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

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.

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. 

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.

the words are empty air

I'm trying to navigate the small space between silence and speaking. Sometimes I remember that the only one we can really rely on is ourselves; that everyone has their own agenda, and this rarely leaves room for a 'plus one'. But then I recall that I don't want to be lonely - because when you make a stand, you usually end up standing alone.

and that's how I see it...

So, when I'm not fantasizing about keying a fellow employees car, in punishment for parking in a spot they shouldn't be - I do sometimes think about the wider world around me.

For instance, I think Alan Jones is a dick and I feel he probably deserves to not drive a Mercedes Benz ever again, or keep any form of employment that involves the placement of a microphone near his mouth.

Also, kids, 'Skinny Love' belongs to BON IVER.  I know it's an exotic name, and a little harder than 'Birdy' to say in your outside voice. But for crying out loud - google Justin Vernon - it'll blow your fucking minds*!

*and if it doesn't, I simply cannot help you.

sobering sunday

It's an odd feeling that washes over you, when you realise things aren't always going to be this way.  When you recall that the clock continues to tick, the world keeps turning and God is marking off the calender days with his thick red marker.  No rest for the wicked? No rest for anyone, not really.

Are we all just biding our time, trying to live out our borrowed moments while cowering beneath man-made shelters, hiding in the shade - all to obscure us from the overseer's sight?

I am startled from my stupor when I recognise a name inked within the borders of the newspaper death notices.  It happens a lot these days.  And the people, they don't seem so old anymore.  When someone my age loses a parent, it delivers a sharp blow that we are all getting older - their parents.. my parents.. me.

Within your own mind, you might suppose that you, your family will remain untouched.  That God will reward you for being who you are - for being wise to the game. Although I would like to rest my head on that sure, sound pillow tonight - it's not altogether true.

Nothing remedy's time.

I am frightened now, because I realise, I really understand that my Mum, my Dad - they won't be around forever.  For so long, our lives become about that sunny, bright picture we can see faraway in the distance - everyone is grown, grey-haired and happy; the picture is blurry, there is no time stamp on the image, no points of reference - but you get there, right? Right?

So much of my world is fear.  I worry for the children in my life - how will they know to be strong? Will their bodies let them grow well and happy? Where will they find the tools, the knowledge to understand the dangers and pitfalls of their world, but to move on ahead, regardless?  And the older ones, when their bodies betray them; cells degrade, lives recede - with their adult fury, worry and automobiles - so may things moving way too fast.

In my room, a white wooden "relax" sits atop my shelf.  I hate that fucking thing - I don't know what possessed my sister to buy it for me, but it mocks me now.  How can I possibly relax when so much can go wrong?

I feel like if my life ended tomorrow, I could be ok with that.  But to imagine myself having to go on without one of 'my people' - well, the thoughts hurts too much to bear.

I think I understand now, why it is that people drink.

stocktake

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung...
May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong...
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.

- Bob Dylan

I think it's very easy to become complacent - as each day blends into the next.  We think about things, only in terms of how they effect us - we assume things are going to be the same - until they aren't anymore.  It's difficult to find safe ground, when you're trying to be mindful of the moment, but also figuring out where to step next.  No one is to know the road map, or the challenges we might meet along the way.  I think sometimes it pays to slow down at the 'give way' signs and just appreciate the people and the things we have in our lives, right now - as if they were a magnificent parade - the theatre of your life. Our shops and warehouses regularly count stock - as if cereal boxes and bottles of soft drink are precious.  Maybe it would serve us well to do a regular stock take of ourselves - to be grateful for what remains on our shelves, remember what has passed through our doors and discover the gems we have collected in our lost and found boxes.

I don't pretend to be saintly - I get pissy and angry at little things, I forget my blessings and get caught up in things that don't matter - but I do hope to devote a little more time to the things that should be celebrated.

Two of the scariest things you'll ever learn about life:
1) There are no guarantees.
2) It's not fair.

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

sticks & stones

Am I ok with not being like everybody else?
Most days? Yes.
Today? Not so much.

As everyone was packing up to leave work this afternoon, talk turned to work drinks tonight. I did receive a pity invite, I think because I was in the room at the time it was raised. I declined the generous offer. Then, a comment was made between two others about 'tomorrow night'. I wasn't thinking, I asked the wrong question "oh have you got a big night planned tomorrow night"...yes, yes they do have plans - no, I wasn't invited.

I know I can't talk about how shit some people are, and then expect invites to social gatherings from them. I know this is the price I pay for being socially awkward, for saying 'no' a lot of the time - and I know the fact I don't really drink, weirds people out. But it still hurts sometimes.

