see an end to pain, medical bills, heat packs, muscle rubs or hydrotherapy pools 7am on a Sunday. If I'd ever get asked the question "and how have you been this week?" without having to pay the person afterwards.

On this day I took a work call, from a guy wanting to change his appointment. He was a friendly guy, it was an easy request and I was happy and able to oblige.  And out of nowhere he expresses to me how happy he is that he is getting better.  That there was a period in the past where he thought he never would, how he wished, now looking back, that he had written down just how awful and hopeless he had felt, because now he could say "look, it turned out ok".

I didn't know this guy, he didn't know me - but he delivered a message that I needed to hear.

So, it's a journey. I suppose for now I console myself with the idea that not every ones journey is the same road, or the same distance. It just is what it is.

"Do not chase people. Be you and do your own thing and work hard. The right people who belong in your life will come to you, and stay." - Wu Tang Clan

the good, the bad, the downright ugly

The good.
Seeing Mr Matt Damon pop up on your TV screen is always good.  As far as I'm concerned this guy can do no wrong.  He's my imaginary husband. Well... one of them.

The bad.

For a chronic foot issue that I have been nursing for most of the year, I have been sentenced to six weeks in a 'moon-boot' in a last ditch effort to avoid surgery.  On the plus side, it's probably the closest I'll ever get to wearing knee high boots - however it's only on one leg, and the look is completely cheapened by the velcro. *insert quiet sob*

The ugly.

While in the hairdressers yesterday I witnessed a conversation in which the grey-haired, middle aged man next to me asked for a mullet hair cut.  He actually asked for it y'all.  I can't believe people actually deem that a legitimate hair-style choice.  Surely mullets are the stuff of accidents and dares?  Surely, surely no one 'chooses' to look like a bogan?

rhetoric

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

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

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

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

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

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.