Power's out

Last night the neighbourhood I live in experienced a power outage. I live in a suburban area with plenty of houses and apartments wedged into an area the size of your average English country manor.

After a week of scorching heat and bush fire danger across the whole of New South Wales, the rains arrived. It started with drizzle just after lunch, but 4pm the thunder had started to roll through the clouds. About 5pm, there was a loud bang from the back of the house, the power went off for a moment then flickered back to life. Another loud bang, and the power died once more. Investigation, me standing the back garden looking over the fence, revealed nothing. Once out the front, Beryl, the old lady that misses, nothing told me she’d seen flashes at the main road. She also had no power.

I rang the power company to report it. They were already aware and had ‘dispatched a crew’.

What now?

My plan of making tomato sauce from the kilos of Roma tomatoes I harvested was out the window because my cooker and oven run on electric.

I’ll send some emails and catch up with my communications. No good, my wireless comes from a box that is plugged in.

I’ll play Farnville2. Harvest a few virtual crops and make virtual tomato soup and milk virtual cows. Not to be, the internet is powered by the electrical pulses no longer accesses my abode.

I got out the candles and lit a few. I even found some lamp oil and got the glass lamp I have going. It gives of great light. Even though it wasn’t dark outside, inside it was.

What should I do now?

I’ll read. I sat out the back and read for a bit until the mozzies started biting. I moved inside. Sent a few tweets, updated Facebook, but because my phone had been off charge all day I was down to 20% juice. How to charge it? I needed power for that. After an hour sitting in the car I had managed to get my phone back to 80% charge. I switched to Airplane mode and wondered what else I could do.

I lit the barbeque and grilled a lamb chop for dinner.  I sat and watched the flames die to create the lingering red that cooks the food.  That entertainment lasted about 15 minutes.  Lamb cooks really quickly.

The light levels in my house, despite having the entire stock of a small Dusk store burning, was low. It was, romantic. That’s all well and good for a nice night with a lover and a glass of wine, but I needed to do something. After nearly four hours of no power I was frustrated. I rang the power company again for an eta on supply.

A prerecorded message informed me, ‘We are aware of a problem in your area but have no idea what the cause it. We estimate that power will be restored by eleven PM.’

If you don’t know the cause how can you estimate the return?

It was 9.30pm. Pitch dark outside and in. Reading was out, I don’t have the sight of an owl. Crochet had been tried by this point too and I kept dropping stitches and missing them, repairing the damage done to the project would take ages. So, to bed.

I cleaned my teeth by candlelight. Changed into my bed clothes and carried the glass lantern into my bedroom. The dogs looked confused. Surely this wasn’t it for the evening, it was far too early.

I tried reading again, just in case I’d made a mistake about the light levels, but it just wasn’t possible without straining my eyes.

So I laid back, closed my eyes and pictured how the world would have looked in the days before power to every house. It was bleak.

What’s bleaker though is that the developed world is entirely reliant on electricity. The games we play, our cooking (yes, I prefer gas myself, but don’t have that luxury in my house), our washing machines, water heating, our communications devices. I have an oil lamp because I like old things. I have candles for scent, not light. I took advantage of a forced early night.

What would happen if we lost the ability to make power completely? I fear many would cease to exist because they simply would not know what to do.

Daydreaming

From my desk I can see the planes flying over the Star Casino, and I often think to myself, which far flung place are you going to?


Then I think where would I be if I could be anywhere but here? The first, quick answer is usually, anywhere but here.

This morning was no exception, after a hideous Monday morning trip to work. I had a twelve minute walk to the station because the parking situation is so bad at my local station, but I had to go there this morning because I needed to buy a ticket. The walk and queue for ticket caused to me miss my train by about 30 seconds. A fifteen minute wait for the next one stretched in 30 when the 9:01 was cancelled.

If I'd known that the train was cancelled sooner I could have walked back to my car to to get my phone from the front seat, which I noticed was missing from my bag when I got my purse out to pay for my ticket.

Once on the train, it was packed. That's what happens when a train gets cancelled. A big bottomed Indian man sat next to and his friend across the aisle. Not having my phone I was unable to block them out with noise cancelling headphones, so had to focus on the sprayed artwork of hyena, soup and wayward. They are very naughty boys with a passion for purple, yellow and silver, but they do help the time pass as you figure out what's new on the canvas' of walls, signal boxes and fine wire mesh.

