Of all of the things that I am frightened of, I think the biggest is myself. I may not be able to justify this as I can with snakes, ghosts or the dark, but there's something within me that I am constantly fighting against, and I'm terrified it will win. I could never speak it out loud, even if in the safety of my room with only my ears listening, because once it becomes vocal, it is real.
Expecting a phone call from my doctor I planned to explain the intense feeling of claustrophobia and suffocation that has woken me every night since my visit. I would wake with the belief that something was trying to eat its way into my soul and ultimately killing the last flickers of hope and belief in my heart. When she called, I said I was fine. I told her that the anxiety from my days was dissolving, but when I began to explain my midnight terrors, I stopped myself. As the words formed on the tip of my tongue, I had a fleeting thought of how insane they made me sound. I was worried what she would think of me.
I hung up and thought. Perhaps my omissions are really part of a bigger picture; of the network of demons plaguing any chance of happiness? But I couldn't tell. Those unspoken words were pieces of myself that should never be spoken, because what others don't know, can't hurt them.
I know a burden shared is a burden halved, and that's just the point. Why would I want to inflict any of my pain on someone who is kind enough to listen? I will protect everyone from myself.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Boredom
Boredom is no excuse. Lazing on my bed staring at the imperfections of the ceiling, justifying my immobility with boredom. It's not that there isn't anything that needs to be done; no trivial tasks that have been put off for weeks due to my lack of motivation. Today adds to the list; my hair needs straightening, my legs need moisturising, my brain needs stimulation. But what if I choose to go back to sleep; to bank up a few more hours in addition to the long awaited ten I got last night? I was making up for the countless sleepless nights I spent imagining the ceiling through the darkness.
The city skyline never sleeps. Even the suburbs that appear on the horizon flicker as if the sleeping sun is sparkling on the gentle tidal movement of families snoring lightly in their slumber.
So what consequence would I pay by sleeping away this textbook summer's day? It's my day to do as I please. The only person it will ultimately affect is me. By avoiding life for just one day will that really matter in ten years time? Will I even remember? Perhaps not. But what if this is how I chose to live, and now is the catalyst for something deeper? Can I find peace by avoiding life?
The city skyline never sleeps. Even the suburbs that appear on the horizon flicker as if the sleeping sun is sparkling on the gentle tidal movement of families snoring lightly in their slumber.
So what consequence would I pay by sleeping away this textbook summer's day? It's my day to do as I please. The only person it will ultimately affect is me. By avoiding life for just one day will that really matter in ten years time? Will I even remember? Perhaps not. But what if this is how I chose to live, and now is the catalyst for something deeper? Can I find peace by avoiding life?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Appointment Number [insert number]
Despite the events of today being pre-booked, conversations mentally prepared the night before and sufficient time between each event, it did not go the way I had expected it to.
I rose this morning feeling surprisingly serene (perhaps that extra hour of sleep was required), I showered and dressed in a pre-chosen outfit, complete with Chanel accessories. Upon leaving the threshold of the apartment I entered the churn of anxiety and dread. The day had begun.
Appointment Number One was the most pressing matter on my mind, so I was both nervous and pleased it would be over and done with quickly. Quickly, is not a word I can now use to describe it. My bottled nerves multiplied in the waiting room, and filled my arms and legs with a hot needley sensation, so much so that I feared weight bearing at the risk of my legs forgetting how to walk. My heart pounded in my chest and my respirations struggled to keep up the pace.
Kick-off. Small talk firstly. Not a fan really considering my undelightful personality and anxiety to get some fresh air. Floor opened for my awkward and disjointed chatter, thankfully rescued by some intelligence on her behalf. Hot potato successfully thrown back.
Questions. Many I had expected, but the requirement of numerical answers made them sit like peas in my mashed potato brain. Vague and sometimes guessed answers given and typing occurred.
History. Subtle at first and then more aggressive as the questions fed off my admissions. Perhaps some omissions, but I'm living for today. I'm not sure I could endure the recollection of past experiences as well.
Solution. Well, we'll soon see.
Appointment Number Two. Thankfully early, even with time to browse at the sale in Oroton along the way. No waiting this time. Straight in and success achieved with no questions asked (A nice contrast to Appointment Number One). No payment required for services rendered. I'm a regular. Thankful, as I will be recovering until next pay day for my former engagement.
Some aimless wandering and procrastination, then impulse driving to insignificant destinations, just to satisfy my restlessness.
A phone call and some further indecisiveness, a pit stop all-day-dreaded, then home again. Brush through my hair, re-spritz of fragrance and back in the car. Driving the longer way to allow my brain a few extra minutes of mental preparation before arrival at Appointment Number Three.
Inability to comprehend street numbers made a retarded start. Further small talk and Poppy-therapy. Chilled water and LED technology. More small talk. I didn't have the courage to divulge the events of the day.
Coffee with foam. A tasting plate provided. My stomach churned.
More questions. Thankful really. My mind could find the answers, but was unable to establish any form of directive, adult human chatter. Ice broken, guard slipped and my ears had filled with the sound of my honest, unbroken voice, apparently saying more than I realised at the time. Smiles exchanged, analysis of mutual colleagues, circle completed and back to the start, this time with a male perspective.
Wine time. Avoidance activated.
A glance at the clock and it was dinner time. Time to bail.
Home again. Safely in my room with the doors closed, dividing me from the outside world. I think it's been enough for one day.
I rose this morning feeling surprisingly serene (perhaps that extra hour of sleep was required), I showered and dressed in a pre-chosen outfit, complete with Chanel accessories. Upon leaving the threshold of the apartment I entered the churn of anxiety and dread. The day had begun.
Appointment Number One was the most pressing matter on my mind, so I was both nervous and pleased it would be over and done with quickly. Quickly, is not a word I can now use to describe it. My bottled nerves multiplied in the waiting room, and filled my arms and legs with a hot needley sensation, so much so that I feared weight bearing at the risk of my legs forgetting how to walk. My heart pounded in my chest and my respirations struggled to keep up the pace.
Kick-off. Small talk firstly. Not a fan really considering my undelightful personality and anxiety to get some fresh air. Floor opened for my awkward and disjointed chatter, thankfully rescued by some intelligence on her behalf. Hot potato successfully thrown back.
Questions. Many I had expected, but the requirement of numerical answers made them sit like peas in my mashed potato brain. Vague and sometimes guessed answers given and typing occurred.
History. Subtle at first and then more aggressive as the questions fed off my admissions. Perhaps some omissions, but I'm living for today. I'm not sure I could endure the recollection of past experiences as well.
Solution. Well, we'll soon see.
Appointment Number Two. Thankfully early, even with time to browse at the sale in Oroton along the way. No waiting this time. Straight in and success achieved with no questions asked (A nice contrast to Appointment Number One). No payment required for services rendered. I'm a regular. Thankful, as I will be recovering until next pay day for my former engagement.
Some aimless wandering and procrastination, then impulse driving to insignificant destinations, just to satisfy my restlessness.
A phone call and some further indecisiveness, a pit stop all-day-dreaded, then home again. Brush through my hair, re-spritz of fragrance and back in the car. Driving the longer way to allow my brain a few extra minutes of mental preparation before arrival at Appointment Number Three.
Inability to comprehend street numbers made a retarded start. Further small talk and Poppy-therapy. Chilled water and LED technology. More small talk. I didn't have the courage to divulge the events of the day.
Coffee with foam. A tasting plate provided. My stomach churned.
More questions. Thankful really. My mind could find the answers, but was unable to establish any form of directive, adult human chatter. Ice broken, guard slipped and my ears had filled with the sound of my honest, unbroken voice, apparently saying more than I realised at the time. Smiles exchanged, analysis of mutual colleagues, circle completed and back to the start, this time with a male perspective.
Wine time. Avoidance activated.
A glance at the clock and it was dinner time. Time to bail.
Home again. Safely in my room with the doors closed, dividing me from the outside world. I think it's been enough for one day.
Friday, October 23, 2009
My Wonderland
Kitty and the looking glass;
squints into the glare of the darkness.
A girl sits within, a darkening shade of grey.
Her eyes are overcast and chilling
as she looks up from her shuffling steps.
Her soul’s window flickers
as if a blaze is crackling within –
yet no smoke.
Just the ashes tomorrow leaves behind.
squints into the glare of the darkness.
A girl sits within, a darkening shade of grey.
Her eyes are overcast and chilling
as she looks up from her shuffling steps.
Her soul’s window flickers
as if a blaze is crackling within –
yet no smoke.
Just the ashes tomorrow leaves behind.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Missing Pages
Do you ever get the feeling like something's missing? Not in the way of misplaced car keys or one's virginity but something from deep inside that self destructs into its own hole of nothingness, trying to fill that spot where the missing piece belongs.
How to describe it? Tell the girl at the lost property office or God on your knees in church. No, best to bury it further as an ostrich does in the sand. Afterall, how is anyone else to comprehend if it's nothing more than an inkling, a suggestion of poison to yourself?
As I grow older I learn more about myself that I have always known, just never had the sense or the maturity to realise or accept. My acting experience has blessed me with the ability to change masks, personas, often on command as though playing all 6 parts of the Commedia Dell'Arte. I can be a well-adjusted socialite, just one of the gang, a shoulder to cry on and prop you up when you fall. I become all of these things in fear of my own inadequacies. Because I've never been good with change, never popular or had a copious amount of friends and never felt as I could truly be saved if I fell (again).
But those metaphorical masks, they seem to reduce the force. The weight swinging from my heart, pulling myself down lessens, until I let down my guard.
I become so affected by things. By what people say, this season's clothes and what happens to characters on my favourite TV shows. I let these things in so they bother my nights, eating themselves into my subconscious.
There is everything wrong with the dark. It is the most revealing thing I know. You cannot hide from your mind, yet the terrors hide themselves. I believe in the supernatural and the living dead. I believe people can come back as ghosts, or as babies. Some people have been here before. These are the deep thinkers, the worldly and cultural people who don't have a passport. Sometimes they know, sometimes not, that they have walked the planet before this life.
Me? I always felt so naive and empty that I couldn't possibly lived earlier than 1987. All of those holes of nothingness within my soul are waiting to be imprinted in this life. It is up to me if I have the strength or the courage to inscribe on my heart.
But today, an ordinary midweek working day I felt (not even thought) that perhaps I have lived another life. I have mistaken those empty pages as a lack of history. Rather they represent what has been stolen. My troubled existence is spelt out clearly in invisible ink, for it is those weakened links and lost fragments that show just that - they are lost. The missing pieces of me have disintegrated into the past, each time stealing a part of my 21st century well being. And the biggest space of all is vacated by the catalyst for the hurt. What mothers and fathers all over the world break up their marriages and live a life of misery for. And I don't know if I can ever be able to replace it.
How to describe it? Tell the girl at the lost property office or God on your knees in church. No, best to bury it further as an ostrich does in the sand. Afterall, how is anyone else to comprehend if it's nothing more than an inkling, a suggestion of poison to yourself?
As I grow older I learn more about myself that I have always known, just never had the sense or the maturity to realise or accept. My acting experience has blessed me with the ability to change masks, personas, often on command as though playing all 6 parts of the Commedia Dell'Arte. I can be a well-adjusted socialite, just one of the gang, a shoulder to cry on and prop you up when you fall. I become all of these things in fear of my own inadequacies. Because I've never been good with change, never popular or had a copious amount of friends and never felt as I could truly be saved if I fell (again).
But those metaphorical masks, they seem to reduce the force. The weight swinging from my heart, pulling myself down lessens, until I let down my guard.
I become so affected by things. By what people say, this season's clothes and what happens to characters on my favourite TV shows. I let these things in so they bother my nights, eating themselves into my subconscious.
There is everything wrong with the dark. It is the most revealing thing I know. You cannot hide from your mind, yet the terrors hide themselves. I believe in the supernatural and the living dead. I believe people can come back as ghosts, or as babies. Some people have been here before. These are the deep thinkers, the worldly and cultural people who don't have a passport. Sometimes they know, sometimes not, that they have walked the planet before this life.
Me? I always felt so naive and empty that I couldn't possibly lived earlier than 1987. All of those holes of nothingness within my soul are waiting to be imprinted in this life. It is up to me if I have the strength or the courage to inscribe on my heart.
But today, an ordinary midweek working day I felt (not even thought) that perhaps I have lived another life. I have mistaken those empty pages as a lack of history. Rather they represent what has been stolen. My troubled existence is spelt out clearly in invisible ink, for it is those weakened links and lost fragments that show just that - they are lost. The missing pieces of me have disintegrated into the past, each time stealing a part of my 21st century well being. And the biggest space of all is vacated by the catalyst for the hurt. What mothers and fathers all over the world break up their marriages and live a life of misery for. And I don't know if I can ever be able to replace it.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Mid flight ponderings
There are odd moments. Not every day and barely every week, that you remember things from the past and the feeling that joins it is so vivid you transport yourself there. To that time and location.
I can hear my mother's voice correcting my "yep" as she drove my brother and I to primary school; the both of us in the backseat of the car.
As I listen to Missy Higgins songs I remember sitting as a senior in the school library struggling to devise a drama performance. My journal was full of clippings, pictures, lyrics and poems. As I listen to her sing them I remember the page as I glue it in, reading them back to myself.
Flying makes me nervous; not because of the journey but anxiety about the destination. Often the initial departure is bound for somewhere far from home, but after a near 1000 kilometre move flying home, and I mean really home, brings on the usual feelings based on pure habit rather than actual worry.
I makes me think that we don't change at all. Not really. We are born as a tiny version of our present minds, and if we're lucky will add some cognitive degeneration before we die to soothe the life long pressure we have built upon.
Leopards can't change their spots. Nor Kitty her freckles.
I can hear my mother's voice correcting my "yep" as she drove my brother and I to primary school; the both of us in the backseat of the car.
As I listen to Missy Higgins songs I remember sitting as a senior in the school library struggling to devise a drama performance. My journal was full of clippings, pictures, lyrics and poems. As I listen to her sing them I remember the page as I glue it in, reading them back to myself.
Flying makes me nervous; not because of the journey but anxiety about the destination. Often the initial departure is bound for somewhere far from home, but after a near 1000 kilometre move flying home, and I mean really home, brings on the usual feelings based on pure habit rather than actual worry.
I makes me think that we don't change at all. Not really. We are born as a tiny version of our present minds, and if we're lucky will add some cognitive degeneration before we die to soothe the life long pressure we have built upon.
Leopards can't change their spots. Nor Kitty her freckles.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Without the Human Community, One Single Human Being Cannot Survive
I honestly don't know how people can exist without friendship. People share their secrets, hopes and dreams. Also people who will share humiliation, shame and loss.
People who will laugh with us over nothing, sing the same songs, read the same books or tell us what the rest of the world will not tell: that the new hair colour was a sad, sad mistake.
How do they live - the people who are happy and proud to be so independent that they claim they don't need a friend? Is it an act, and something born of necessity because they have found themselves friendless? Is it a fear of confiding, of opening up? A fear of being unashamedly natural in a world that seems to insist on role playing and acting as if it all was going well even when it obviously is far from well? Is there any dignity at all in being able to manage alone, in trying to be an island that doesn't touch anything or anyone else?
Maeve Binchy
Thursday, February 21, 2008
What a Sorry Lot of Rot
The following article What a Sorry Lot of Rot, written by Robyn Wuth was in the Weekend Edition of the Gold Coast Bulletin.
I have an opinion - what's yours?
I have an opinion - what's yours?
$orry, but I’m not $orry.
I don’t want anyone to apologise on my behalf, or for my relatives for that matter.
Crown me queen of the politically incorrect, but I have nothing to apologise for.
I’m with Wilson Tuckey.
Old Ironbar walked out of Parliament before the apology, saying it would do little for the Aborigines.
“Tomorrow there’ll be no petrol sniffing, tomorrow little girls can sleep in their beds without any concern – it’s all fixed, the Rudd spin will fix it all,” Tuckey quipped.
