lost myself, again

Look at me I’m such a basket case
Delivered to you wrapped in cellophane
Waiting on your doorstep, every day
Delivery, a basket filled with pain...
- Sia

Something snapped in me a couple of weeks ago. In the lead-up I'd been dealing with quite a bit of work stress, I'd been chatted to by my supervisor, about my 'overworrying' so I was trying so very hard, to not try so very hard - or at least make it appear that way... I understood what I was being told, but I was trying to prepare myself for any foreseeable outcome, I was trying to arm myself with every weapon in my arsenal, but I simply couldn't carry the weight. I was trying to be perfect, flawless. I was told it was unrealistic, it was unnecessary. I knew what they were saying, but I was trying to prove myself. I've been trying to prove myself my whole life.

Work has been a mixture of strange feelings for the past weeks. I'd been thrown back into a role I hadn't done in a long while, back with people I didn't necessarily mesh well with, relying on their assistance and my own skewed sense of competency. I'd also been sitting across from the source of my malignant workplace crush: Manchild. Working with him made getting out of bed in the morning easier, work more bearable and weekends became excruciatingly long. This 'crush' has also come to make a dire mess of me.

It was a Thursday, my last day in this challenging work rotation and it was set to be a long day. I was strangely well-composed, even 'chilled' on the exterior. My last hoorah - come what may! In the late afternoon, I hit a speed bump - I was overtired and frustrated. Manchild had been away for work, was due to return this afternoon, it had been three days since seeing him. As I was reaching speed on my decline, he walked in... he shouldn't have been there. My heart leapt and I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to cry my eyes out. It was as if my very own knight in shining armor had knocked at my castle door. People talk about being unable to wipe a smile of their face - I now understood this kind of smile.

Unbeknownst to me he stayed. He stayed until I finished. He stayed for me? Then as I was collecting my things he told me he had decided to pursue a longstanding passion that would almost certainly take him out of our shared workplace, and out of our hometown. Tears were welling in my eyes.

It was like John all over again. A lesson not yet learned, manifesting in some new cruel way. I had to flee immediately. I feigned part exhaustion, but I fear even a blind soul could sense my upset, my tears freely leaking.

I had to rush to the safety of my car. Sobbing part way there - begging the Gods that I not bump into anyone I know. I got to my car and I sobbed heartily the whole way home. I'm quite surprised I actually made it home without incident. My parents could not understand why I was in the state, and neither could I really. I continued to sob in the shower, as I pleaded with God, the Angels, or whoever dared listen: please, not again.

I went to work the next day. On the drive home at the end of the day, I became a similar teary mess.

Monday rolled around, back to my old menial role...ripped from the company of Manchild, I slipped further into an ugly black hole. I started crying, in front of a coworker. I couldn't collect myself - I had to hide away in a dark room - more than once. I could hear other coworkers, including Manchild having a jolly old time in another part of the office. It seemed an added cruelty on my already frayed emotional state. Much of that day was spent fighting the urge to cry. Each evening going home, feeling ill with this darkness. Tuesday, Wednesday...fighting tears. Evidently I had lost the footing I had so solemly maintained after John, after changing jobs, after the death of my beloved pet, after so many knocks. I'd finally succumbed to the black dog again, and he had me in his jaws.

This week just passed, went by in usual fashion. I thought I had begun to make some headway - but another work incident knocked me on Wednesday, and I went down again.

I have whimpered and howled in bathroom stalls, showers and in the dark silence of 'bed-time'. I have hidden sneaky tears at customer service counters, and inhaled and exhaled the muted upset to just make it to another day. To make it to another day in which Manchild would finally declare his feelings.

"I can't do this again" is what I cried to the Divine. Wrong. I won't do this again.

Again, I have lost sight of who I am, near-drowned myself in the shadow version of me that I thought he'd like. That I thought, the 'cool-girls' would like. I've been trying to be ok with eroding myself. I'm so messed up with these muddy thoughts that I don't even remember what I'm doing from one moment to the next. I cannot believe I sabotaged myself again. I cannot believe I fooled myself again.

It's late, and right now I should be sleeping, but I needed to get this out. I had hoped to spill everything; for as sure as I know I put myself here, with my thoughts, I know also that the situation does not belong solely to me.

But most of all, with this anger-tinged clarity, I needed to write down, for the 'me' that will undoubtedly weaken momentarily again... I need to tell her - that this guy, these people, this bullshit morphing of myself is utter fucking crap. That none of it - that none of our late night imaginings, warm affections and sassy office repartee are anything other than slight of hand, smoke screen distractions from our self. I - we - started a journey of self discovery, we knew that the path to love was going to start with loving our own self - even the dark parts. I got lost. I got transported to another dimension, but I will get back to myself.