I got to work at 10.

Some days it's better if you don't have to get out of bed.

Mid Life

In just under three weeks, I’ll be turning 40. I don’t have an issue with aging. I know I’ll do it disgracefully and I have no issue with that. What I do have an issue with is doing a job I hate, working for the man to spend the rest of my life struggling financially.


I asked a question on my Twitter this morning; ‘In this day and age: what’s the point of being a good and helpful person? Really, I’d like to know why I waste my time.’

I asked this because last night a buxom, burlesque dancer that I photographed for free as part of an event asked me to remove the photos I had taken of her because of ‘unflattering angles’. She asked me to leave a couple as they where beautiful. I had carefully selected all the photos posted so as not to show skin rolls (no easy task), smiles (plenty of those) and to show the very essence of her performance. Despite her size she had grace, elegance and dancing skills of a woman considerable smaller. I removed all the photos I had taken.

I give my time for free because I enjoy taking pictures in a challenging environment (lots of movement, bad lighting and having to ask people if they'd like their photo taken). In total I spend three hours at the event (it's a fortnightly thing), then up to three hours processing the pictures. It usually costs me $10 to park the car, plus the petrol to and from the event. So when asked ‘as an artist I have to careful of how I’m seen’, I say, as an artist and someone who isn’t being paid, I was doing you a favour by giving you free publicity, so you get nothing’.

I’m sick of ungrateful people, just taking. It seems that the world has more of them these days

When Leo Durocher said, ‘Nice guys finish last’, I’m sure he was talking about baseball, but you know what, I’ve come to the conclusion it’s in all walks of life.

I’ve lived my life as a good person. I help old ladies out, I ask homeless people, ‘have you eaten today?’ and follow through when they say no. I volunteer my time to a number of non for profit organisations. And you know, when I try and do something for me, I get nothing back. So I’m taking it back. I’m not going to commit to anymore volunteer things that cost me money. I’m going to do something for me and anyone with an opinion can go f*ck themselves.

I’m not saying I don’t have a few supporters, I do, and thank you to those of you that ‘get’ me.

So this is my plan.

I’m going to get a part-time job and study full time. I may, if I have to, sell everything of value that I own and get a housemate (that really is the last resort).

I think I can cope with a job I hate if I only have to do it three days a week.

I haven’t brought a sports car or a flash motorbike…but I do believe this is what they call a midlife crisis

Finally something the middle classed white lady can talk about at stand-up comedy!

Down

While my small creamy coloured dog has been missing I have found the big black one barking at the back door and paws on the window sill on many occasions. My attempts to scare him away have only succeeded in getting him out of the garden and my near vicinity.

This morning he got in and landed on the bed with a thud. Pinning me down.

I’m not sure how he got in, but I think the cracks have expanded over the last few weeks while I have been wrestling with a couple of issues. These cracks have clearly been ignored by me as I’ve focused on trying to think my way through my problems.

While in the grander scheme of things that effect the wider world, my problems are meaningless and insignificant, but one thing I’ve learned, when you’re dealing with things alone, they can often become all consuming to the exclusion of all others.

I find myself trying to claw my way through financial worries, still. My attempts to bring it all to a speedier conclusion seem to be ticking along, but a little support would be nice.

My work situation is interesting to say the least and the least said the better.

Which bring me to the overarching issue: companionship. As much as I love my fur family I find it really hard to ask them to help out about the place. When I have to change a light bulb, if I was to fall off the step ladder and broke my neck, they would be pretty useless at calling the emergency services. They are crap at helping move logs in and even worse at doing any kind of housework.

I discovered this when I had a kidney stone and spent several days in hospital alone until someone came to visit. The chicken shed I’ve had for nearly a year that has been partially erected (yes, kiddies I said erected), the fact that I still haven’t seen Batman 3 because I have no one to go with. Actually I haven’t been to the movies in months and I love the movies. What’s the point of going if you come out with that urge to discuss but turn to empty air?

People laugh at me when I say I’m learning the recorder…I do that so I’m not sitting at home alone, it gives me a focus.