I'm not going to cry, because this is the lonely bed I made for myself. Maybe at my age, I've dispensed with the small talk, the fake and meaningless because I don't tolerate it very well, and figure perhaps that life is meant to be more?

God, how I wish I was "normal" - I wish I was chatty, perky and loved to get drunk. But I just wasn't made that way.

At least the dog likes me. She doesn't discriminate.

SB

house rules

I am house sitting at the moment.  This particular house comes with a bipolar dog (undiagnosed), a leaky roof, a four-slice toaster and an ass-load of curtains.  It's an interesting experience. 

I thought perhaps being away from the distractions of home, that I might find myself thinking far too much; feeling deeper - sinking into my own crazy mind; instead I think I might be drowning in the space. My thoughts haven't gotten bigger, but instead, smaller. Everything becomes - did I feed the dog today, did I open those curtains, am I sure I locked that door... there is no space to ponder the self involved thought I might've had earlier.  Maybe because I'm not alone - because the dog is forever looking at me knowingly, as if to say "bitch, where do you think you're going without me?"

I say it's an interesting experience, because it is not at all what I thought it would be. I have all the television one might want, but all I want to do is go to bed and read a book. The dog, while affectionate, is easily depressed - it perturbs me to have this on my conscience.  Living with this dog, is an experience I would liken to sharing a room with Hannibal Lecter - at all hours of the day and night you will come to hear this dog licking and sucking and gnawing itself - it can't be normal, it just can't. Then there is the toilets - with some crazy blue deodoriser thing sitting in the bowl of the toilet - which when flushed emits a violent blue into the water - a sight you might expect to see if a smurf was bludgeoned to death in your toilet...if smurfs were real.

Oh dear perhaps I am thinking too much after all.

I guess this house is someones home - it's just not mine. When we intrude in another persons space, we must remember that we are stepping into their world, and in a way, into an extension of their mind.  I wonder what my minds house would look like.

SB

pardon the onesie

So, the happiest part of my day was stumbling upon a news report (while perusing the Internet on completely non-work related business) about an animal sanctuary in Costa-Rica.

Four words: Baby. Sloth. In. Pajamas.

The story was talking about how these orphaned sloths suffer from a disease called mange, which they become susceptible to because they are missing out on the antibodies from their mothers milk.  So, at this sanctuary, they have come up with a way to cure the baby sloths - by shaving all their hair off, smothering them in a paste they make, and then swaddling them into cute little baby bundles!

I was until today, a firm believer that onesie's should be the exclusive clothing choice of human babies and toddlers only - but I now add baby sloths to that list.

I think I've decided what I want to do with my life now; I want to have a baby sloth sanctuary for all the orphaned sloths - I can wrap them in funky pajamas and give them people names like 'Jerry' and 'Violet'.  Just one small problem... there's a small lack of native sloths in my immediate area... and by area, I mean country.

SB

when the mood becomes the face

It's been a big day for a Monday.  At work, we are currently shifting the department into a new building - a building which is a manifestation of the word: suboptimal.

I want to talk about all the things that annoy me, and all the ways in which this happens - but I realise this stuff consumes me too much.  Maybe I take things too seriously, maybe I just care too much.  I don't know how to reconcile self preservation with self worth - because I want to care about my job, I want to enjoy where I am and what I'm doing, but I also don't want it to be the thing that makes a poor mold of me.

At the moment, I fear I am beginning to manifest this face:

When really, I want to be: happy driving my car...

happy washing my face...

happy...eating fruit..(?)

happy on the phone...

happy brushing my teeth.

Happy, all the time! Except maybe not when washing my face - it just doesn't seem right.

Hmmm... I don't think it's a coincidence that all these "happy" photos are stock photos that require payment for use.  Plenty of free grumpy ones though.

SB xx

my, my, my

Bon Iver and I are slowly getting to know one another. At the moment, 'Skinny Love' sticks with me long after the song has finished. It simultaneously scares and intrigues me, that I don't immediately know what he's singing about - I feel like I really have to think about what I'm hearing, and try to process it...and even then, I don't know if I'm pulling the 'right' things from it.  Regardless of what he has to say, I suspect it's worth the effort to find out.



Come on skinny love just last the year
Pour a little salt we were never here
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Right in the moment this order's tall
And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind
And in the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different kind
And I'll be holding all the tickets
And you'll be owning all the fines...