Manchild is not the answer you seek. Nor is an attentive boss, a flattering friend, an approving parent, a complimentary stranger. These archetypes are not the missing piece of the puzzle, they are not going to make everything better - the power you are assigning to these faceless figures does not exist. I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is something we must believe - we must know, that all the power we will ever need, all the love we are seeking to find is already there, inside ourselves. Believe it. Don't be distracted by anything else, because this is the only love that matters, and it is the only thing that is going to fix you. 

giving words wings

I do declare that someday I shall make a grand bonfire by setting alight the vast number of 'self-help' books in my possession (save for perhaps a dozen or so 'favourites').  The rising smoke shall be the chicken-soup-for-the-heavens-soul.  And I will dance around those flames with ridiculous abandon - mostly because of the space I would have created on my bookshelves, but also partly because it will signal a time when I don't feel the need to fix myself anymore.

I decided a little while ago that 2016 should be the year of big internal shifts. In order to have my life change in all the positive ways I want it to, things have to alter.  It's a multi-pronged goal, that quickly summarised would look a little like this: 

1. Discover who I am;
2. Be OK - nay - happy with who I am;
3. Be confident enough to take my place in the world, as this authentic me, and
4. Make no apologies once I get there.

That 'place' is proving a little elusive, and its distance varies from day to day.  Some days I think I'm going ok, but most days what I really want is for someone to side-step into my world, and flip that fucking switch for me.  And the truth at the heart of everything I've been trying to say, since I started forming words, is that all I really want is to be loved like I've never been loved before, and I want to feel, be and emit the glow of that glorious love like no one before me.

supreme source

Everyone deserves that, right? Isn't that why we're here?

the miss list

As 2015 clambers through its final days, I tried thinking about the things I had achieved, the notable experiences and such that had marked my 32nd year on this planet.  It turns out I wasn't able to produce much of a list - so, in the absence of the groundbreaking, heart-shattering, mood altering list I had hoped to yield, I instead have a list of things not yet achieved.

1.
As a 32 year old female, attempting to adult her life, I shamefully admit that I have not been able to master the fine, and delightful art of the 'winged eye-liner' (à la exhibit 1A). The style, so beautifully worn by the likes of Angelina, Adele and Dita, still eludes me.  If I die before I successfully recreate this look, someone please ask the mortician to grant me a set of kick-ass wings for all of eternity. Maybe I should put this in my will.  Hmmm, I don't have a will. Should I? Fucking hell.

Exhibit 1A

2.  

Considered writing a will. Fuck you, item number 1.

3.

Fallen in love - or been fallen in love with. Frida Kahlo said that one should, "take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic". That's what I want, I want that (see exhibit 3A).

Exhibit 3A - I feel like this image sufficiently conveys aforementioned look of magic. *swoon* 

4.

Successfully mastered my body and mind. (This one might take a while).

5.

Maintained regular writing activities, and/or blog entries. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

6.

Become a musical genius.

2016 - look out!

truth seeker, secret keeper

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

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

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

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

Anyway....

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Friday on my mind

It's cold outside, but I sit here snuggled and warm in my pastel pajamas. I lack the energy to think of anything remotely interesting to do on the weekend that lies before me - but the possibility alone keeps me high. I realise I give my heart secretly, but far too easily. I'll speak my truth if you dare to ask.  I am alone, but tonight that is ok.

I found this brilliance while educating myself on all things Chet Faker. I promise I'll move on from him eventually.

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.

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.

Friday musings

Refrain from engaging known bipolar suffers in potentially agitating conversations. Especially really big ones. #notetoself

Why oh why is the flirty barman always old? #sayitaintso

It is never appropriate to wish you were unemployed. #suboptimal #thatisnotok

Let me be clear.  Bacon has no place on a chicken parmigiana.  Ever. #rulesoflife

friends with letters

This just goes to show, you should never underestimate the value of a perceptive, potty-mouthed friend with a penchant for letter writing. Yes, yes and yes.

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?

not today

While the voice inside my head was tempting me to fall apart - plucking at tender chords, pushing me down... go back to bed... it's going to be tough...

I said "no, not today!"



copy - paste - cut

It was brought to my attention today, that I may be causing upset to the artists and photographers, whose photographic work I have used in previous posts.