He’s right. It’s insincere, it solves nothing but it was a lovely photo opportunity.
We said it to make you feel better… did it work?
As P.G. Wodehouse said: “It is a good rule in this life never to apologise. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.”
To be honest, I’m sick of all this namby-pamby boo-hooing about bloody saying sorry.
How much of this is hype and how much of it actually happened? Perception and reality have blurred.
For every Aboriginal child who was stolen, another was saved, some were given a chance to change their lives.
It’s a shame they refused to take it.
How many terrified white teenagers paid the price for their sins with babies ripped from their arms in the name of religion and political correctness?
But I have to say sorry.
Sorry for giving you free medical care, for giving you money, for building you homes which you vandalised and destroyed and treated with contempt and we paid to fix.
Sorry for developing large farms and properties, which today feed your people.
Sorry for providing you with warm clothing made of fabric to replace the animal skins you used before.
Sorry for building roads and railway tracks between cities and building cars so that you no longer have to walk over harsh terrain.
The fact is, we won.
All right?
We came in and we killed lots of them and we took their land and we’re not giving it back, unless the High Court makes us and then, frankly, the High Court will have to go.
They weren’t using the land for much. They’re still not, to tell the truth. This is what conquering nations do. It’s what Caesar did and he’s not going around saying, ‘I came, I saw, I conquered, I felt really bad about it.’ The history of the world isn’t about people making friends, it’s about cultures conquering other cultures, usually by force of arms. We had better weapons – end of story.
We built cities, roads, we made our homes here and we created a nation.
Can we move on now please?
This stance is not proving popular and led to a huge argument with my brother. This in itself is not unusual, because he’s wrong a lot of the time and as his brilliant, talented younger sister, I consider it my right, nay my duty, to enlighten him.
El Crazy, as I have come to call him, is what we might call one of this diehard political fanatics who prefers it when all people think the way he does.
I’m much more of your ‘what’s in it for me’ kind of girl – and there’s nothing for me in saying sorry except a giant payout my taxes will fund.
He’s all in favour of saying sorry for the wrongs of the past if it helps our nation move forward. I say why stop there? If we’re going to have this pointless political posturing of a National $orry Day, then let’s widen it – let’s take it international.
The British can say sorry to the Irish for that pesky ‘invasion’ and the IRA can apologise for blowing people up and shooting them in the kneecaps.
While we’re at it, the Brits should have stayed home instead of colonising the globe.
And the Romans – who did they think they were? Someone find me a Roman descendent and get him to apologise to someone.
The Americans – they’d better get started, there’s a lot to apologise for – for that whole revolution? That was just rude. Poor form, chaps.
The Boston Tea Party, a complete waste of perfectly good tea.
The treatment of Native Americans and slavery? Sorry about that.
The wars in Korea, Vietnam and Iraq? Sorry, sorry, sorry.
South Africa. The whole apartheid thing was probably just a misunderstanding.
The French should apologise for just being French.
The Russians? They should apologise for the pointless exercise of communism.
Check under every rock, there’s something to apologise for everywhere you look.
The tribal war in Rwanda, the atrocities in Cambodia, the Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan.
The Middle East. Uh-oh. For all we know, Mohammed and Jesus played together as kids.
But Jesus would have been the cool kid. Well, it’s true.
If we decide to keep up this grovelling, honestly, where does it end?
How far back do you want to go?
Harden up people and let’s just get on with it.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
The end of a 10 year dream
Anyone who remembers me as a child will remember my obsession with the Spice Girls. Not only did I manage to learn all the words to every song, plaster just about every millimetre of my own four walls with their posters and get their cassette (that's just how old I was!) banned from the Tarago, but I had hysterics over their official T-Shirt I was wearing on a school camp.
Our sailing instructor told us that we were not allowed to participate unless we all wore our T-Shirts and lucky me happened to be wearing my prized Spice Girls splashed across my chest. W., my childhood best friend, convinced me that we would be great sailers and I didn't have to worry about getting my shirt wet so off we went... Until we capsized and - shock horror! - I got my shirt wet! Well did I scream and carry on... seriously, I wailed for the whole afternoon because I was convinced the Ti-Tree lake had stained my idols.
I loved those girls beyond words. I would watch their live concert in Istanbul and be so jealous of the audience and I told myself that one day I would be one of them. To me, the Spice Girls would be together forever and continue to rule the world.
When they broke up I was devastated, but 10 years later, they announced a Reunion World Tour. Naturally, I was estatic, and I told myself that I would pay as much as they were asking, because I owed it to the tiny version of me that lives in my memory.
Tickets were looking at being AU$750, and of course at that money, no-one was willing to accompany me. I was not phased - I was going to get there. The official website continued to state that the Sydney concert was yet to be confirmed into the last days of the tour, so I began checking daily for confirmation as I was paranoid that I would not get a ticket.
Yesterday, the girls announced that they were no longer including Australia in their tour. I don't know if I'm more upset or angry. As a child those girls made me believe that there was nothing in the world that could destroy girl power and that anyone could achieve anything. After the years of money, tears and support that I have given them I feel like a violated, insignificant piece of society.
Thanks shattering my dream... you pack of bitches.
Our sailing instructor told us that we were not allowed to participate unless we all wore our T-Shirts and lucky me happened to be wearing my prized Spice Girls splashed across my chest. W., my childhood best friend, convinced me that we would be great sailers and I didn't have to worry about getting my shirt wet so off we went... Until we capsized and - shock horror! - I got my shirt wet! Well did I scream and carry on... seriously, I wailed for the whole afternoon because I was convinced the Ti-Tree lake had stained my idols.
I loved those girls beyond words. I would watch their live concert in Istanbul and be so jealous of the audience and I told myself that one day I would be one of them. To me, the Spice Girls would be together forever and continue to rule the world.
When they broke up I was devastated, but 10 years later, they announced a Reunion World Tour. Naturally, I was estatic, and I told myself that I would pay as much as they were asking, because I owed it to the tiny version of me that lives in my memory.
Tickets were looking at being AU$750, and of course at that money, no-one was willing to accompany me. I was not phased - I was going to get there. The official website continued to state that the Sydney concert was yet to be confirmed into the last days of the tour, so I began checking daily for confirmation as I was paranoid that I would not get a ticket.
Yesterday, the girls announced that they were no longer including Australia in their tour. I don't know if I'm more upset or angry. As a child those girls made me believe that there was nothing in the world that could destroy girl power and that anyone could achieve anything. After the years of money, tears and support that I have given them I feel like a violated, insignificant piece of society.
Thanks shattering my dream... you pack of bitches.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Oh Come All Ye Faithful
So I am continuing to plod along with my not so spectacular life, thus no exciting tales of adventures and discoveries. I have however, made a new friend.
Arriving at work early the other morning I found myself in a deep and meaningful conversation with my manager, to whom I revealed a whole lot more of myself than I think I normally would - oops - but in concluding the conversation we came to an unspoken agreement of friendship.
It was actually timed quite well as it restricted her from giving me a big kick up the bum at the end of the day, which is exactly what I deserved for taking so long to do everything and doing it with an I-don't-give-a-shit attitude.
So I went to church with my tail between my legs and admittedly felt a sense of detoxification from the stresses of the day. The sermon was in relation to the Gospel reading of John the Baptist and was unbelievably thought-provoking, as was the article in the newsletter. The extract that really made me think was:
So yesterday after work I joined my 2nd family for dinner. After the meal I remained at the table and watched as E. jumped on the trampoline just through the window. After a few minutes she stopped and lay just as Snow White did after she had eaten the poisoned apple and awaited the prince's kiss. There was a look of intense concentration on her face and I asked her sister A. what she was doing.
"Praying."
Well, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She's only 10 years old and she knows how to talk to God, and has no shame in doing so as her family watched from the dinner table.
I suppose I was jealous. I may appear to be a good Catholic - I go to church, I try to follow the Catholic laws and I pray for others - but in all honestly, I don't feel close to God. I don't know how to talk to Him, and when I do I don't feel as though He is listening. I have not got the ability to empty my mind of the literal and open my heart enough to feel God's presence.
And in church when they talk about Hell and an eternity without God I fear that I will be there. I thought Hell was now, but there is much worse to come I believe.
Pray for me - because I can't.
Arriving at work early the other morning I found myself in a deep and meaningful conversation with my manager, to whom I revealed a whole lot more of myself than I think I normally would - oops - but in concluding the conversation we came to an unspoken agreement of friendship.
It was actually timed quite well as it restricted her from giving me a big kick up the bum at the end of the day, which is exactly what I deserved for taking so long to do everything and doing it with an I-don't-give-a-shit attitude.
So I went to church with my tail between my legs and admittedly felt a sense of detoxification from the stresses of the day. The sermon was in relation to the Gospel reading of John the Baptist and was unbelievably thought-provoking, as was the article in the newsletter. The extract that really made me think was:
The Church invites us to be like the people who flocked to John in the desert to hear the word of God. We are invited to go into the desert of our hearts in order to hear God's message. The desert of our hearts may be an uncomfortable place to be, but it is the place where we will hear the love, voice and call of God.
So yesterday after work I joined my 2nd family for dinner. After the meal I remained at the table and watched as E. jumped on the trampoline just through the window. After a few minutes she stopped and lay just as Snow White did after she had eaten the poisoned apple and awaited the prince's kiss. There was a look of intense concentration on her face and I asked her sister A. what she was doing.
"Praying."
Well, it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She's only 10 years old and she knows how to talk to God, and has no shame in doing so as her family watched from the dinner table.
I suppose I was jealous. I may appear to be a good Catholic - I go to church, I try to follow the Catholic laws and I pray for others - but in all honestly, I don't feel close to God. I don't know how to talk to Him, and when I do I don't feel as though He is listening. I have not got the ability to empty my mind of the literal and open my heart enough to feel God's presence.
And in church when they talk about Hell and an eternity without God I fear that I will be there. I thought Hell was now, but there is much worse to come I believe.
Pray for me - because I can't.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Judy Moody
Yes, a distinct change in mood has been noted. Not just by me it seems, but also by others and there is some proof in my bank balance (or lack of).
Over the duration of the past week I have found myself spending hundreds of dollars on materialistic things that I really do not need, and at times emptying my purse with absolutely nothing to show for it at the end of the day ???
Yesterday I found myself killing time at Pacific Fair, so I anticipated a lengthy walk around the shops and possibly grabbing a few Christmas presents. Yes well, some purchasing did take place but the only person who will be receiving any of these gifts is me! Yes, I bought new shoes (!) and accessories as well as some new Chanel mascara.
So as I have floated through the past few days (and I chose that word as I have found myself not taking direction, rather flowing with it) and there are only two things that I have felt.
The first one is guilt. Although I really couldn't give a toss what I spend my money on, an element of guilt sets in when I can longer afford those shoes, that dress, those earrings... Yeah, I'm a bloody idiot but my taste restricts me to stores with a no returns policy.
The second, is feeling as though I can't breathe. I can no longer restrict it to a few instances, rather that I believe myself to have lost the ability to breathe deeply. I feel laboured with a tight feeling beneath my sternum as though I may never feel at ease again. At night as I am courting sleep, I wake up gasping for breath.
Sometimes I try and fight it. I tell myself that it's all in my head - that my lungs are fine and I can breathe as deeply as I wish. I resist the urge to gasp, and continue with my tidal breathing until I think I'm going to die and give in. (It's much like holding your head under water and trying so hard not to think about drowning or how badly you need to take a breath - until you cannot take it a second longer and emerge from what may have become a watery grave.)
So no matter how much I try and convince myself that everything's ok, it still turns out not to be. No matter how much I try and save, I still manage to spend. I tell myself that I will never know the person I was last weekend again, but I plan on misbehaving this coming Saturday night. And so I am torn as to whether I am actually my alter ego in disguise, and it is not until now that I have really surfaced?
I know this is not just in my imagination. I have had comments from those around me as to my shift in mood and outlook. It was only today that my manager asked me to have a sit down conversation with her in which she demanded to know what was happening. Apparently my previously effective "Nothing" is wearing a bit thin, so when she did not accept this I walked away mumbling to myself to cover the sound of her frustrated tone.
It was after this that I finally realised the abnormality of my behaviour. If my seemingly emotionless boss sensed a change of personality, the fact is that there is one. I hate that she's right and I hate that there's nothing I can do about it but most of all I hate that I'm even in this bother.
I just wish sometimes you could tear a page out of your diary and make it go away. Tear out a day to make that argument disappear, tear out a week to get rid of those appointments, or dare I remove a fistful in the hopes of finding the person I used to be? Or at least the person who was oblivious to everything that she's aware of now.
Over the duration of the past week I have found myself spending hundreds of dollars on materialistic things that I really do not need, and at times emptying my purse with absolutely nothing to show for it at the end of the day ???
Yesterday I found myself killing time at Pacific Fair, so I anticipated a lengthy walk around the shops and possibly grabbing a few Christmas presents. Yes well, some purchasing did take place but the only person who will be receiving any of these gifts is me! Yes, I bought new shoes (!) and accessories as well as some new Chanel mascara.
So as I have floated through the past few days (and I chose that word as I have found myself not taking direction, rather flowing with it) and there are only two things that I have felt.
The first one is guilt. Although I really couldn't give a toss what I spend my money on, an element of guilt sets in when I can longer afford those shoes, that dress, those earrings... Yeah, I'm a bloody idiot but my taste restricts me to stores with a no returns policy.
The second, is feeling as though I can't breathe. I can no longer restrict it to a few instances, rather that I believe myself to have lost the ability to breathe deeply. I feel laboured with a tight feeling beneath my sternum as though I may never feel at ease again. At night as I am courting sleep, I wake up gasping for breath.
Sometimes I try and fight it. I tell myself that it's all in my head - that my lungs are fine and I can breathe as deeply as I wish. I resist the urge to gasp, and continue with my tidal breathing until I think I'm going to die and give in. (It's much like holding your head under water and trying so hard not to think about drowning or how badly you need to take a breath - until you cannot take it a second longer and emerge from what may have become a watery grave.)
So no matter how much I try and convince myself that everything's ok, it still turns out not to be. No matter how much I try and save, I still manage to spend. I tell myself that I will never know the person I was last weekend again, but I plan on misbehaving this coming Saturday night. And so I am torn as to whether I am actually my alter ego in disguise, and it is not until now that I have really surfaced?
I know this is not just in my imagination. I have had comments from those around me as to my shift in mood and outlook. It was only today that my manager asked me to have a sit down conversation with her in which she demanded to know what was happening. Apparently my previously effective "Nothing" is wearing a bit thin, so when she did not accept this I walked away mumbling to myself to cover the sound of her frustrated tone.
It was after this that I finally realised the abnormality of my behaviour. If my seemingly emotionless boss sensed a change of personality, the fact is that there is one. I hate that she's right and I hate that there's nothing I can do about it but most of all I hate that I'm even in this bother.
I just wish sometimes you could tear a page out of your diary and make it go away. Tear out a day to make that argument disappear, tear out a week to get rid of those appointments, or dare I remove a fistful in the hopes of finding the person I used to be? Or at least the person who was oblivious to everything that she's aware of now.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Alter Ego
Well, what an intense few days it has been.
Let me start with Thursday.
My parents and brother went away to the Sunshine Coast (long story - don't ask) and thankfully I was excused from the expedition. So I started the day with a visit to my doctor to discuss the results from the variety of tests I had undergone. To be completely honest I was so scared that my legs were shaking as I waiting for her to confirm my diagnosis. It was almost an anti-climax when she said I didn't have what she was looking for.
Huh?
Seems my blood tests ruled it out but the other tests still showed that something was definitely wrong. Her next attempted diagnosis was laughable, and completely and wholly impossible, which just re-enforced that whatever the hell is happening is something way more serious than I first thought.
Damn. Now I'm scared. So apparently she doesn't have enough qualifications to diagnose me so I left with a referral to a specialist. Fucking hell I wish I never even bothered.