* * * * *

I think I'm kind of living in an altered non-moment - so far removed from the now, that during those times I have glimpses of the real, I start to wonder if I'm crazy, or just asleep. Simple things, like the things you do everyday and don't think about - like learning the delicate balance of the accelerator and clutch when you're 17, now at 28 it has become innate - like pouring cereal, or locking a door - it's autopilot.  I glance up at my wall and wonder did I really hang that picture there... I don't remember making that decision... did I lock the door - or am I just remembering when I locked the door yesterday, one week ago, eight years ago? I think I'm always living two moments ahead - I suppose that's what happens when you get too comfortable... every day starts to feel the same because it kind of is.

SB xx

Just another bad day

My top lip has a permanent red scar from the mean cold-sore of 2007. I'd like to thank my dear sister for this, as it was her bridezilla tendencies who created a very stressful three days for me during a bridesmaid dress expedition. Today, I awoke to find a very angry red scar... and very quickly a bubble... then the pain... and the itch.  Good fucking morning, bitches!

I don't even know how I got this asshole of a virus anyway.  I only wish it was through kissing some hot bad-boy in a darkened pub corner. I suspect that it may have come from a poorly washed cup, utilised by my bastard pig of an ex-boss, during my part time job, about seven years ago.  Either that, or being the born worrier that I am, the virus sidled up next to me and just decided my body was where it wanted to be. I feel that both of these hypotheses are equally possible. (Hypothesis - now there's a word I know I haven't used since 2009).

So, I woke up with a cold sore today, and bad hair... and just a plain old bad attitude.  I always feel more vulnerable to general worldly shittiness when I feel ugly - like there's a chink in my armour, and thanks to the cold sore - everyone could see the chink. This provides almost perfect proof that attitude and outlook determine so much.  See, it's interesting how I know this, but yet I am still unable to shake the pissy, frustrated attitude I find myself wearing more frequently these days.

Then, add a family drama.  Today my sister had to take my five-month old niece to see a paediatric therapist (who belongs to my department at work), for follow up on a fairly benign issue.  I hear that at this appointment the stupid, old, bitter therapist tells my sister some horrific things about the state of my nieces head - introducing words like 'brain surgery' and 'never in all my years'.  At first I was a mixture of concern and anger - and then selfish thoughts, like why me... I can't take any more today. Then I got upset because I knew this 'news' had sent my sister into an episode of tears and poorly informed google-ing. So, I was trying to calmly talk it out with a co worker who I trust, but then of course, my voice starts to shake and I get teary - because in my heart I'm fearing for my niece, but in my head I'm wondering how someone with half a centuries experience can be so fucking insensitive with a new mother.

I just get so scared when I think about anything being wrong with my nephew or niece.  Like a parent, I want to protect them from bad things.  I don't want to see them disadvantaged, hurt or sick. I am genuinely scared, and they aren't even my kids. I also can't help but feel a little responsible; because of where I work, I encouraged my sister to seek out assistance with the initial problem... and now she's just in a state of utter panic, because of what my co-worker said to her.

There are just some days where I wish I could melt into the walls unseen - remove myself from waking life and just be deleted for a little while.  I wish I could have done this today, and taken my lovely niece with me.

I am so worried about all of this; I hope that it all turns out to be nothing - but that giant neon 'WHAT IF' hangs above my head.  I guess all I can do is hope, and pray and love the shit out of the people I care about, while I can - because the scariest truth of them all is that I can't control anything.

SB xx

got gumption?

I had a timely encounter with the Shit-Face who inspired these spewings today.

I had the great misfortune of arriving at work the same time as she did - and the greater pity of her 'seeing' me. Jesus! Happy Tuesday to me! But, as they say... when life gives you lemons... "Hello" I said (I couldn't completely ignore her - I'm not advocating complete rudeness here!)

Why she bothered waiting behind for me, I do not know.  Now don't think I didn't try to straggle - play the whole whoops - did I leave my car unlocked?...handbrake disengaged?...fuel tank on fire? thing. No avail.

Resume: I said "Hello Shit-Face - howyagarn?.." (you know, the obligatory 'how are you going' you say, when you're trying to appear polite). That's. It.

We walked the further 500 metres from the car park, to my department and I didn't instigate a single word of time wasting, awkward avoiding, chit-chat.  It was hard for me, I generally make it my business to avoid awkward silences. But, NO, I thought.  Lets just play here, and see if she actually says anything - asks me anything.  She didn't. She retains said title - Shit-Face.

This might be fun.

So, when life gives you lemons...make lemonade; on the proviso that you drink it all your fucking self!

SB xx

C.B.A

I have decided, that there are just some people in this world who need not be bothered with. This particular breed of human are selfish, self involved, rude, arrogant bastards - the kind of people who if, say, during an evacuation, they didn't make it to the muster point, you probably wouldn't be too concerned about risking life and limb by going back. I'm pretty sure these people aren't even liked by their mothers - that is if they have them, and they weren't spawned from the bottom of a stagnant pool of water.