It bothers me immensely to think that my quiet little blog could be a source of angst - my own, or someone elses.  In all honesty, sometimes I forget that anyone even reads this blog - I forget that I am no longer scribbling rants into a hidden journal - complete with pasted pictures ripped from the pages of magazines. On the occasions that I have included images in my posts, it has not been to claim them as my own, but instead in an effort to express a thought, and an appreciation for the subjects of those photographs, and in turn for the photographs themselves.

Still, I accept that I should not be perpetuating the bad habits that Internet conveniences tend to foster.  To the artists whose work I have used, without credit - I apologise.  I am unable to back-track to locate all the sources of all the photos I have used previously, however, in the future, I will endeavour to give credit where it is due.

This is still rather a new world to me.  In the use of others works my intention has never been malicious; so in reference to my mistakes, I must plead ignorance. It is an awkward introduction into the real world of 'electronic publishing'.

SB

alrighty then

I can imagine no more comfortable frame of mind for the conduct of life than a humorous resignation.
- W Somerset Maugham

I resign!

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

it goes down easy

I was told today, by someone I do not know, to make sure that I "stop and smell the roses".  Songs such as these are like roses to me.

SB xx

enough now

"May today there be peace within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and others. May you use the gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are. Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us."
 – Prayer of St. Theresa

I want 2012 to be different.  I want to grateful and gracious.  I want to forget things of the past that make me sad - I want to look forward, to what ever is ahead for me. I'm not mentally 'there' yet, but I want to be, I hope to be - so, so much.

Here's to letting go, and sometimes, letting (the right one) in... and to knowing the difference.

SB xx

tv truths

"Sometimes, late at night, visited by dread and shame, I lie in bed and think about somebody else's life. I imagine the love that they're getting, and the relief that comes from being really known. The private pleasures they share. The friends they have and the pressures they don't. Their sense of importance. The satisfactions of their work. I imagine how fulfilled they are, how rich their life is. And in these moments, I feel empty and wanting.

Sometimes I think about someone else's life. I imagine all the love they do not have. I see the passion that's missing, the friends they don't know, and the awful pressures that crush them. In those moments, I realize how much I have. And how much I have to give."
— Enlightened, "Someone Else's Life"

I stumbled upon this quote, pulled from a show I have never seen. Something about these words grabbed me, because the first part - about feeling empty, well, that's me a lot of the time. But then, the second part makes me realise that maybe I don't need to have 'everything'... because in actual fact, no one does. And I guess, that makes it ok. And I guess, that makes me feel a little more 'normal' than I felt before.

As is always the case, we can't be sure what lies beneath someones surface - I barely even know my own truths.

SB xx

inked

I've been reading a book called 'Some Girls' by Jillian Lauren.  Admittedly I found it difficult to connect with this story... that is, until the author started talking about her tattoos.

I love a quote in the book that states "the tattoo gods announce themselves to you when it's time".  Jillian detailed her growing 'need' to be tattooed - her desire to belong to the secret club; to make a permanent statement. This, I could understand.

It was late 2009 when the tattoo gods seriously inspired me.  I always knew that I wanted a tattoo eventually, but I also understood that I needed to be sure about what I was getting, before I did anything.

This is the tattoo that started it all for me.

I know, kind of lame to be inspired by a teeny tatt on the arm of super gorgeous model Tara Moss... but, what can I say, it planted a seed.  I started researching, and the more I found, the more I wanted a peacock feather.  Peacock feathers are said to be a mark of self acceptance; pride in oneself; belief in ones beauty, strength and resilience; it was everything I wanted to declare to the world, and to myself; it was going to be my reward - something beautiful to come from the turmoil.  Before the year was out I had a booking made with a tattooist, I was finally sure.

The appointment I made coincided with a trip to the city and I only had that one day before I had to return home.  Unbelievably, I went to a place I'd never sighted before, to an artist I'd only just met, who spoke broken English - it could have gone so wrong, but it didn't (thankfully).

Sometimes when I get down, I have to remind myself why I got my tattoo, why this particular design?  It was my secret statement to say I'm proud of who I am... I remember the pain of the three hour sitting, hugging onto that leather pillow, feeling every inch of the scratching and burning - one hell of a way to prove something.  If the memories aren't enough, I glance in the mirror as I undress - to seek out my permanent memento; sitting atop my right shoulder, curling it's way to the centre of my back is a brilliantly coloured peacock feather. My feather. My fears, my pain, my relic.  As Jillian Lauren writes perfectly "I got my tattoo not to say 'I wuz here', a tag on a freeway overpass, but rather to say 'Here wuz me'.  Here they are, the landscapes inscribed behind my eyes... with my tattoos, I serve as witness and documentarian to myself."

I know I'll get another someday, when the time is right - another marking on the map of my life.

here was me

SB xx