Afterwards I went to work with nothing occurring of great importance. At 6 I flew out the door and high-tailed it up to Pacific Fair where Miss Priss met me. The main purpose of the trip was to find a mask for the work Christmas party on the coming Saturday in which we had themed as 'Masquerade'. Me being me managed to blow $50 on one that I will probably never wear again.
Oh but that's not even the half of it! I spent about a month's pay in a space of 2 hours on 2 new dresses that I really did not need and new jewellery to match. I think it's because I was so preoccupied with my thoughts on the morning's events that I wasn't paying much attention to my bank account. Miss Priss decided to keep me company and stayed the night with me. It was nice to be distracted actually - and of all the people I'm glad it was her.
Friday was an early start, as both Miss Priss and I volunteered our services to the local Federal Coalition candidate. Much of the day was spent walking around the shopping centres in an attempt to prove to the voters the high risk that would be taken in not retaining the Coalition Government.
That night I went to Poodles' Christmas party at her house. I was quite glad to be given the excuse to escape myself for a few hours at least and I went to extra effort to dress in my imported Mollini shoes and new dress. It began to pour just as I arrived so I stumbled up the front path trying not to get wet or break my ankle in my freakishly high shoes.
Yes, and the first person that I ran into on the front veranda was none other than Bloke - the girl who bullied me into a state of deflated self esteem all the way back in primary school. Yes, very awkward.
I found Poodles who was already half drunk and she convinced me that I needed to talk to J who also went to my primary school. Due to his state of intoxication he hugged me like an old friend and dragged me around the back deck introducing me to people that I already knew and really had no desire to ever see again. Then I ran into W, my best friend from primary school. Honestly, I think I was more excited to see her than she was to see me but that may have been due to the minor fact that she was friends with basically everyone else there.
Conversation then managed to weave onto the topic of the following day's Federal Election and me being the passionate Liberal that I am had to loudly and proudly state my stance (It was also amplified by my blood alcohol level). I wouldn't call my response a very positive one - as the crowd started chanting "Kevin 07! Kevin 07!". Yeah, not happy so I sat on the sideline and drank.
Eventually I decided I needed to go home and sleep in preparation for Election Day, so I got out of making pasta bake (?) and drove home. On the way I believe I rang the delightful Mr T but all I recall from the conversation is me spilling the contents of my bag onto the ground, telling him about the cheese spread I was eating and being informed of the designer socks he had bought. Oh - and I was going on about lesbians??? Yeah beats me. I felt guilty about it when I woke up on Saturday though - and really embarrassed as I had no idea what I was dribbling on with.
Bright and early in the morning, I arrived at St Joey's where we were all set up for a day of polling. I was not in a very good mood though so when this arrogant, hippy, ALP lady who gave us Young Liberals a hard time at the last election starting carrying on with the corruption of the Coalition, I had to put a lid on my anger as I was running the risk of getting an assault charge.
At 11.30am I was shafted down the ass-end of the coast to Pottsville - despite my objection. Seems dickhead R.A didn't want to leave Banora Point as "I live here and why should I have to drive out of my way?". Yeah thanks loser, I'll just drive around all day. I just had to convince myself that it was for the good of the party.
I left Pottsville at 2pm and went home to shower and get ready for the masquerade Christmas party that night. A small group of us met as S's house as she was driving us to the party (which was in Brisbane's Fortitude Valley) so we could leave early if it turned out to be a dud.
Turns out the whole night sucked for a string of reasons - before we even got to the party I found out that the Coalition had lost government and the new Prime Minister of Australia is Kevin Rudd. Fuck off. What - are the citizens of Australia complete dumb asses or what???
I figured it was a good idea to drown my sorrows with a few cocktails (after all - they were free!) and of course that boosted my confidence - enough so to pick a fight with some guys wearing Kevin Rudd masks. I was lucky that I didn't get bashed - but I did punch one of the Kevin heads.
We left after about an hour and a half for an interesting trip home, in which there were 6 passengers, the driver was half pissed, on the phone and doing 140 kms in the rain. I think I may be lucky to be alive.
I got home at about 1am which was early, especially since the party was in Brisbane and I had to go straight to bed. I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Woke up prematurely today but got up anyway. Didn't go to church - I don't know why. Then I got this crazy idea that I should get a bit of a tan, so I lay out in the sun, still in my pyjamas, for about half an hour and now I have really retarded sunburn. Yep - I'm an idiot.
Then I feel like I walked around the house aimlessly. I was so bored and I had nothing to do, so I eventually killed enough time until the 3.30pm session of Elizabeth: The Golden Age. OMG - brilliant movie! Cate Blanchett had better get an Oscar for that. She was absolutely amazing.
I couldn't help but get a bit emotionally involved though - I really did feel so sorry for the Queen. It's like she was living this life that she really didn't have the strength to live, in which she could only do what was expected of her, and never what she expected of herself.
A small positive of the day is that I received a very uplifting text message from D:
Oh seriously. I think if I can't sort my own life out, how can I expect anyone else to?
Let me start with Thursday.
My parents and brother went away to the Sunshine Coast (long story - don't ask) and thankfully I was excused from the expedition. So I started the day with a visit to my doctor to discuss the results from the variety of tests I had undergone. To be completely honest I was so scared that my legs were shaking as I waiting for her to confirm my diagnosis. It was almost an anti-climax when she said I didn't have what she was looking for.
Huh?
Seems my blood tests ruled it out but the other tests still showed that something was definitely wrong. Her next attempted diagnosis was laughable, and completely and wholly impossible, which just re-enforced that whatever the hell is happening is something way more serious than I first thought.
Damn. Now I'm scared. So apparently she doesn't have enough qualifications to diagnose me so I left with a referral to a specialist. Fucking hell I wish I never even bothered.
Afterwards I went to work with nothing occurring of great importance. At 6 I flew out the door and high-tailed it up to Pacific Fair where Miss Priss met me. The main purpose of the trip was to find a mask for the work Christmas party on the coming Saturday in which we had themed as 'Masquerade'. Me being me managed to blow $50 on one that I will probably never wear again.
Oh but that's not even the half of it! I spent about a month's pay in a space of 2 hours on 2 new dresses that I really did not need and new jewellery to match. I think it's because I was so preoccupied with my thoughts on the morning's events that I wasn't paying much attention to my bank account. Miss Priss decided to keep me company and stayed the night with me. It was nice to be distracted actually - and of all the people I'm glad it was her.
Friday was an early start, as both Miss Priss and I volunteered our services to the local Federal Coalition candidate. Much of the day was spent walking around the shopping centres in an attempt to prove to the voters the high risk that would be taken in not retaining the Coalition Government.
That night I went to Poodles' Christmas party at her house. I was quite glad to be given the excuse to escape myself for a few hours at least and I went to extra effort to dress in my imported Mollini shoes and new dress. It began to pour just as I arrived so I stumbled up the front path trying not to get wet or break my ankle in my freakishly high shoes.
Yes, and the first person that I ran into on the front veranda was none other than Bloke - the girl who bullied me into a state of deflated self esteem all the way back in primary school. Yes, very awkward.
I found Poodles who was already half drunk and she convinced me that I needed to talk to J who also went to my primary school. Due to his state of intoxication he hugged me like an old friend and dragged me around the back deck introducing me to people that I already knew and really had no desire to ever see again. Then I ran into W, my best friend from primary school. Honestly, I think I was more excited to see her than she was to see me but that may have been due to the minor fact that she was friends with basically everyone else there.
Conversation then managed to weave onto the topic of the following day's Federal Election and me being the passionate Liberal that I am had to loudly and proudly state my stance (It was also amplified by my blood alcohol level). I wouldn't call my response a very positive one - as the crowd started chanting "Kevin 07! Kevin 07!". Yeah, not happy so I sat on the sideline and drank.
Eventually I decided I needed to go home and sleep in preparation for Election Day, so I got out of making pasta bake (?) and drove home. On the way I believe I rang the delightful Mr T but all I recall from the conversation is me spilling the contents of my bag onto the ground, telling him about the cheese spread I was eating and being informed of the designer socks he had bought. Oh - and I was going on about lesbians??? Yeah beats me. I felt guilty about it when I woke up on Saturday though - and really embarrassed as I had no idea what I was dribbling on with.
Bright and early in the morning, I arrived at St Joey's where we were all set up for a day of polling. I was not in a very good mood though so when this arrogant, hippy, ALP lady who gave us Young Liberals a hard time at the last election starting carrying on with the corruption of the Coalition, I had to put a lid on my anger as I was running the risk of getting an assault charge.
At 11.30am I was shafted down the ass-end of the coast to Pottsville - despite my objection. Seems dickhead R.A didn't want to leave Banora Point as "I live here and why should I have to drive out of my way?". Yeah thanks loser, I'll just drive around all day. I just had to convince myself that it was for the good of the party.
I left Pottsville at 2pm and went home to shower and get ready for the masquerade Christmas party that night. A small group of us met as S's house as she was driving us to the party (which was in Brisbane's Fortitude Valley) so we could leave early if it turned out to be a dud.
Turns out the whole night sucked for a string of reasons - before we even got to the party I found out that the Coalition had lost government and the new Prime Minister of Australia is Kevin Rudd. Fuck off. What - are the citizens of Australia complete dumb asses or what???
I figured it was a good idea to drown my sorrows with a few cocktails (after all - they were free!) and of course that boosted my confidence - enough so to pick a fight with some guys wearing Kevin Rudd masks. I was lucky that I didn't get bashed - but I did punch one of the Kevin heads.
We left after about an hour and a half for an interesting trip home, in which there were 6 passengers, the driver was half pissed, on the phone and doing 140 kms in the rain. I think I may be lucky to be alive.
I got home at about 1am which was early, especially since the party was in Brisbane and I had to go straight to bed. I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Woke up prematurely today but got up anyway. Didn't go to church - I don't know why. Then I got this crazy idea that I should get a bit of a tan, so I lay out in the sun, still in my pyjamas, for about half an hour and now I have really retarded sunburn. Yep - I'm an idiot.
Then I feel like I walked around the house aimlessly. I was so bored and I had nothing to do, so I eventually killed enough time until the 3.30pm session of Elizabeth: The Golden Age. OMG - brilliant movie! Cate Blanchett had better get an Oscar for that. She was absolutely amazing.
I couldn't help but get a bit emotionally involved though - I really did feel so sorry for the Queen. It's like she was living this life that she really didn't have the strength to live, in which she could only do what was expected of her, and never what she expected of herself.
A small positive of the day is that I received a very uplifting text message from D:
So I came home, felt unnervingly lonely, had a few drinks in front of Garden State and now here I am. Honestly, I feel like everything that I have done in the past few days is no reflection of the person that I am. Or perhaps it is now the person I used to be? People always say that it can take certain events to change a person's outlook on life but are my actions an outlook? Maybe I'm just losing the plot, or trying to prove something to myself and the rest of the world?The sky is a beautiful Liberal colour blue today my fellow Young Libs.
Hold your head high and keep in mind what our cause has achieved for this great nation over the past 11 years. Howard, a true statesman.
Oh seriously. I think if I can't sort my own life out, how can I expect anyone else to?
Thursday, November 22, 2007
So long, Farewell, Auf wiedersehen, Goodnight
Probably one of the most frustrating things in the world is a failed attempt at sleep. Whether it be squeezing your eyes shut to block out the conscious, tossing and turning in frustration knowing you need a good night’s rest for that big day tomorrow, or just staring motionless into the blackness of night, I think we can all safely agree it is one of the negative’s of life. I can report on this matter as I believe myself to be the most difficult person to knock out – When undergoing surgery I needed two anaesthetics before they could put me out.
Ever since I was a little girl I have dreaded bedtime. Not only did I think of it as a waste of your life lying under a sheet with your eyes shut, but because I knew once I was there the lights would be off but with someone still home. For hours I would lay trying to switch off my brain and stop the constant chatter keeping me awake. And because of the God-awful hour at which the Sand Man finally came to me, it is no surprise that for the entirety of my life, I have not been a morning person.
However during the most difficult period of my life thus far (and I am hoping it will be the most difficult ever), sleep fought me and every weapon I had. No matter how exhausted or at what hour I climbed into bed, sleep would not find me until well past 2am, and would again wake me about 3 hours later. It was during this time that I perfected the skill of procrastination. I would distract myself with anything that could possibly put off my bedtime by another few minutes in the very least.
You all know the awful feeling of sleep standing you up. I used to toss and turn in frustration until I found it just as easy to lay quietly, with my eyes open gazing into the emptiness of my bedroom. Failing this? I would sit upright in the centre of my bed, hugging my knees... because it distracted me from the task at hand - the task that I was yet again, failing.
And so I am here creating this post for the mere purpose of procrastination. I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow in which I am hoping (and at the same time hoping NOT) to receive a diagnosis. I have this feeling of impending doom within my chest and I am continuing to relive the experiences of the tests that I underwent just the other day (let me just say that despite how brilliant the medical profession is, they still do some pretty horrible stuff to people). And so with these thoughts and feelings of worry and dread I know that this evening's slumber will not come without much persuasion. I think the only option I have left is to drink myself into a state of unconsciousness... but then I'd have a stuffed liver to add to the rest of me.
Ever since I was a little girl I have dreaded bedtime. Not only did I think of it as a waste of your life lying under a sheet with your eyes shut, but because I knew once I was there the lights would be off but with someone still home. For hours I would lay trying to switch off my brain and stop the constant chatter keeping me awake. And because of the God-awful hour at which the Sand Man finally came to me, it is no surprise that for the entirety of my life, I have not been a morning person.
However during the most difficult period of my life thus far (and I am hoping it will be the most difficult ever), sleep fought me and every weapon I had. No matter how exhausted or at what hour I climbed into bed, sleep would not find me until well past 2am, and would again wake me about 3 hours later. It was during this time that I perfected the skill of procrastination. I would distract myself with anything that could possibly put off my bedtime by another few minutes in the very least.
You all know the awful feeling of sleep standing you up. I used to toss and turn in frustration until I found it just as easy to lay quietly, with my eyes open gazing into the emptiness of my bedroom. Failing this? I would sit upright in the centre of my bed, hugging my knees... because it distracted me from the task at hand - the task that I was yet again, failing.
And so I am here creating this post for the mere purpose of procrastination. I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow in which I am hoping (and at the same time hoping NOT) to receive a diagnosis. I have this feeling of impending doom within my chest and I am continuing to relive the experiences of the tests that I underwent just the other day (let me just say that despite how brilliant the medical profession is, they still do some pretty horrible stuff to people). And so with these thoughts and feelings of worry and dread I know that this evening's slumber will not come without much persuasion. I think the only option I have left is to drink myself into a state of unconsciousness... but then I'd have a stuffed liver to add to the rest of me.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Back Post
If Blogger was not being the world's greatest prat last night that would have made 2 posts in 2 days. I think that's a little sad - even for me. Does that not say something about my state of affairs? I am on holidays from uni, have finished my exams and need not return until February 2008... and my time is being consumed with pointless posts.
Last night I had yet another argument with my mother (which is becoming more routine than spontaneous) and found myself in my room with no-one to call and no music loud enough to cover the screaming inside my head. So naturally, Blogger was my point of call and even this personified website was unavailable.
A long since abandoned remedy of mine in instances such as this was poetry. So yes, I got my Sylvia Plath out and wrote a poem which literally took no more than five minutes to whack together (and before someone finally answered their phone).
So in tribute to last night's lack of effort here is my attempt:
the force of its rotation grinding
into the blades of my shoulders.
Every physicality increases its weight –
Every stone, tree, every man, woman and child.
I feel my body ache with the burden,
my head spin with the torment.
A break occurs below the knees,
silent tears flow –
I will not cry out.
As yet another son is born
another of my bones breaks.
Falling to my knees I plead to my God –
Take away the sins of the world.
Take me Father, and set me free.
Last night I had yet another argument with my mother (which is becoming more routine than spontaneous) and found myself in my room with no-one to call and no music loud enough to cover the screaming inside my head. So naturally, Blogger was my point of call and even this personified website was unavailable.