People like this make me really, really mad - because I do not understand their drive to be this way. I don't think it's hard to be courteous. Most of all, I hate the way these bastards push other people down.

There's a particular character at work, who is just like this.  I have tried - whenever our paths collide, to be friendly, show an interest - but this has never, ever been returned. In fact, if this person ever asked me how I was, I'd probably lapse into a deepened state of shock. Her asshole-ness was further deepened when she was promoted to a senior position at work, so now she thinks she actually has proof that she is better than everyone else... and I'm pretty sure somewhere on her imaginary business card, she would have "shit don't stink" following her name.  I don't say this lightly, so when I say it, I mean it - she's a fucking bitch.

Why do people like this bother me so? I suppose it's because meek and mild people like myself are expected to feel bad about themselves around these characters; and because for small slices of my life, I allow these people to make me genuinely doubt my worthiness as a person. I. Hate. That.

So, power to me!  I declare that this woman is not worthy of my nice.  I will no longer make any effort with her. I know that this probably won't bother her in the slightest, but it'll sure as shit make me feel better.  It takes a lot to drive me to this amount of madness and cold strategy, so you can be assured this woman is a worthy recipient... or non-recipient as it happens.

I just can't be arsed with people like this, and refuse to be treated like a piece of crap, over and over again. I'm not a mean person - not really; I just figure that people like this eventually cop what's coming to them - one way or another.



SB xx

always the meat

I feel like I'm the meat in the sandwich that is my family.  I'm not saying here that I'm the standout element in this equation - what I am saying, is that I'm the one who carries the condiments and seasonings - and as 'meat' everyone always expects you...to be there...in the 'sandwich'.  Actually, I don't know what I'm trying to say anymore. It's just sometimes I think I lose myself in the midst of other peoples dramas.

Case in point... Sunday morning - I am charged with taking most excellent photos of my niece and nephew for this years Christmas card distribution.  No pressure or anything. What do I have to work with? 1 x 3.4 year old male; 1 x 9week old female. In addition 1 x highly strung mother of said children. Farrrrk!

I might also mention, at this point, that I myself am in mid-battle with a summer cold. Patience is well and truly compromised.

So, to begin with - it's the boy. Single shots, then we try for a group shot. Yep, he's sitting.. finally, hold the sheet up Mum - UP UP!... ok smile... say cheese... c'mon - moon cheese!! Nope, he's too interested in checking himself out in the mirrored door....fuck me (internal voice)... ok, stop looking at yourself in the mirror - look at me... AT ME!.. look, what's in the circle - can you see anything?STOP.LOOKING.AT.YOURSELF.IN.THE.MIRROR... Open the freaking door - whoops, boys Mum has just relieved door of it's uppermost hinge, excellent (internal voice) - everyone just calm down... smile, smile, c'mon! Introduce silly prop yep, he likes it - except he's still not looking at me. Change of location; ok, lets go to the lounge chair.. eye contact, light's a little trickier... goddammit, now all he wants is the prop - give him the prop be careful... be careful you're going to break it! Ok, smile.. smile for Santa... smile for me....smile for the person who invented  wet wipes - just SMILE AT ME!!! (internal voice). Ok - now the baby. Baby is topped up with S-26's finest vintage - she's always happy after a feed I'm told.

Baby assumes supine position.. in a circle of Christmas lights... Grandma is waving a pink doll in and out of the viewfinder, above my head and back around again - makes focusing a little difficult (internal voice)... hmmm, baby not so open to cuing...Mum, get out of the light.. can you move her.. there.. no there.... fuck (internal voice). Right, baby's Mum get out, take the boy with you - it's too much, I can't handle it... I'll call you back when I need you. Baby's crying - fuck, she scratched her arm on the lights (internal voice) now she's really crying.  I pick her up - oh munchkin, I'm sorry, it's ok - bouncy, bouncy - SPEW... chunky, smelly spew at the top of my shoulder where my low cut top meets my skin fuck, we have major seepage here (internal voice). Grandma sorts the baby, I disinfect my upper right torso... away we go again. Baby holds still, some nice natural shots. Ok - bring the boy.