A long since abandoned remedy of mine in instances such as this was poetry. So yes, I got my Sylvia Plath out and wrote a poem which literally took no more than five minutes to whack together (and before someone finally answered their phone).
So in tribute to last night's lack of effort here is my attempt:
The world spins,
the force of its rotation grinding
into the blades of my shoulders.
Every physicality increases its weight –
Every stone, tree, every man, woman and child.
I feel my body ache with the burden,
my head spin with the torment.
A break occurs below the knees,
silent tears flow –
I will not cry out.
As yet another son is born
another of my bones breaks.
Falling to my knees I plead to my God –
Take away the sins of the world.
Take me Father, and set me free.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Timeless
Well I will admit that although very little of my circumstances have changed, I do feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
After a rather painful day at work on Sunday, I met with the delightful Miss Priss for what was anticipated to be a cup of coffee. I swung by her residence then we headed for the beachfront Gloria Jean's in Coolangatta - although funnily enough, we didn't quite make it inside.
Whilst parking the car we had entered into a meaningful conversation about our thoughts, feelings and theories on the world. There never did seem to be an appropriate moment to step back into the world: the constraints of my vehicle not only provided shelter from the drizzling rain, but it released all inhibitions and for the first time in my life I found my exact thoughts pouring upon listening ears. I did not have difficulty choosing the right words, or fearing that I truly did appear screwed up in the head. I think that's because Miss Priss just accepts me for who I am. I need not conform into the parameters set by society or entertain her with gossip from former classmates; being myself is enough.
I think we must have sat in the car for nearing on 2 hours, but we both agreed that time had stood still. We were the axis of the universe, and the world surrounding us continued to spin (actually, that reminds me of a poem I wrote towards the end of Year 11... One day I may feel able to share it).
It was only in the last moments of our timeless discussion that I finally felt able to reveal the biggest concern that is currently plaguing my days and nights. I told her of my doctors visit, the exchange of words, the ordered tests and the bottom line - what she was looking for. It was not only the first time I had said it out loud but also the first time I had said it to myself. I think I was a little overwhelmed - I wasn't really sure what to think, how to feel.
Miss Priss cried - yeah that made me feel better!
Surprisingly though, I didn't - maybe I'm stronger than I thought I was.
Maybe I don't really care.
Maybe it's just fate - written into the script of life before I even took my first breath, because some things are just meant to be.
So I must have looked like a stunned mullet and Miss Priss couldn't believe that I hadn't told anyone before that moment. I told her I couldn't - not until I knew for sure, because I'm not the little girl who cried wolf. She told me that I shouldn't have to do it alone, and because I'd told her she's in it now for the long haul.
And in concluding that thought, we stepped back into the world and allowed time to restart.
After a rather painful day at work on Sunday, I met with the delightful Miss Priss for what was anticipated to be a cup of coffee. I swung by her residence then we headed for the beachfront Gloria Jean's in Coolangatta - although funnily enough, we didn't quite make it inside.
Whilst parking the car we had entered into a meaningful conversation about our thoughts, feelings and theories on the world. There never did seem to be an appropriate moment to step back into the world: the constraints of my vehicle not only provided shelter from the drizzling rain, but it released all inhibitions and for the first time in my life I found my exact thoughts pouring upon listening ears. I did not have difficulty choosing the right words, or fearing that I truly did appear screwed up in the head. I think that's because Miss Priss just accepts me for who I am. I need not conform into the parameters set by society or entertain her with gossip from former classmates; being myself is enough.
I think we must have sat in the car for nearing on 2 hours, but we both agreed that time had stood still. We were the axis of the universe, and the world surrounding us continued to spin (actually, that reminds me of a poem I wrote towards the end of Year 11... One day I may feel able to share it).
It was only in the last moments of our timeless discussion that I finally felt able to reveal the biggest concern that is currently plaguing my days and nights. I told her of my doctors visit, the exchange of words, the ordered tests and the bottom line - what she was looking for. It was not only the first time I had said it out loud but also the first time I had said it to myself. I think I was a little overwhelmed - I wasn't really sure what to think, how to feel.
Miss Priss cried - yeah that made me feel better!
Surprisingly though, I didn't - maybe I'm stronger than I thought I was.
Maybe I don't really care.
Maybe it's just fate - written into the script of life before I even took my first breath, because some things are just meant to be.
So I must have looked like a stunned mullet and Miss Priss couldn't believe that I hadn't told anyone before that moment. I told her I couldn't - not until I knew for sure, because I'm not the little girl who cried wolf. She told me that I shouldn't have to do it alone, and because I'd told her she's in it now for the long haul.
And in concluding that thought, we stepped back into the world and allowed time to restart.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
?
Yes, it is still raining.
I swear I am in the world's worst mood ever so I have had to put myself into seclusion for the fear of committing murder.
Had an exam this morning - ironically enough, for mental health. Let me just say I am very mentally unhealthy after that. Was almost late too - had to leave at 7.30, and woke up at 7.22. Great start to the day.
Felt my spirits lift a little as I had coffee with Lil G, and sat in Gloria Jeans for well over an hour chatting about the insignificant aspects of the world. I helped her choose a dress for her sister's birthday dinner and dropped her home. Just as I was heading home myself, it began to pour. Great.
It wasn't until I got home at 4pm that I realised I hadn't eaten lunch. Now my tummy is full of a gurgly mess - What? Food? I remember that - vaguely...
That's what bloody stress does to you.
When I'm stressed I'm a completely different person. I fight with everyone and don't give a shit about the world. Even my posts don't make sense - no wonder no-one reads them.
Before I give the impression that I really am losing the plot, I'm going to sign off.
I'll be back when I find my sanity. (Oops - too late!)
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Wet
It never rains, it pours.
Ironic, considering the weather has been wet for the past 2 days.
The start of my very long string of worries began last Wednesday when I, along with my Speech and Drama students had our exams through Trinity Guildhall. The difference being that the children were undergoing practical performance and theory exams, and I had my teaching exam. The syllabus required me to teach either an individual or a group via a pre-planned lesson for 30 minutes duration, and then have a viva voce (discussion) with the examiner for 15 minutes.
Well, at the conclusion of my lesson with A., I felt confident as I sat with the examiner to discuss various topics. My confidence was quickly diminished as this arrogant Scottish man felt the need to condescend my every comment until he felt the need to teach me, during an exam in which I was supposed to teach others.
I walked out feeling very self-conscious and then had to spend the remainder of the afternoon putting on a smiling face for the other children who had worked so hard and were confident after their exams. Gosh, it nearly killed me.
Wednesday night was spent with Mrs Borat studying for an exam the following Monday, and Thursday involved a trip to Uni, failing an assignment and going to work in an unbelievably bad mood that could not be justified to anyone as I feared an emotional breakdown.
Friday -
Study at Uni and basking in Mrs Borat's hangover.
Saturday -
Test-driving new vehicles but disappointment again as the car that I had formerly idolised turned out to be cumbersome to drive in the very least.
A visit to the Vigil Mass in an attempt to relieve my state of depression, then dinner with the delightful Poodles who has just returned from an archaeological dig in French Polynesia.
Sunday -
Another day at the office with an absolute creep for a manager. That is until home time when news was received of a double-fatal car accident in a fellow co-worker P. was involved. Thankfully she got out alive, but her friend in the backseat was not so lucky. Gosh did that hurt - I didn't even know the guy but it sends shivers down my spine.
One of the girls from work and I went to Emergency Department where P. still was but I felt completely useless - it's was that damn 'barbed wire snare'. My sentences were only short and uneventful for the fear of crying for all those involved, and because the lump in my throat wouldn't allow much else. We spoke with her brother who eventually choked out the graphic story, and explained that he was the first on the scene, as the accident occurred in the front of their house. Gosh did P. look a mess. It really cut me to see her so upset and the vacant look in her eyes haunted me for a good while after.
Returning home was hard because my family actually saw the accident only minutes after it happened, and my brother showed particular distress when he had seen the deceased motorbike rider on the road.
Study was completely off the agenda, despite my final Pathophysiology and Pharmacology 2 exam the following morning. My head hurt too much for more pain.
Monday -
Yes. Patho Phys exam.
Mrs Borat and I were late (oops) and rushed into the exam room minutes before it commenced.
Overall, the exam sucked and I have my fingers crossed for a pass.
The afternoon involved a what I believed to be insignificant visit to the doctor but has since caused me a lot of inner grief and worry. I should feel grateful that I have a really good doctor and she actually listens to what I have to say, but when she told me what she was looking for in the tests that she has ordered I had a silent freak out. I should be thankful that she's not treating me like a piece of meat and aiming her speech directly over my head but me being the worrier that I am; I'm stressed.
I then trekked off the do some delightful stock take during which I was inundated with stupid 15 year olds who didn't understand anything until it was explained about 10 times. Stress levels were very high in addition to my swirling thoughts on the afternoon's doctors visit.
Sleep was difficult but I eventually woke on Tuesday morning after a just plain cruel dream, in which my night mind was taunting me about this possible medical condition.
Tuesday -
Work.
Hours extended from 3 to 8.
Yay - money.
Stress levels elevated to maximum level with never-ending jobs, the dread of having to approach my manager over a work related issue, lack of preparation for exams and health concerns.
Positive of the day - small potential win on the Melbourne Cup. Don't know how to gamble so wouldn't have a clue.
Wednesday (today) -
Blood tests this morning and my God! I swear I have no blood left!
Appointment made for additional tests but due to waiting times will be forced to strew in a pit of my own worry for another 2 weeks.
Currently procrastinating by blogging and editing my Hotmail contacts.
Should probably study.
Probably.
Probably not.
Ironic, considering the weather has been wet for the past 2 days.
The start of my very long string of worries began last Wednesday when I, along with my Speech and Drama students had our exams through Trinity Guildhall. The difference being that the children were undergoing practical performance and theory exams, and I had my teaching exam. The syllabus required me to teach either an individual or a group via a pre-planned lesson for 30 minutes duration, and then have a viva voce (discussion) with the examiner for 15 minutes.
Well, at the conclusion of my lesson with A., I felt confident as I sat with the examiner to discuss various topics. My confidence was quickly diminished as this arrogant Scottish man felt the need to condescend my every comment until he felt the need to teach me, during an exam in which I was supposed to teach others.
I walked out feeling very self-conscious and then had to spend the remainder of the afternoon putting on a smiling face for the other children who had worked so hard and were confident after their exams. Gosh, it nearly killed me.
Wednesday night was spent with Mrs Borat studying for an exam the following Monday, and Thursday involved a trip to Uni, failing an assignment and going to work in an unbelievably bad mood that could not be justified to anyone as I feared an emotional breakdown.
Friday -
Study at Uni and basking in Mrs Borat's hangover.
Saturday -
Test-driving new vehicles but disappointment again as the car that I had formerly idolised turned out to be cumbersome to drive in the very least.
A visit to the Vigil Mass in an attempt to relieve my state of depression, then dinner with the delightful Poodles who has just returned from an archaeological dig in French Polynesia.
Sunday -
Another day at the office with an absolute creep for a manager. That is until home time when news was received of a double-fatal car accident in a fellow co-worker P. was involved. Thankfully she got out alive, but her friend in the backseat was not so lucky. Gosh did that hurt - I didn't even know the guy but it sends shivers down my spine.
One of the girls from work and I went to Emergency Department where P. still was but I felt completely useless - it's was that damn 'barbed wire snare'. My sentences were only short and uneventful for the fear of crying for all those involved, and because the lump in my throat wouldn't allow much else. We spoke with her brother who eventually choked out the graphic story, and explained that he was the first on the scene, as the accident occurred in the front of their house. Gosh did P. look a mess. It really cut me to see her so upset and the vacant look in her eyes haunted me for a good while after.
Returning home was hard because my family actually saw the accident only minutes after it happened, and my brother showed particular distress when he had seen the deceased motorbike rider on the road.
Study was completely off the agenda, despite my final Pathophysiology and Pharmacology 2 exam the following morning. My head hurt too much for more pain.
Monday -
Yes. Patho Phys exam.
Mrs Borat and I were late (oops) and rushed into the exam room minutes before it commenced.
Overall, the exam sucked and I have my fingers crossed for a pass.
The afternoon involved a what I believed to be insignificant visit to the doctor but has since caused me a lot of inner grief and worry. I should feel grateful that I have a really good doctor and she actually listens to what I have to say, but when she told me what she was looking for in the tests that she has ordered I had a silent freak out. I should be thankful that she's not treating me like a piece of meat and aiming her speech directly over my head but me being the worrier that I am; I'm stressed.
I then trekked off the do some delightful stock take during which I was inundated with stupid 15 year olds who didn't understand anything until it was explained about 10 times. Stress levels were very high in addition to my swirling thoughts on the afternoon's doctors visit.
Sleep was difficult but I eventually woke on Tuesday morning after a just plain cruel dream, in which my night mind was taunting me about this possible medical condition.
Tuesday -
Work.
Hours extended from 3 to 8.
Yay - money.
Stress levels elevated to maximum level with never-ending jobs, the dread of having to approach my manager over a work related issue, lack of preparation for exams and health concerns.
Positive of the day - small potential win on the Melbourne Cup. Don't know how to gamble so wouldn't have a clue.
Wednesday (today) -
Blood tests this morning and my God! I swear I have no blood left!
Appointment made for additional tests but due to waiting times will be forced to strew in a pit of my own worry for another 2 weeks.
Currently procrastinating by blogging and editing my Hotmail contacts.
Should probably study.
Probably.
Probably not.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Fingers to keys...
I feel like I have something that I either want to, or need to say. The trouble is I have no idea what it is. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest restricting all movement, breath and happiness.
I suppose there is nothing to but wait until my captor takes a toilet break??
I suppose there is nothing to but wait until my captor takes a toilet break??
Thursday, October 04, 2007
90s
The following email came into my possession so here it is for anyone who wants to reminisce:
You're a 90s kid if:
You can finish this - Milk, milk, lemonade...
You remember watching: 'Hey! Arnold', 'Round the Twist', 'Ren and Stimpy', 'AAAAAAAH Real Monsters!', 'Rocko's Modern Life', 'Aggro's Cartoon Connection', 'Play School' with Monica, 'Sesame Street' for an hour twice a day - And you'd remember when it was actually worth getting up early on a Saturday to watch cartoons.
You remember reading 'Goosebumps' and 'The Baby-Sitters Club'.
You said 'NOT' after (almost) every sentence... NOT!
When everything was settled by: Scissors, Paper, Rock - There's a dunny on the hill would you like to come... - Nutcracker - Eeny, Meany, Miney, Mo.
When you played Tiggy, Stuck in the Mud, Hide and Seek, Sardines, Murder in the Dark and Catch and Kiss until your legs grew numb.
You used to listen to the radio all day long just to record your FAVOURITE song of ALL time.
Tazos owned chip packets.
Captain Planet - he's a hero.
You remember Sonic Hedgehog and Sega, and practically witnessed the birth of Super Mario.
Yo-yos were cool.
You remember the Where's Wally books.
You ate Warheads and Ghost Drops.
You remember Push Pops and Lucky Dips - and YoGo Gorilla.
Home-made birthday cards were cool. Especially the ones where you'd cut a mouth so into it so it opened and a tongue popped out.
You made those little paper fortune things and then predicted your life with them.
Tamagotchis were banned from school because they were so popular.
Furby.
Baby Born.
You didn't always have a computer and it was cool to have the Internet - and Windows 95 was the best!
"Emo" didn't exist.
You knew Michael Jordan was the best basketballer of all-time even though we had no idea who he played for.
Mattel's Barbie and Ken owned the shelves.
'World 4 Kids' came before 'Toys R Us'.
Play dough was the coolest stuff invented.
You understand when I say 'Cheez TV'.
Troll Dolls were cool and not just weird.
You listened to cassettes - and had no idea what a CD was.
Two words - Spice Girls.
The original Pokemon with Ash, Misty and Brock - before those try hards at the Yu-Gi-Oh production plant.
You know the 'Macarena' off by heart.
"Talk to the hand!"... enough said.
You went to McDonald's to play in the playground - and Happy Meals only cost $2.95.
When light up sneakers were cool.
When you rented VHS, not DVDs.
When petrol was 85 cents and Paddle-Pops were 75 cents.
Caller ID was new and mobiles were only for important people.
Before the MySpace frenzy... before text messaging... before iPods... before PlayStation 2 or X-Box... before you had an email address...
Way back...
Before we realised all this would eventually disappear...Who would have thought we'd miss the 90s so much?!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Life's Angels
For ages I have loved these little angel figurines from the 'Willow Tree' collection. They are these beautiful carved angels with wire wings and no face, each in a different stance to represent themes of life. I think the first one that really caught my eye was the "Angel of Patience". She was so calm to look at but so many conclusions could be drawn from exactly what she was thinking. She was for sale in this little gift shop I knew and every week I would go and see her. She was there for so long that she was reduced to $15. I felt sad for her sitting on that shelf alone, entertained by only her own thoughts.
I know what you're thinking - why didn't I adopt her? Believe me I wanted to, but I had developed this deep appreciation for the collection that I had convinced myself the eloquence of these creatures was the uniqueness of each, and that they could only truly uphold this if given as a gift. To buy one for yourself would be like buying a size 8 dress when you really are a size 10 - your self image is warped; it's how others see you that is the truth.
So I never did get the Angel of Patience. Soon after the shop closed down and she disappeared to somewhere beyond my knowledge. For Christmas however at the end of that year, my dear friend Miss Priss (I have previously referred to her in this blog in bad taste but no matter how much you love someone they can still give you the shits) gave me a delightful Willow Tree pair entitled "Sisters by Heart". There was no greater title for her and myself than this and I believed this gift to be one of the most sincere and heartfelt ones that I had ever been presented with. Sitting in a proud position in my bedroom, I still agree.
That same year Willow Tree released a Christmas collection. It included Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus, the Three Wise Men and the stable animals. I had mentioned to my mother how much I loved them and suggested the starting of a new Christmas tradition.
You see, every year without fail my grandma gives my mum an ornament for the Christmas tree. It's something completely different every year - sometimes a souvenir from one of the various countries visited by my grandparents throughout the year, and others a collectors piece from Myer or David Jones.
So I thought it would be a great idea if every year I got another piece of the Willow Tree nativity scene - but Mum thought they were pretty lame and didn't jump on board.
Last Christmas I saw them again in the window of the jewellery store. I looked at them for ages then had to pull myself away. But I couldn't stop thinking about them and kept going back to stand in front of the shop window. After a few visits I realised that the only way that these precious characters wouldn't end up like the Angel of Patience would be for me to throw my theories out the window and put my money were my mouth was.
So I did - a whole $250 dollars of it. I lay-byed them paying as much as I could afford every week and the day that I paid the final dollars I rushed home and put them in the centre of our dining room table. I just loved to look at them and often found myself wasting minutes just gazing at their non-existent faces and their uniqueness.
I lingered in repacking them in their boxes after Christmas and New Year. I didn't want to shut them away until the festivities returned in another 10 months time. So when my birthday came around in August you would think that I'd be delighted to receive another angel from the collection. And I would have thought so too...
Miss Priss gave me one that truly is beautiful. She is the "Angel of Sincere Thanks" and with her faceless and wire winged body holds a wire hoop with the words 'Thank You' inside. I was told that she was the 'prettiest' in the shop and that she looked like she belonged to me.
So I took her home and sat her on the shelf with my Russian Nesting Doll and my Sisters by Heart. It didn't look quite right somehow so I rearranged my treasures until they pleased my aesthetics, and oddly enough my newest angel had found her place behind the Sisters at the back. I didn't know why but I wanted to leave her there; and it wasn't until days later that I realised why.
She doesn't mean anything to me. She does not represent an unbreakable bond of friendship, or clear my mind when she enters my gaze, let alone cause me to stop in my tracks just the absorb her true meaning as if that of a religious holiday. She has become an insignificant aspect of my room and life. She is not a gift of thanks, rather one of convenience, and for that she has taken the back row. It's not her fault, and I wish I could put it past me to overlook this unimportant detail for her sake. Sadly, I don't think I can.
Every time when I look at her I resent her more and more. Why could she not be an Angel of Hope or Wisdom? I know why - because Miss Priss chose her not to be. She played God to this unloved Angel and now it's up to me to right the wrongs. I will force myself to be able to look at her without negativity and unlove.
But until then, Christmas is just around the corner.
I know what you're thinking - why didn't I adopt her? Believe me I wanted to, but I had developed this deep appreciation for the collection that I had convinced myself the eloquence of these creatures was the uniqueness of each, and that they could only truly uphold this if given as a gift. To buy one for yourself would be like buying a size 8 dress when you really are a size 10 - your self image is warped; it's how others see you that is the truth.
So I never did get the Angel of Patience. Soon after the shop closed down and she disappeared to somewhere beyond my knowledge. For Christmas however at the end of that year, my dear friend Miss Priss (I have previously referred to her in this blog in bad taste but no matter how much you love someone they can still give you the shits) gave me a delightful Willow Tree pair entitled "Sisters by Heart". There was no greater title for her and myself than this and I believed this gift to be one of the most sincere and heartfelt ones that I had ever been presented with. Sitting in a proud position in my bedroom, I still agree.
That same year Willow Tree released a Christmas collection. It included Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus, the Three Wise Men and the stable animals. I had mentioned to my mother how much I loved them and suggested the starting of a new Christmas tradition.
You see, every year without fail my grandma gives my mum an ornament for the Christmas tree. It's something completely different every year - sometimes a souvenir from one of the various countries visited by my grandparents throughout the year, and others a collectors piece from Myer or David Jones.
So I thought it would be a great idea if every year I got another piece of the Willow Tree nativity scene - but Mum thought they were pretty lame and didn't jump on board.
Last Christmas I saw them again in the window of the jewellery store. I looked at them for ages then had to pull myself away. But I couldn't stop thinking about them and kept going back to stand in front of the shop window. After a few visits I realised that the only way that these precious characters wouldn't end up like the Angel of Patience would be for me to throw my theories out the window and put my money were my mouth was.
So I did - a whole $250 dollars of it. I lay-byed them paying as much as I could afford every week and the day that I paid the final dollars I rushed home and put them in the centre of our dining room table. I just loved to look at them and often found myself wasting minutes just gazing at their non-existent faces and their uniqueness.
I lingered in repacking them in their boxes after Christmas and New Year. I didn't want to shut them away until the festivities returned in another 10 months time. So when my birthday came around in August you would think that I'd be delighted to receive another angel from the collection. And I would have thought so too...
Miss Priss gave me one that truly is beautiful. She is the "Angel of Sincere Thanks" and with her faceless and wire winged body holds a wire hoop with the words 'Thank You' inside. I was told that she was the 'prettiest' in the shop and that she looked like she belonged to me.
So I took her home and sat her on the shelf with my Russian Nesting Doll and my Sisters by Heart. It didn't look quite right somehow so I rearranged my treasures until they pleased my aesthetics, and oddly enough my newest angel had found her place behind the Sisters at the back. I didn't know why but I wanted to leave her there; and it wasn't until days later that I realised why.
She doesn't mean anything to me. She does not represent an unbreakable bond of friendship, or clear my mind when she enters my gaze, let alone cause me to stop in my tracks just the absorb her true meaning as if that of a religious holiday. She has become an insignificant aspect of my room and life. She is not a gift of thanks, rather one of convenience, and for that she has taken the back row. It's not her fault, and I wish I could put it past me to overlook this unimportant detail for her sake. Sadly, I don't think I can.
Every time when I look at her I resent her more and more. Why could she not be an Angel of Hope or Wisdom? I know why - because Miss Priss chose her not to be. She played God to this unloved Angel and now it's up to me to right the wrongs. I will force myself to be able to look at her without negativity and unlove.
But until then, Christmas is just around the corner.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
48 Hours to Live
This past week has been marked in my calendar as my 'Mid Semester Break'. However, unfortunately I had an assignment due yesterday and me being the procrastinator that I am didn't start until Tuesday. At this point I sat down to start and went 'Holy shit this is really hard!' so from then on, my holiday week was a stressful one.
Anyway, as I already said my assignment was due on Friday. Today is Saturday - which means I have 48 hours of freedom in which to dub as my 'holiday' so for once in my life I am getting off by lazy butt and doing something about it.
I woke up this morning at the delightful hour of ten to an empty house and an incredible summery day just abroad of the shadow cast by my own home. With every minute that passed, stealing another fragment of my already shortened time, I threw on my bathers and a cotton dress, jumped in the car and in no time at all tasted the salty air on my lips and felt the chilled water lapping at my feet.
There were quite a number of people on my formerly hidden-away-beach, but I put it down to it being a long weekend. There were families, creepy looking old men skulking around in the sand dunes, a group of male twenty-somethings kicking a football around along the shore line and the funniest would have been the bikini-ed teenagers taking MySpace shots of each other.
I stayed for about an hour then walked the long way back to our beach house, stopping on the way for some hot chips with chicken salt.
On my return I convinced my dad to come on an adventure with me to this cute antique shop in Coolangatta. I like second-hand shops when I'm with him because he can point out the significance of particular pieces and tell me truthfully if they are worth the price tag. I ended up with a very attractive purchase - a sewing box from the 1940s.
The other great thing about my dad is that he shares my sweet tooth. We visited the lolly shop and the world's greatest ice cream parlor - Cold Rock. By the time we got back it was about 4 o'clock (probably having something to do with my late morning sleep in) so I hurried home to shower and change for church.
Today's gospel was about Lazarus and his unfortunate life, and joy in heaven after ascending from the world of the living. Obviously it went a bit deeper than that but the theme throughout the service resulting from this story was "Practice one act of kindness every day" and in doing this, good will come to you both during life, and after it.
It made a lot of sense as I sat in the crowded church and it wasn't just this message that I pondered. Rather, that as seemingly unattainable the values are, that are preached for use in life, I accept them and strive to become a better person as a result. Days later it may all seem too difficult as my attempts are challenged by people around me, but as I sit with other Catholics in the rows of pews that we occupy, I believe it, I feel invincible. When I am there, both my body and spirit, I am home.
Rushing out during the final hymn I made it in time before the doors were shut to The Legend of Rain, this self-devised drama performance by a group of kids, directed by a young man who beat me at the Eisteddfod (and we are friends - not like see you all the time friends, but 'Hey! How've you been?' type friends).
So the performance went for just over an hour and one of the girls in it used to be a student of mine. I stopped teaching her at the end of last year and since then she's been having unofficial lessons with her cousin (who happens to be the director) and sad as it may be for me to admit it, she has progressed beyond words. She blew me away with her performance but at the same time I think I was a little jealous - I'd never been able to make her act like that!
But overall, the performance was like HSC Group Drama meets Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. For me it was a bit slow moving and I thought that each scene needed to be linked together more, but apart from that it was an amazing experience.
Afterwards I returned yet again to my empty house, cooked myself some pasta, put on a DVD and had a Smirnoff. Now here I am!
But now, I think it's time for bed.
Until next time,
x
Anyway, as I already said my assignment was due on Friday. Today is Saturday - which means I have 48 hours of freedom in which to dub as my 'holiday' so for once in my life I am getting off by lazy butt and doing something about it.
I woke up this morning at the delightful hour of ten to an empty house and an incredible summery day just abroad of the shadow cast by my own home. With every minute that passed, stealing another fragment of my already shortened time, I threw on my bathers and a cotton dress, jumped in the car and in no time at all tasted the salty air on my lips and felt the chilled water lapping at my feet.
There were quite a number of people on my formerly hidden-away-beach, but I put it down to it being a long weekend. There were families, creepy looking old men skulking around in the sand dunes, a group of male twenty-somethings kicking a football around along the shore line and the funniest would have been the bikini-ed teenagers taking MySpace shots of each other.
I stayed for about an hour then walked the long way back to our beach house, stopping on the way for some hot chips with chicken salt.
On my return I convinced my dad to come on an adventure with me to this cute antique shop in Coolangatta. I like second-hand shops when I'm with him because he can point out the significance of particular pieces and tell me truthfully if they are worth the price tag. I ended up with a very attractive purchase - a sewing box from the 1940s.
The other great thing about my dad is that he shares my sweet tooth. We visited the lolly shop and the world's greatest ice cream parlor - Cold Rock. By the time we got back it was about 4 o'clock (probably having something to do with my late morning sleep in) so I hurried home to shower and change for church.
Today's gospel was about Lazarus and his unfortunate life, and joy in heaven after ascending from the world of the living. Obviously it went a bit deeper than that but the theme throughout the service resulting from this story was "Practice one act of kindness every day" and in doing this, good will come to you both during life, and after it.
It made a lot of sense as I sat in the crowded church and it wasn't just this message that I pondered. Rather, that as seemingly unattainable the values are, that are preached for use in life, I accept them and strive to become a better person as a result. Days later it may all seem too difficult as my attempts are challenged by people around me, but as I sit with other Catholics in the rows of pews that we occupy, I believe it, I feel invincible. When I am there, both my body and spirit, I am home.
Rushing out during the final hymn I made it in time before the doors were shut to The Legend of Rain, this self-devised drama performance by a group of kids, directed by a young man who beat me at the Eisteddfod (and we are friends - not like see you all the time friends, but 'Hey! How've you been?' type friends).
So the performance went for just over an hour and one of the girls in it used to be a student of mine. I stopped teaching her at the end of last year and since then she's been having unofficial lessons with her cousin (who happens to be the director) and sad as it may be for me to admit it, she has progressed beyond words. She blew me away with her performance but at the same time I think I was a little jealous - I'd never been able to make her act like that!
But overall, the performance was like HSC Group Drama meets Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. For me it was a bit slow moving and I thought that each scene needed to be linked together more, but apart from that it was an amazing experience.
Afterwards I returned yet again to my empty house, cooked myself some pasta, put on a DVD and had a Smirnoff. Now here I am!
But now, I think it's time for bed.
Until next time,
x
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Patience is a Virtue
Let me go back about 4 hours:
I arrived at my dear friend Yass' house to pick her up as we were heading up the coast to watch the arrivals at my brother's graduation formal. I hadn't seen her since my birthday over a month ago so it seemed like a good opportunity for us to catch up. Yass and I have been friends for quite a long time, and I would label us as close. Admittedly we don't see nearly enough of each other as we should but there is a mutual understanding between us that we know we can rely on the other in times of need.
Small talk filled my little car as we dodged the peak hour traffic, consisting mainly of work, friends and life in general. Just over 2kms before our destination we passed a limo in which a fat little hand emerged belonging to my graduating brother... and with my navigational skills I lost the carpark, ending up on the other side of the waterfront therefore, we missed his actual arrival. Nevertheless Yass and I hurried to join the mingling crowd, craning our necks to see a familiar face. And the first person that I literally ran into was none other than Biolady (I don't think I have actually reported much on her but for completion she knows a lot of my darkest past - this of course makes me uneasy). She was there solely for the arrivals with her baby boy whom I had not met before tonight - and yes he is gorgeous.
So we consumed a few minutes through insignificant conversation in which I felt awkward for 90 percent of, then I escaped and Yass and I mingled through the crowd. It was so surreal seeing all of these people that I had hardly spared a thought for over the 2 years since I had graduated myself, yet when I found their faces, I felt as if no time had passed at all.
There were of course individuals who were frequent visitors in my mind. Yass and I were summonsed by the Head of Middle School (referred to by students as the 'Short Scary One') and indulged in a heartfelt conversation that I never thought we would again share. Her daughter was in our group and whilst at school we were often found at her house - she was the cool mum who hosted the parties (and by parties I mean a whole heap of teenagers swimming in their clothes at midnight and burning random things over tea candles). We talked about the good old days and she admitted how much she missed us all, and let it slip that we were her favourite grade ever seen by the school. I relished in the thought of being someone's favourite even if it's not as an individual. And I realised how much I had missed her.