Boy enters, boys mother enters - not with that biscuit you don't - PUT-IT-DOWN (not me)
Boy does not cease or desist - that's it, no photos then - get out, go outside with your father (not me)
Mother escorts boy outside - boy mid tantrum slams door - ahhhh - oh my God! You just smashed my head in the door; he just smashed the door into my head!!! (not me)
Boy's upset - put the biscuit down for a moment, you can have it later - come on! (not me)
Boy continues to clench crumbling biscuit in hand, in defiance - that's it then - no photos (not me)
C'mon - we don't have biscuits in the photos (me)
Boy sits eventually - carefully place baby into boy's hands - single bad shot taken - baby cries. Boy wants prop. Prop not appropriate for baby and boy together.  Tears, screaming. THAT'S IT - I've had enough - no more, I'm done, pack up... I cannot handle any more of this (all me... all external voice).

It didn't end there - my nephew got himself stuck into some kind of tantrum continuum - he's up, he's down, he's crying, he's screaming, he's up, he's down... fuck the circle of life Simba - this shit is incredible.

The story ends when my brother-in-law drags my nephew to the car (kicking and screaming - this is not a literary exaggeration) and they go home.

By 11am on a Sunday morning, I was wishing I hadn't woken up. I felt angry with myself, guilty for maybe inciting the violent behaviour - I just felt shit really. As the meat, I fried. And I continue to cook today.

I am learning slowly, that logic is not a weapon or any kind of defence with children.  They just don't listen, they don't care if it makes sense - how can you compete with that kind of belief system - you can't!

Worst of all - my nephew is at the golden age, where he can recall the things you said to him, with emotion - at moments designed to deliver the hardest of punches.  Today, he recalls me telling him that he wasn't listening... I didn't get a photo because you said I wasn't listening.

So, this is where it starts.

SB xx

The way it was

I probably use my quota of tissues all on Sunday nights, that's when I usually cry the most. I'm not sure what the others in the house are thinking, when they hear me blowing my snotty, clearly "crying" nose - I mean, you can muffle tears, but you can't really stifle the dripping, or rather, flowing nose - not for very long at least. Perhaps they have heard it long enough to not really listen or pay attention to it anymore - like the persistent cricket, hidden in a secret location, forever chirping - somehow you begin to ignore the sound, so that soon enough it's like it's not even there anymore. It has become background noise - and that's what I've become - background noise.

You get to a point where you start to think life can't really be like this, can it? But, it's not like we have anything else to really compare it to, do we? But I keep thinking to myself - in any case, I shouldn't be this way everyday, and I know, really I need to do something about it, for my own sanity - but then Monday sets in, and each day merges and melds into the next, and then before you know it you're back at the same spot, in the same pyjamas, having the same damn thoughts - only this time, writing them down for a change. Tell me; where do you go when you really have no where to go? What do you move onto, when you can't see anywhere else beyond this spot?

I think maybe everyone should have one shot in life to hit the rewind button - just once - a chance to undo what's done, and change something terrible, a bad choice - anything - but only once. Maybe this is all one crazy dream and sooner or later I'll wake up an 8 year old, getting ready for my first day back at school!

The beauty of life, is really, with all these interacting people, choices, lives crossing paths, that you just don't know what's going to be thrown at you next. Scary huh?

I hazard a guess, and say this was written by a much younger bird - perhaps when I was around 18. I stumbled upon it recently, written in a random notebook - there are many of these lying around the place. Funnily enough, even back then, writing it down did help. When I read over it now, I think to myself that sometimes I haven't come far - that I'm still that ultra confused teen who thinks too much and cries more often than she should; but, my logical mind knows that I am some distance from this girl - on most days. Back then, I knew the feelings, but I never had a name for them - for a very long time, I thought being down was a normal part of life - either that, or I was just cursed. It was some years after an entry like this was written that I came to acknowledge there was a problem bigger than a good weekend and the written word could fix - I saw a counsellor for a long time for my 'depression' and 'anxiety'.

Geez, I really hate that word 'depression' - it really undersells it. Oh, she's just a little depressed... Even now, I feel shame admitting it - it's such a dirty word. It's one of those things that once said out loud, cannot be taken back, people will treat you differently. I hate that.

I tell myself that some day in the future, when my life feels less rocky - when I find love, and I'm content, I will be 'better'.  Whatever that means. I hope that day comes.

SB xx

night mirrors

This clever dance I do; tip-toed, waving my arms about in random fashion, as if my body were saying whatever, when inside it really screams see me! rescue me! It feels like pain but looks like complacency. I think I'm being clever, that I'm fooling everyone - when really, I'm just fooling myself.

At dawn I am drunk with the possibilities of a new day - but at night, I know the score. Darkness brings with it clarity, and silence.. and time to think.  Too much time spent in the void.

I fight sleep, and cry. Last night, my own audible giggles woke me from my sleep. Someone is having fun at my expense.

Who am I kidding? He's not coming; he's not coming to save me. I'm going to have to save myself.

SB xx