And the evening would not have been complete without a brief encounter with the School Chaplain. He looked genuinely pleased to see me and I finally had the opportunity to share the label I referred to him as - Dumbledore. Just because no matter what, he made everything ok.
Afterwards, Yass and I ventured back into the world in search for a meal. Ending up at my dad's favourite Italian restaurant, conversation continued.
Yass revealed how sad she felt after seeing everyone from our school days. She said that she missed seeing her friends everyday, how the teachers genuinely cared about you and how she wished she could go back. I must admit, this confession did take me my surprise because I know Yass well enough to say that she does not readily expose the emotive side of her spirit. Much to her surprise however, I agreed. I had thought it for 2 years and I was finally pleased to hear someone else agree - it threw my fears of not being able to grow up out the window, because if anyone had grown since our graduation, it was the girl sitting opposite me.
Turning then to tales of university and basically how it sucks in comparison, Yass began to speak as though only to her own mind, and not me. She truthfully confessed her hatred for tertiary studies and revealed the anxiety it made her feel. She hates her classes, her course, the students; the whole kit and caboodle. Well, I didn't know what to say - and to tell you the truth I don't even remember. All I know is that I told her it was ok. Uni does not shape a person or even define their future, and we're only 20 years old. We are too young to know where our lives will be in another 20 years so how can we choose a path to go down now to get there?
Not only was that what she thinks she needed to hear, but I think it's what I needed too. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm steering in the right direction, but if that damn fog blinds me I need to know that it's ok to pull over - and I just gave myself permission.
I arrived at my dear friend Yass' house to pick her up as we were heading up the coast to watch the arrivals at my brother's graduation formal. I hadn't seen her since my birthday over a month ago so it seemed like a good opportunity for us to catch up. Yass and I have been friends for quite a long time, and I would label us as close. Admittedly we don't see nearly enough of each other as we should but there is a mutual understanding between us that we know we can rely on the other in times of need.
Small talk filled my little car as we dodged the peak hour traffic, consisting mainly of work, friends and life in general. Just over 2kms before our destination we passed a limo in which a fat little hand emerged belonging to my graduating brother... and with my navigational skills I lost the carpark, ending up on the other side of the waterfront therefore, we missed his actual arrival. Nevertheless Yass and I hurried to join the mingling crowd, craning our necks to see a familiar face. And the first person that I literally ran into was none other than Biolady (I don't think I have actually reported much on her but for completion she knows a lot of my darkest past - this of course makes me uneasy). She was there solely for the arrivals with her baby boy whom I had not met before tonight - and yes he is gorgeous.
So we consumed a few minutes through insignificant conversation in which I felt awkward for 90 percent of, then I escaped and Yass and I mingled through the crowd. It was so surreal seeing all of these people that I had hardly spared a thought for over the 2 years since I had graduated myself, yet when I found their faces, I felt as if no time had passed at all.
There were of course individuals who were frequent visitors in my mind. Yass and I were summonsed by the Head of Middle School (referred to by students as the 'Short Scary One') and indulged in a heartfelt conversation that I never thought we would again share. Her daughter was in our group and whilst at school we were often found at her house - she was the cool mum who hosted the parties (and by parties I mean a whole heap of teenagers swimming in their clothes at midnight and burning random things over tea candles). We talked about the good old days and she admitted how much she missed us all, and let it slip that we were her favourite grade ever seen by the school. I relished in the thought of being someone's favourite even if it's not as an individual. And I realised how much I had missed her.
And the evening would not have been complete without a brief encounter with the School Chaplain. He looked genuinely pleased to see me and I finally had the opportunity to share the label I referred to him as - Dumbledore. Just because no matter what, he made everything ok.
Afterwards, Yass and I ventured back into the world in search for a meal. Ending up at my dad's favourite Italian restaurant, conversation continued.
Yass revealed how sad she felt after seeing everyone from our school days. She said that she missed seeing her friends everyday, how the teachers genuinely cared about you and how she wished she could go back. I must admit, this confession did take me my surprise because I know Yass well enough to say that she does not readily expose the emotive side of her spirit. Much to her surprise however, I agreed. I had thought it for 2 years and I was finally pleased to hear someone else agree - it threw my fears of not being able to grow up out the window, because if anyone had grown since our graduation, it was the girl sitting opposite me.
Turning then to tales of university and basically how it sucks in comparison, Yass began to speak as though only to her own mind, and not me. She truthfully confessed her hatred for tertiary studies and revealed the anxiety it made her feel. She hates her classes, her course, the students; the whole kit and caboodle. Well, I didn't know what to say - and to tell you the truth I don't even remember. All I know is that I told her it was ok. Uni does not shape a person or even define their future, and we're only 20 years old. We are too young to know where our lives will be in another 20 years so how can we choose a path to go down now to get there?
Not only was that what she thinks she needed to hear, but I think it's what I needed too. Don't get me wrong, I think I'm steering in the right direction, but if that damn fog blinds me I need to know that it's ok to pull over - and I just gave myself permission.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Child's Play
I think two of the voids in my childhood was my inability to skip double dutch, and to twirl a hula-hoop.
Today, however, was one of the most fulfilling days that I have had in a very long time. Not only did I have a very deep conversation with M, the most deeply spiritual woman I know about sacred spaces and where to find God, but I returned to my childhood with the most precious children I know and we taught each other how to skip.
Okay, so we all knew how to skip, but there were of the course the little tricks and turns like criss-cross, jump ins (we got to 3!) and of course everyone's favourite, the old single rope jumping.
It was someones brilliant idea to get two ropes going and attempt some double dutch. Now I knew that this wasn't my area of expertise, so I volunteered to turn the ropes. And to be perfectly honest, no one started off too well.
Yeah, we were all that bad that we retreated inside and watched the movie that inspired us to skip in the first place, 'Jump In'. Actually, E. loved it that much she had a need to watch it 5 times since hiring it out the previous day.
Anyway, I resisted my severe need for down time (since being woken by E. at God knows what hour after going to bed only a few hours before) as the rest of the family went out, and A. and I attempted double dutch again.
We thought we were rather clever by tying an end of each rope to the end of the trampoline and taking it in turns jumping in. Our aim was to get at least 2 jumps each under our belt before the rest of the family returned home. So after many failed attempts we recorded one on my mobile and sent it off to my professional skipper cousin. Hastily replying, she gave us a few tips to work on.
The others returned home and did we practice, practice and practice! Soon everyone was having a go - even M. - and after little time at all, little E. got the hang of it and busted out with 34 jumps. Wow - talk about setting the bar high! This just made the rest of us want it even more!
G. got flustered after a while - said he didn't like things that he wasn't good at, but eventually he got 2 jumps in, as did A, S and M.
So I gave it another go and "By Jove! She's done it!"
37 jumps.
The record of the day.
And the feeling that I got is hard to describe. You couldn't say defeating your demons (that would suggest that skipping is something to be feared) or that it is achieving that 'sacred space' (because I know there is nothing more almighty than God himself) - but more like finding that bracelet you lost when you were 7, or coming across your old Barbies and desperately wanting to play with just to feel 10 years old again.
I felt like a child and it didn't frighten me. I have been so consumed with this idea that I haven't grown up and I never will, because my heart and mind are continuing that ongoing battle that began over 6 years ago. I figured that because I still felt the same, I still was.
Well, that battle has not ended - it may take something more powerful than skipping. But I have achieved that feeling of fulfillment and completeness. I have filled that jigsaw piece that I'd never thought I'd find into the puzzle that I never thought I'd finish.
Well - not yet. But I'm going to buy a hula-hoop tomorrow.
Today, however, was one of the most fulfilling days that I have had in a very long time. Not only did I have a very deep conversation with M, the most deeply spiritual woman I know about sacred spaces and where to find God, but I returned to my childhood with the most precious children I know and we taught each other how to skip.
Okay, so we all knew how to skip, but there were of the course the little tricks and turns like criss-cross, jump ins (we got to 3!) and of course everyone's favourite, the old single rope jumping.
It was someones brilliant idea to get two ropes going and attempt some double dutch. Now I knew that this wasn't my area of expertise, so I volunteered to turn the ropes. And to be perfectly honest, no one started off too well.
Yeah, we were all that bad that we retreated inside and watched the movie that inspired us to skip in the first place, 'Jump In'. Actually, E. loved it that much she had a need to watch it 5 times since hiring it out the previous day.
Anyway, I resisted my severe need for down time (since being woken by E. at God knows what hour after going to bed only a few hours before) as the rest of the family went out, and A. and I attempted double dutch again.
We thought we were rather clever by tying an end of each rope to the end of the trampoline and taking it in turns jumping in. Our aim was to get at least 2 jumps each under our belt before the rest of the family returned home. So after many failed attempts we recorded one on my mobile and sent it off to my professional skipper cousin. Hastily replying, she gave us a few tips to work on.
The others returned home and did we practice, practice and practice! Soon everyone was having a go - even M. - and after little time at all, little E. got the hang of it and busted out with 34 jumps. Wow - talk about setting the bar high! This just made the rest of us want it even more!
G. got flustered after a while - said he didn't like things that he wasn't good at, but eventually he got 2 jumps in, as did A, S and M.
So I gave it another go and "By Jove! She's done it!"
37 jumps.
The record of the day.
And the feeling that I got is hard to describe. You couldn't say defeating your demons (that would suggest that skipping is something to be feared) or that it is achieving that 'sacred space' (because I know there is nothing more almighty than God himself) - but more like finding that bracelet you lost when you were 7, or coming across your old Barbies and desperately wanting to play with just to feel 10 years old again.
I felt like a child and it didn't frighten me. I have been so consumed with this idea that I haven't grown up and I never will, because my heart and mind are continuing that ongoing battle that began over 6 years ago. I figured that because I still felt the same, I still was.
Well, that battle has not ended - it may take something more powerful than skipping. But I have achieved that feeling of fulfillment and completeness. I have filled that jigsaw piece that I'd never thought I'd find into the puzzle that I never thought I'd finish.
Well - not yet. But I'm going to buy a hula-hoop tomorrow.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Don't stress the small stuff
It is only recently that I have realised how many things that we stress about in this world don't even matter. People are constantly worried about how they look, what materialistic aspects of life they are missing out on and how many eco bags are not being sold. It frustrates me to think that these are the only important things in some people's lives.
Everyday terrible things are happening to people, but most of the time no one bothers to stop and notice because of all of this other junk that is clouding our universe. People are sick, missing exams, supporting families, losing sight of who they are, grieving and dying; only last week a girl at Kingscliff High School gassed herself - The 3rd sibling of 4 to die before the age of 20.
This is the stuff that really matters. Her friends are trying not to feel guilty and to deal with her death without failing the HSC or wanting to join her.
This is what really counts.
I just wish people would see that.
Everyday terrible things are happening to people, but most of the time no one bothers to stop and notice because of all of this other junk that is clouding our universe. People are sick, missing exams, supporting families, losing sight of who they are, grieving and dying; only last week a girl at Kingscliff High School gassed herself - The 3rd sibling of 4 to die before the age of 20.
This is the stuff that really matters. Her friends are trying not to feel guilty and to deal with her death without failing the HSC or wanting to join her.
This is what really counts.
I just wish people would see that.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Good Morning All
Yes it's already Friday morning and what a delightful day it will be...
I have two essays due today and I've had probably about two months to do them but sadly they are still sitting in my head waiting to be written.
Okay so they have to be in by 12 noon but do you think that I have the motivation to write about stuff no-one really cares about anyway? Cellular mechanisms of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, and The Effects of Lavender Baths on Psychological Well Being. Ew.
So neither of them are finished yet and I'm still sitting here blogging about it to the world?
The art of procrastination my friend.
x
I have two essays due today and I've had probably about two months to do them but sadly they are still sitting in my head waiting to be written.
Okay so they have to be in by 12 noon but do you think that I have the motivation to write about stuff no-one really cares about anyway? Cellular mechanisms of Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, and The Effects of Lavender Baths on Psychological Well Being. Ew.
So neither of them are finished yet and I'm still sitting here blogging about it to the world?
The art of procrastination my friend.
x
Monday, October 23, 2006
Thoughts
Reading the journals of Sylvia Plath is like listening to my own thoughts - except she says what I can't find the words for...
With me, the present is forever, and forever is always shifting, flowing, melting. This second is life. And when it is gone it is dead. But you can't start over with each new second. You have to judge by what is dead. It's like quicksand... hopeless from the start. A story, a picture, can renew sensation a little, but not enough, not enough. Nothing is real except the present, and already, I feel the weight of centuries smothering me. Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don't want to die.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Placebo laughter. Real drug
In one of my classes at Uni the other day, we started to learn about administering drugs to patients and dosages etc. After the initial classroom work we were sent into the labs to take turns at the drug trolleys. All of the drug containers were filled with placebos of course, but the point was to prepare the drug and calculate the dosage.
The girl who I was paired with seemed to be having fun with the exercise and rummaged through the trolley looking for the most original drug she could to give me.
"Here you go love," she said smirking and shoving a medicine cup in my face containing 2 small green capsules.
Our tutor came over then willing to be included in the joke.
"What did you give her?"
"Prozac!" She laughed.
Our tutor laughed.
The class laughed.
My facade laughed too - but inside I was lethally cut.
It seemed that everyone in that classroom found the drug a joke - why? Is it the taboos of what it is associated to? What taking it means?
As everyone in that classroom laughed, all I could think about were the tears that I had shed taking the real deal only the year before. I felt that my pain was being sold out over those sherbet filled capsules.
Perhaps I was over-reacting a touch - but just thinking of that drug hurt as much as taking it did; even without the guffaws from the lab.
Why? That I do not know...
Because I'd taken the drug before?
Or because sometimes I think I still should?
Because it's prescribed, but never un-prescribed?
Or maybe, just maybe, it's because it still haunts me...
The girl who I was paired with seemed to be having fun with the exercise and rummaged through the trolley looking for the most original drug she could to give me.
"Here you go love," she said smirking and shoving a medicine cup in my face containing 2 small green capsules.
Our tutor came over then willing to be included in the joke.
"What did you give her?"
"Prozac!" She laughed.
Our tutor laughed.
The class laughed.
My facade laughed too - but inside I was lethally cut.
It seemed that everyone in that classroom found the drug a joke - why? Is it the taboos of what it is associated to? What taking it means?
As everyone in that classroom laughed, all I could think about were the tears that I had shed taking the real deal only the year before. I felt that my pain was being sold out over those sherbet filled capsules.
Perhaps I was over-reacting a touch - but just thinking of that drug hurt as much as taking it did; even without the guffaws from the lab.
Why? That I do not know...
Because I'd taken the drug before?
Or because sometimes I think I still should?
Because it's prescribed, but never un-prescribed?
Or maybe, just maybe, it's because it still haunts me...
Saturday, August 05, 2006
I've got your back!
At work we sell these coloured wrist bands with the proceeds from each sale going to Juvenile Diabetes research. I hate them; probably because I hate all charity bands and see many of them as an exploitation of the definition of 'charity'. Anyway, in today's five hour shift the law was laid down that I had to sell at least ten of these things.
Great.
I asked every customer; most declined politely, some made up excuses such as 'I have heaps at home', and there were twelve people that actually caved in and bought them just to shut me up.
There were two customers however, who had the most original yet offensive excuses one could possibly provide:
Me: Would you like to support Juvenile Diabetes and purchase a wrist band for just $2.95?
Customer: No - If the fat kids ran around more then they wouldn't get diabetes and you wouldn't have to raise money.
Me: It's actually Type 1 Diabetes - You don't get it from being fat. You get it from really bad luck in your gene pool.
Me: Would you like to support Juvenile Diabetes and purchase a wrist band for just $2.95?
Customer: No I only donate to Cancer ones - Because I actually have a chance of getting that.
Me: That's a rather cynical way of living life.
Customer: Oh crap - I hope I didn't jinx myself. Touch wood, touch wood!!
I had never thought of that analogy before - just because it can't happen to us personally; does that mean we shouldn't care?
Hmmm
Well, obviously being stupidly misinformed and an asshole gives you license not to.
Great.
I asked every customer; most declined politely, some made up excuses such as 'I have heaps at home', and there were twelve people that actually caved in and bought them just to shut me up.
There were two customers however, who had the most original yet offensive excuses one could possibly provide:
Me: Would you like to support Juvenile Diabetes and purchase a wrist band for just $2.95?
Customer: No - If the fat kids ran around more then they wouldn't get diabetes and you wouldn't have to raise money.
Me: It's actually Type 1 Diabetes - You don't get it from being fat. You get it from really bad luck in your gene pool.
Me: Would you like to support Juvenile Diabetes and purchase a wrist band for just $2.95?
Customer: No I only donate to Cancer ones - Because I actually have a chance of getting that.
Me: That's a rather cynical way of living life.
Customer: Oh crap - I hope I didn't jinx myself. Touch wood, touch wood!!
I had never thought of that analogy before - just because it can't happen to us personally; does that mean we shouldn't care?
Hmmm
Well, obviously being stupidly misinformed and an asshole gives you license not to.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Cold as Ice
Everyone constantly complains about not being pretty enough, how everyone is hotter than themselves and even to the extreme of 'I hate how cute you are!' But it wasn't until last week that I realised how under-rated unattractiveness is.
At work this sleazy old man came in and required assistance in looking for a jumper. After trying to not only crack onto, but also 'feel' two of the three girls who were working that day, he finally selected an item and approached the third girl to pay for it (yeah - that one's me.)
I was prepared for some polite but disgusted smiling at cheap comments... But they didn't come. Not an inkling - I can't say I was disappointed; but my ego certainly was. As I said, lacking in hotness can come in handy - but it still hurts like hell.
Is that my reasons for lacking in a significant other?
Waiting at the bus stop the other day, I was approached by a Down Syndrome girl who was worried she had missed her bus. She was going in the same direction as me so after I reassured her that it had not yet arrived, she decided I was her new friend and began to tell me her life story.
Sentence number two told me that she had a boyfriend. She then asked if I had one. I told her no and her reply was one with a look of sympathy: "I'm sorry..."
WTF - What just happened?? Cut by retarded kid?! Oh dear.
Oh but don't worry; it was made up for the following day as I walked down George Street and a homeless man asked me if he could "...make you pregnant tomorrow?"
HELP
But then again, I ended up a lot better off than the lady in front of me whom he remarked to: "Your mother must have been ugly!"
Catch twenty-two I suppose - hot or not?
At work this sleazy old man came in and required assistance in looking for a jumper. After trying to not only crack onto, but also 'feel' two of the three girls who were working that day, he finally selected an item and approached the third girl to pay for it (yeah - that one's me.)
I was prepared for some polite but disgusted smiling at cheap comments... But they didn't come. Not an inkling - I can't say I was disappointed; but my ego certainly was. As I said, lacking in hotness can come in handy - but it still hurts like hell.
Is that my reasons for lacking in a significant other?
Waiting at the bus stop the other day, I was approached by a Down Syndrome girl who was worried she had missed her bus. She was going in the same direction as me so after I reassured her that it had not yet arrived, she decided I was her new friend and began to tell me her life story.
Sentence number two told me that she had a boyfriend. She then asked if I had one. I told her no and her reply was one with a look of sympathy: "I'm sorry..."
WTF - What just happened?? Cut by retarded kid?! Oh dear.
Oh but don't worry; it was made up for the following day as I walked down George Street and a homeless man asked me if he could "...make you pregnant tomorrow?"
HELP
But then again, I ended up a lot better off than the lady in front of me whom he remarked to: "Your mother must have been ugly!"
Catch twenty-two I suppose - hot or not?
Monday, May 29, 2006
Preserving Life
Today I had the opportunity to be present in a Cadaver Lab. I did not particularly wish to participate but I decided to be open minded and look at it as a once in a lifetime opportunity.
I didn't eat before going in (although I'd been told to in order to up my blood pressure) and I was extremely jittery. Everyone else looked a little nervous so thinking that we were all in the same boat, I calmed down. Actually, I signed in, agreed to the rules, scrubbed up and was ready to go, but as soon as I heard a distant zipper being opened on one of the body bags, I lost it.
I felt all of the blood rush from my head, I felt cold and shaky and suddenly a white haze clouded my vision. My lecturer Dr __ had said to let someone know if we felt uncomfortable, but I could not move with the fear of falling over - let alone asking for help. Thankfully, the feeling passed and I distracted myself from the open bodies about the room with my lecturer and a human brain.
Eventually we moved onto a cadaver, and as it is a great interest of her, Dr __ got a little carried away in her teaching and progressed from demonstrating muscles to sharing experiences of past students and human specimens. She got talking about the facilities at a university in Brisbane and described a natural model of a woman's uterus encasing a 6 week old foetus. All of us being girls (well, women + me) were all a little shocked by the issue but she continued to tell us about one woman's encounter in particular.
Walking a group of students through the labs, the students passed a cabinet containing preserved body parts and in particular this model of the unborn foetus. Dr __ said:
Her voice changed in pitch, her cheeks brightened and Dr __ began to cry.
I must admit, I was taken a-back; she was a Dr of Anatomy. Made of steel, works with the dead and knows no-one's names - she confirmed that deep down, she is just like me.
I shook for the rest of the afternoon and could feel a nervous pulse running through me; I was unable to eat or even think coherently - I forgot to go back to Uni I was so frazzled. So I sat by the beach and watched as people passed by.
I saw an elderly couple hand-in-hand, a mother and son, husband and wife with their new born baby... and as I watched these people pass - them not even realising my presence - I thought about the days experiences and paused on Dr __'s story. I had always believed that she was bullet-proof, but even she, like the best of us, gave way to emotion.
I tried to imagine myself as that woman. What would I think? What would I feel? And I shockingly realised that if it were me; I would not have survived.
Ultimately a child is a part of you; like a hand or a foot or a piece of your heart and soul... and to have that ripped away, trampled and stolen forever? To live everyday knowing that you are not a whole and inside a wound continues to bleed.
I had always thought of lonely as having only your own company - but what happens when not even you can provide that?
Who would have ever thought that a simple thing like a soul's empty house could cause so much emotion?
I didn't eat before going in (although I'd been told to in order to up my blood pressure) and I was extremely jittery. Everyone else looked a little nervous so thinking that we were all in the same boat, I calmed down. Actually, I signed in, agreed to the rules, scrubbed up and was ready to go, but as soon as I heard a distant zipper being opened on one of the body bags, I lost it.
I felt all of the blood rush from my head, I felt cold and shaky and suddenly a white haze clouded my vision. My lecturer Dr __ had said to let someone know if we felt uncomfortable, but I could not move with the fear of falling over - let alone asking for help. Thankfully, the feeling passed and I distracted myself from the open bodies about the room with my lecturer and a human brain.
Eventually we moved onto a cadaver, and as it is a great interest of her, Dr __ got a little carried away in her teaching and progressed from demonstrating muscles to sharing experiences of past students and human specimens. She got talking about the facilities at a university in Brisbane and described a natural model of a woman's uterus encasing a 6 week old foetus. All of us being girls (well, women + me) were all a little shocked by the issue but she continued to tell us about one woman's encounter in particular.
Walking a group of students through the labs, the students passed a cabinet containing preserved body parts and in particular this model of the unborn foetus. Dr __ said:
One lady looked around and obviously didn't expect it; the instant she saw this model I just saw her face dissolve and she crumbled. Luckily I caught her before she felt full impact with the floor but her face had trauma written all over it. I let the other lab attendants carry on with the rest of the group and I coaxed her outside for some fresh air.
I told her that it was okay to feel uncomfortable but it was obvious that there was an issue surrounding her reaction and that it was something that needed to be addressed in order to help herself.
This woman then told me that she had in fact lost a child.
Now, I'm no counsellor, but this is something that no-one can deal with on your own. So together we took steps to get some grievance counselling and we found out her child's exact location in the hospital's plot.
This is a drastic example of how these simple things can stir up so much angst inside - If you could have seen her face dissolve! To lose a child is something that you would never wish upon anyone and this poor woman was suffering in silence - and to be confronted with that!
Her voice changed in pitch, her cheeks brightened and Dr __ began to cry.
I must admit, I was taken a-back; she was a Dr of Anatomy. Made of steel, works with the dead and knows no-one's names - she confirmed that deep down, she is just like me.
I shook for the rest of the afternoon and could feel a nervous pulse running through me; I was unable to eat or even think coherently - I forgot to go back to Uni I was so frazzled. So I sat by the beach and watched as people passed by.
I saw an elderly couple hand-in-hand, a mother and son, husband and wife with their new born baby... and as I watched these people pass - them not even realising my presence - I thought about the days experiences and paused on Dr __'s story. I had always believed that she was bullet-proof, but even she, like the best of us, gave way to emotion.
I tried to imagine myself as that woman. What would I think? What would I feel? And I shockingly realised that if it were me; I would not have survived.
Ultimately a child is a part of you; like a hand or a foot or a piece of your heart and soul... and to have that ripped away, trampled and stolen forever? To live everyday knowing that you are not a whole and inside a wound continues to bleed.
I had always thought of lonely as having only your own company - but what happens when not even you can provide that?
Who would have ever thought that a simple thing like a soul's empty house could cause so much emotion?
Thursday, May 11, 2006
...or not?
My second cousin once-removed (who for the sake of confusion I call my aunt) and I are like e-mail buddies. I share what's happening in my life, she fills me in on hers, and from time to time we send on appropriate forwards to each other.
This is the most recent one that she sent me:
This is the most recent one that she sent me:
When I was little, I used to believe in the concept of one best friend,
and then I started to become a woman.
And then I found out that if you allow your heart to open up, God would show you the best in many friends.
One friend is needed when you're going through things with your man.
Another friend is needed when you're going through things with your mum.
Another when you want to shop, share, heal, hurt, joke, or just be.
One friend will say,
"Let's cry together," another,
"Let's fight together," another,
"Let's walk away together."
One friend will meet your spiritual need,
another your shoe fetish,
another your love for movies,
another will be with you in your season of confusion,
another will be your clarifier,
another the wind beneath your wings.
But whatever their assignment in your life,
on whatever the occasion,
on whatever the day,
or wherever you need them to meet you with their gym shoes on and hair pulled back,
or to hold you back from making a complete fool of yourself
... those are your best friends.
It may all be wrapped up in one woman, but for many, it's wrapped up in
several...
one from 7th grade,
one from high school,
several from the college years,
a couple from old jobs,
on some days your mother,
on some days your neighbour,
on others, your sisters,
and on some days, your daughters.
Well, I pondered this proposal and agreed with most of it - the progression of friendships and realisations and the need for different friends for different events. But what if it's all fading - slipping away for no fault of your own?
My friends and I don't have that sort of relationship. Their weekends consist of getting drunk and being hungover. As I have mentioned in a previous post, I hate Twin Towns and that is their, let me quote; "Second Home".
So when I attempt to organise a 'girly' weekend with dinner and a movie, I get stood up or cancelled on at the last minute for alcohol, roulette and sleazy random hook-ups.
I've thought about this so much that my head hurts from the electrical currents - Maybe it's actually me with the problem? I am the minority after all - and I'm 18. Why shouldn't I be getting pissed off my head and doing things that I'm bound to regret?
I think I just answered my own question.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Call of the week - for sure!
I was sitting in an Anatomy and Physiology lecture yesterday feeling very tiresome and un-motivated when I was shocked into concentrating when my lecturer started talking about Peritoneal muscles and the Tena Pad adverts on TV (yes - in the same sentence?).
I was starting to think that she was very passionate about this topic after 5 minutes of her ramblings, and this was confirmed with her admitting it out loud (She is very blunt to say the least).
After another 10 or so minutes as she discussed contractions, exercising and the purpose of these muscles (as well as what happens when a uterus turns inside out - ?!?) she apologised to the few boys in our lecture because, lets face it; she didn't leave a lot about to the imagination.
This guy, Josh, who's a complete hero in my Lab class, and for the sake of this story is openly gay, said:
That's ok. I'm anti-fanny anyway.
Needless to say - I laughed.
I was starting to think that she was very passionate about this topic after 5 minutes of her ramblings, and this was confirmed with her admitting it out loud (She is very blunt to say the least).
After another 10 or so minutes as she discussed contractions, exercising and the purpose of these muscles (as well as what happens when a uterus turns inside out - ?!?) she apologised to the few boys in our lecture because, lets face it; she didn't leave a lot about to the imagination.
This guy, Josh, who's a complete hero in my Lab class, and for the sake of this story is openly gay, said:
That's ok. I'm anti-fanny anyway.
Needless to say - I laughed.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Things that go bump in the night
Without being sexist or stereotypical, I believe it is fair to say that as a general rule: Women cannot read road-maps. From this, I may even go as far as saying that they cannot navigate all-together...
Well, maybe that's just me.
Apart from my childhood cats, I have never met anyone who had the ability to see in the dark. Despite the bucket loads of carrots I ate in the hope of un-locking this super power, it never did eventuate. I could however, navigate myself around my own house quite comfortably without running into door frames or poking my eye out with antiques - as I imagine most people could probably do themselves in the comfort of their own home.
More recently though, I have found this seemingly concrete ability is fading. No I have not relocated my furniture, moved house or smoked illegal substances - I just cannot for the life of me move around quietly without breaking anything. I shuffle about, arms flailing, eventually stumbling to my destination with loud clunks that echo throughout the silent house.
Why? I'm asking you - Am I slowly losing my mind as I am my taste buds?* Or is it normal to lose consciousness of your surroundings (even though they've remained unchanged for 18 years?)
*Update on the taste bud situation: I can no longer tell the difference between chocolate and caramel Paddle Pops.
Well, maybe that's just me.
Apart from my childhood cats, I have never met anyone who had the ability to see in the dark. Despite the bucket loads of carrots I ate in the hope of un-locking this super power, it never did eventuate. I could however, navigate myself around my own house quite comfortably without running into door frames or poking my eye out with antiques - as I imagine most people could probably do themselves in the comfort of their own home.
More recently though, I have found this seemingly concrete ability is fading. No I have not relocated my furniture, moved house or smoked illegal substances - I just cannot for the life of me move around quietly without breaking anything. I shuffle about, arms flailing, eventually stumbling to my destination with loud clunks that echo throughout the silent house.
Why? I'm asking you - Am I slowly losing my mind as I am my taste buds?* Or is it normal to lose consciousness of your surroundings (even though they've remained unchanged for 18 years?)
*Update on the taste bud situation: I can no longer tell the difference between chocolate and caramel Paddle Pops.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
And you're targeting me because...?
- For dinner last night, my brother ate 12 Dim Sims and half a bowl of salad.
- Dad is complaining that he cannot fit into his old racing leathers.
- My mum is frequently asked if she is 'expecting'.
And apparently I'm the one who needs to lose weight?
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Losing life in a motionless queue
Next time someone asks me why I don't go out - I swear I'm going to give them a slap in the face and tell them 'Because of you!'
No, I do not drink, gamble or be seen dead in bars; yet I found myself at Conrad Jupiter's for a friend's 18th birthday.
First, I had difficulty selecting a present... What do you give someone for their 18th? I thought back to my birthday and found that was no help - my birthday went un-noticed by most of my friends and I heard a Happy Birthday all of twice.
I decided on a bottle of Midori as I'd heard her once say that she liked it. I spent my whole month's allowance (as I'm living on what I had saved before I realised I had no work) and bought her a huge bottle in a collectors tin that flashes different coloured lights - I did not think that was a shabby present at all!
Oh, but when I gave it to her, you would've thought she could have looked a little more excited... A fake smile and an obviously fake thank you - I wanted to snatch it back and make her beg for it.
When her family arrived we sat in the Atrium Bar (basically the old people's bar of the casino). I watched as Fish ripped at the paper wrapping her family's presents as if she were in fact a dog digging a hole - and when she got through it she threw it on the floor; reminding me exactly of the little girl in the movie Babe who burst into tears when she didn't get what she wanted. Only, Fish didn't cry; she made high pitched squealing noises that I assume were out of excitement. You're 18 - act it!
Progressing to dinner in an entourage of an already tipsy Fish and her weird family members, I sat down one end of the table and communicated with nothing but my baked pumpkin - I was still nursing the offense I felt whilst giving the present.
Throughout dessert, one of Fish's friends - too insignificant to me to name - continued to complain that we should hurry up and get to the PA Bar, before the line got too long. Apparently, it was Uni Night and the bar was very popular.
When we arrived at the Bar's entrance I was astounded at the length of the line - it was at least 20 metres long and 4 people wide. It was 9.15pm, the bar was full and the only way to get in, was for people to leave.
I rolled my eyes. Great. I love going out so really I don't mind standing in a queue to get into a pathetic bar, waiting for people to get drunk enough to pass out. I waited in the line with my face as emotionless as possible.
But Fish had other ideas; she and her two 'favourite' friends began to flirt with the Bouncer - as I waited in line - and begged in high pitched and slurring voices, if he would let us in on account of her birthday.
10 minutes later, the trio had disappeared. I asked the security guard if he'd let my friends in.
He said yes.
I asked if he'd let me in.
He said no.
I told him that I was with them.
He told me that he could only let 3 in. He said he also told them, and they said that was ok; that I was willing to wait.
I left the line after an hour - after wasting an hour of my life on someone other than me.
Driving home in angry tears I vowed that I would no longer do things because it's the right thing to do; instead because it's what I want to do ~
No, I do not drink, gamble or be seen dead in bars; yet I found myself at Conrad Jupiter's for a friend's 18th birthday.
First, I had difficulty selecting a present... What do you give someone for their 18th? I thought back to my birthday and found that was no help - my birthday went un-noticed by most of my friends and I heard a Happy Birthday all of twice.
I decided on a bottle of Midori as I'd heard her once say that she liked it. I spent my whole month's allowance (as I'm living on what I had saved before I realised I had no work) and bought her a huge bottle in a collectors tin that flashes different coloured lights - I did not think that was a shabby present at all!
Oh, but when I gave it to her, you would've thought she could have looked a little more excited... A fake smile and an obviously fake thank you - I wanted to snatch it back and make her beg for it.
When her family arrived we sat in the Atrium Bar (basically the old people's bar of the casino). I watched as Fish ripped at the paper wrapping her family's presents as if she were in fact a dog digging a hole - and when she got through it she threw it on the floor; reminding me exactly of the little girl in the movie Babe who burst into tears when she didn't get what she wanted. Only, Fish didn't cry; she made high pitched squealing noises that I assume were out of excitement. You're 18 - act it!
Progressing to dinner in an entourage of an already tipsy Fish and her weird family members, I sat down one end of the table and communicated with nothing but my baked pumpkin - I was still nursing the offense I felt whilst giving the present.
Throughout dessert, one of Fish's friends - too insignificant to me to name - continued to complain that we should hurry up and get to the PA Bar, before the line got too long. Apparently, it was Uni Night and the bar was very popular.
When we arrived at the Bar's entrance I was astounded at the length of the line - it was at least 20 metres long and 4 people wide. It was 9.15pm, the bar was full and the only way to get in, was for people to leave.
I rolled my eyes. Great. I love going out so really I don't mind standing in a queue to get into a pathetic bar, waiting for people to get drunk enough to pass out. I waited in the line with my face as emotionless as possible.
But Fish had other ideas; she and her two 'favourite' friends began to flirt with the Bouncer - as I waited in line - and begged in high pitched and slurring voices, if he would let us in on account of her birthday.
10 minutes later, the trio had disappeared. I asked the security guard if he'd let my friends in.
He said yes.
I asked if he'd let me in.
He said no.
I told him that I was with them.
He told me that he could only let 3 in. He said he also told them, and they said that was ok; that I was willing to wait.
I left the line after an hour - after wasting an hour of my life on someone other than me.
Driving home in angry tears I vowed that I would no longer do things because it's the right thing to do; instead because it's what I want to do ~
Why not? Everyone else does.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Calendar Years
I was flicking through my day diary this morning and admiring all of the blank spaces during my holiday period, then stumbled across the due dates for a number of University assignments.
I dreaded the thought, but then convinced myself that soon it will be mid-year break... and then with perseverance it would soon be Christmas.
I find solace in turning the page in my diary or flicking to a new month on my wall calendar. Then I thought, but why? Because it's taking me further from the start, and closer to the end. At primary school we counted down the days until holidays and cheered with the final school bell; but as I grew older and became terminal with this disease, my comfort lay in the security of my school. I dreaded weekends and holidays, adored Mondays and was always the first car in the student car park without fail.
So that's where my counting came from - but what for?
I'm now counting down, not in anticipation, but for something to do.
It gets lonely when your friends are alcoholics and will deceive you just for something to do...
I dreaded the thought, but then convinced myself that soon it will be mid-year break... and then with perseverance it would soon be Christmas.
I find solace in turning the page in my diary or flicking to a new month on my wall calendar. Then I thought, but why? Because it's taking me further from the start, and closer to the end. At primary school we counted down the days until holidays and cheered with the final school bell; but as I grew older and became terminal with this disease, my comfort lay in the security of my school. I dreaded weekends and holidays, adored Mondays and was always the first car in the student car park without fail.
So that's where my counting came from - but what for?
I'm now counting down, not in anticipation, but for something to do.
It gets lonely when your friends are alcoholics and will deceive you just for something to do...
Monday, April 17, 2006
Goodbye MySpace - and good riddence!
Yes, there is now a real reason that I have left MySpace blogging for dead.
After posting my farewell blog I received a comment from Miss Priss saying that the reason no-one comments on my blogs is because I offend them all in the process.
Apparently I put so much of my heart into creating a post that I over-step the mark and shy readers away from commenting, as they fear I am writing about them.
This is just so stupid. It is my blog, my opinion and my right! If you get offended my what I have to say, don't read it. It's not my fault that you find truth in what I say.
I think what angers me the most is that it's ok for these people to get drunk, contract STD's and call me at all hours of the morning telling me how pissed they are, but I cannot have an opinion. God knows that they all have one about me.
It was only last week that Miss Priss told me that I was 'Miss Perfect'. I don't know about you, but with the condescending tone I received it in, I felt inferior and humiliated.
I don't drink because I respect my brain cells too much - I'll remind you of that in 10 years time.
Yes, I am sorry for my repetitive venting, but this is what I use my blogs for.
Word of advice - if you don't like it, then don't come crying to me because you won't get any sympathy!
[♥]
After posting my farewell blog I received a comment from Miss Priss saying that the reason no-one comments on my blogs is because I offend them all in the process.
Apparently I put so much of my heart into creating a post that I over-step the mark and shy readers away from commenting, as they fear I am writing about them.
This is just so stupid. It is my blog, my opinion and my right! If you get offended my what I have to say, don't read it. It's not my fault that you find truth in what I say.
I think what angers me the most is that it's ok for these people to get drunk, contract STD's and call me at all hours of the morning telling me how pissed they are, but I cannot have an opinion. God knows that they all have one about me.
It was only last week that Miss Priss told me that I was 'Miss Perfect'. I don't know about you, but with the condescending tone I received it in, I felt inferior and humiliated.
I don't drink because I respect my brain cells too much - I'll remind you of that in 10 years time.
Yes, I am sorry for my repetitive venting, but this is what I use my blogs for.
Word of advice - if you don't like it, then don't come crying to me because you won't get any sympathy!
[♥]
Friday, April 14, 2006
Moving House
Yes; I am a new-comer, having migrated from the pits of the MySpace blogs.
I have re-posted my blogs to give you a taste for what makes me tick, and will be re-visiting my blogs frequently in the future...
Sorry, nothing to report today. All of my brain power has been used on trying to get this to work!
x
I have re-posted my blogs to give you a taste for what makes me tick, and will be re-visiting my blogs frequently in the future...
Sorry, nothing to report today. All of my brain power has been used on trying to get this to work!
x
Walking in Anna's Shoes
Just now, in one of my frequent visits to my cousin's blog, I read about this Anna character. Now, Anna intrigued me so much, that I paid her blog a visit. After reading her most recent post, I was a little confused about where this lay in her whole scheme of things. As I am a hermit and have retired to my room for the evening, I scrolled to the very bottom and began reading up.
Anna drew me in as I read her very first blog: lines of Plath emerged and other poets not yet known to me... I read on... And am I ever so glad that I did.
Anna reveals the deepest of things that no one would ever dare admit. She speaks of broken hearts, formal dresses and tears (and things I do not expect many of you to understand), without ever cliche-ing a thing... Because this is the diary of a girl, fighting herself to find her place and no human being could ever call that a stereotype.
Anna joins me in the army of the confused. The difference? Her network of blogs has in-undated her with comments of praise, encouragement and honesty. Her frequent readers give her advice, dry her tears and force her to write again. Her blog is her soft place to fall; it is home.
Anna need not wonder who is reading, because they give her their two cents, no matter how direct or blunt... She has a family across the globe, and now, I have become a distant cousin.
Ultimately, what my experience in Anna's shoes has forced me to discover, is that my futile attempts at MySpace blogs is not only wasting my time, but degrading myself to consider sharing my inner most thoughts with people who won't even admit to reading them.
Anna drew me in as I read her very first blog: lines of Plath emerged and other poets not yet known to me... I read on... And am I ever so glad that I did.
Anna reveals the deepest of things that no one would ever dare admit. She speaks of broken hearts, formal dresses and tears (and things I do not expect many of you to understand), without ever cliche-ing a thing... Because this is the diary of a girl, fighting herself to find her place and no human being could ever call that a stereotype.
Anna joins me in the army of the confused. The difference? Her network of blogs has in-undated her with comments of praise, encouragement and honesty. Her frequent readers give her advice, dry her tears and force her to write again. Her blog is her soft place to fall; it is home.
Anna need not wonder who is reading, because they give her their two cents, no matter how direct or blunt... She has a family across the globe, and now, I have become a distant cousin.
Ultimately, what my experience in Anna's shoes has forced me to discover, is that my futile attempts at MySpace blogs is not only wasting my time, but degrading myself to consider sharing my inner most thoughts with people who won't even admit to reading them.
I'm sorry MySpace... I believe this will be my last blog -
a new family awaits.
♥
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Sylvia - share in one today!
In all the times I'd read, loved and appreciated Sylvia Plath, the time I spent learning, and reciting to the world, I could relate to all but one description. I knew the feeling of seeking solace in words, in hiding and in madness. I felt the eyeing of my scars, the suspended bell jar hovering above my head and the constant fear of its sudden decent: sending me back to
Around and around these lines swirled - blinding to all but me. Ah - but I am not alone... the ghost of Sylvia is with me.
And the lines that I could read but could not feel?
Sure, like everyone else I'd been at a loss for words, or forced the en-caging of my tongue, to prevent myself from telling some irritating person off. But have you ever felt as if your mouth is full of wire? Each word you stumble is like a pathetic cough, and each attempt slices your throat? Your chest begins to burn and each heart beat pumps pain?
Yes, I can finally relate... as that life slipped away.
I went to bring some comfort, but as I look back, it was to say my goodbyes. I had intended on breathing strength into her spirit and to tell her she was loved. But the barbed wire demons took my chance and permitted me to only choke, sob and eventually utter only the prayers of the rosary.
Then there was the passing.
I lost my voice and felt as if I were in a communist society. My thoughts remained simply thoughts.
This is yet another element of madness I share with my precious Sylvia, these actions and reactions, for she is living through me...
Yes my dearest, I am your creation. Share with me, what I share with her - the latest and greatest toy!
Sylvia Plath
Ash, ash --
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there --
Around and around these lines swirled - blinding to all but me. Ah - but I am not alone... the ghost of Sylvia is with me.
And the lines that I could read but could not feel?
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich.
I could hardly speak.
Sure, like everyone else I'd been at a loss for words, or forced the en-caging of my tongue, to prevent myself from telling some irritating person off. But have you ever felt as if your mouth is full of wire? Each word you stumble is like a pathetic cough, and each attempt slices your throat? Your chest begins to burn and each heart beat pumps pain?
Yes, I can finally relate... as that life slipped away.
I went to bring some comfort, but as I look back, it was to say my goodbyes. I had intended on breathing strength into her spirit and to tell her she was loved. But the barbed wire demons took my chance and permitted me to only choke, sob and eventually utter only the prayers of the rosary.
Then there was the passing.
I lost my voice and felt as if I were in a communist society. My thoughts remained simply thoughts.
This is yet another element of madness I share with my precious Sylvia, these actions and reactions, for she is living through me...
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can
talk, talk, talk.
Yes my dearest, I am your creation. Share with me, what I share with her - the latest and greatest toy!
It's water-proof, shatterproof, proof
against fire and bombs through the
roof.
Sylvia Plath
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I am not a child who has a toy for a mind
When I was a little girl, I had a pack of textas that smelt like different fruits. The pink was strawberry and the brown, coconut. These markers were my pride and joy and made my constant colouring much more rewarding as my experiences were full of such amazing fragrances.
As I used no other markers, naturally the ink in my pens began to run out. I decided that by licking the end of my favourite (strawberry) I would extend the life of the ink. When this action failed, that was when I realised that these pens may, in fact, be toxic.
I had asked my mother, "What happens if you lick a texta?"
She looked at me with an almost excited and amused face, "You die! You'll wake up tomorrow dead."
Well, as any regular six year old, the concept of death scared me and I tried to resist sleep as I feared the other side.
When I did wake up the following morning, I believed that it was a miracle.
And now I see, that in the exact same way that my mother played with my mind as a six year old, an association of mine is manipulating me at eighteen. I have been fed information that I can do nothing else but believe because of the trust that my heart has instilled.
When I woke up to the lie I had been fed at six, I felt hurt that my own mother had convinced me of my death. Now I feel no different as I have come to the realisation of my real relationship I share with someone I would give up my world for.
Maybe I should have learnt last time... After the incident with the markers, I would always scrutinise the information my mother fed me, and instead I would ask my father. Perhaps it is natural progression - I have stepped outside the boundaries of this relationship and woken up to reality...
I have been the victim of mind games: I would like to hereby prohibit any person or persons from using the mind of Kitty for recreational use from this date forward.
Because I have to live with your broken toy.
As I used no other markers, naturally the ink in my pens began to run out. I decided that by licking the end of my favourite (strawberry) I would extend the life of the ink. When this action failed, that was when I realised that these pens may, in fact, be toxic.
I had asked my mother, "What happens if you lick a texta?"
She looked at me with an almost excited and amused face, "You die! You'll wake up tomorrow dead."
Well, as any regular six year old, the concept of death scared me and I tried to resist sleep as I feared the other side.
When I did wake up the following morning, I believed that it was a miracle.
And now I see, that in the exact same way that my mother played with my mind as a six year old, an association of mine is manipulating me at eighteen. I have been fed information that I can do nothing else but believe because of the trust that my heart has instilled.
When I woke up to the lie I had been fed at six, I felt hurt that my own mother had convinced me of my death. Now I feel no different as I have come to the realisation of my real relationship I share with someone I would give up my world for.
Maybe I should have learnt last time... After the incident with the markers, I would always scrutinise the information my mother fed me, and instead I would ask my father. Perhaps it is natural progression - I have stepped outside the boundaries of this relationship and woken up to reality...
I have been the victim of mind games: I would like to hereby prohibit any person or persons from using the mind of Kitty for recreational use from this date forward.
Because I have to live with your broken toy.
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