When people criticise my choice to be a Tupperware Lady, I do that because a, I love the product and genuinely believe it’s great but b, so I can get out of the house, meet people and as an added bonus make a little cash. I’ve been told ‘You’re better than that’ but has it every occurred to people that I do actually enjoy it and would rather not wait tables or pull pints in shift work.

When people ask why I drive to Canberra to perform 10 minutes of stand-up comedy, it’s because no one comes to see me in Sydney and people actually do when I go to Canberra. The weird thing is, people have actually been to see me multiple times in Canberra…they even get to see my new material.

When people say I should only photograph things that pay…that’s nice if I never actually wanted to photograph anything and I didn’t do it to get out of the house.

When people say to me I should stop looking for my missing dog. When the dreams of vivisection, abuse and overfeeding stop and I know what happened to her, I’ll stop looking. A need to know her fate drives me to do the things I do, with little or no physical or emotional support. Would you give up looking for your loved one if they went missing, and NO, it’s no different because she isn’t ‘ just a dog’.

I do things that get me out of the house and interacting with human beings. As much as I hate the general public it sometimes feels better to be alone in company than alone, alone.

I shall have three days of companionship this weekend then it will be over for another undisclosed period of time. Time to move on I think, the hope that it will lead to more has hit a point in reality that I don’t like, but I need to start living my life with a view to the future. Cold turkey. Rip the band-aid off and visit the doctor for more brain numbing drugs. While I should be looking forward to this brief time of fun, laughter and adventure, I find myself half dreading it because I know it will be over before it’s even begun.

A long term future with some genuine human companionship would be a rather pleasant thing I feel. I do still feel.

fingerfriend hugs by FCImages

Wasted

Will I look back on my life when on my deathbed and think, ‘Did I waste my life?’

I know it seems like a grim thing to think about, but seeing as we are here for such a short time I believe it something we should all reflect on, regularly.

I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the last few days while I’ve been sick. I can’t pin my feelings of lethargy, upset tummy, sniffy nose and vertigo on any one thing, but I honestly think I’m sick of doing something that leaves me unfulfilled.

Yes I know I do lots of things outside work hours that should keep me entertained and my mind off the hours of boredom and thumb twiddling, but I can’t help but shake the feeling those long, eight hours are the ones taking a toll on my body that cannot be reversed with a few short hours crochet, speech writing, recorder playing and stand up comedy.

Is it unreasonable to expect a level of enjoyment and satisfaction from your job? I don’t think so. Surely a happy employee is a constructive employee.

How do I correct this imbalance in my life without sending myself broke?

I have no idea, given my current plans/dreams are likely to end in disappointment.

At the moment I’m hoping that the publisher that requested to see my partially written manuscript wants the rest and pays me a small advance to finish it and then it goes on to be an international success. Because I know it’s written better that Fifty Shades of Grey, after all, it as nothing to do with Twilight, so it must be. Right?

Or I’ll suddenly become an in demand Civil Celebrant. I know that isn’t going to happen. Either people aren’t dying or getting married or they have no idea I exist (despite advertisments) or don’t care.

What if I were to win the lottery; would we still be friends?

Maybe, my stand-up will become popular and I’ll soon be making pod-casts and making appearances on TV panel and radio shows with my quick wit and amusing insights into popular culture.

I’m a realist; I know there is no overnight solution. But I fear my current health levels require something fairly rapid.

At this stage I’m left looking for a job in my current line of employment that may satisfy my need to be productive. I just want to be busy. I need to be occupied. It keeps my mind and body focused and gives it a reason to want to get out of bed in the morning, because currently, if asked the opening question, my answer would assuredly be, 'Yes'.

I'll be there

In this day and age of instant gratification is it too much to ask that when someone says, ‘I’ll be there’ that you expect them to show up? Of course, these words may be spoken or typed a couple of weeks in advance, therefore delaying the ultimate happiness that will ensue.

I ask this because I have noticed a high instance of behaviour that I do not quiet understand, because I cannot engage in it.

Years ago, I offered to babysit for my sister’s kidlets. This was a big commitment then as I live three buses, two train trips and twenty minutes of walking, away from her. It was in the days before I had my drivers licence. I remember her saying to me, ‘I know I can rely on you, you always do what you say you will.’ She’d been let down by local babysitters before.

Her saying that has stuck with me and to this day, if something is in my diary I will do it. I have to be really ill before I’ll pull out of something. I don’t want to share germ or myself worse. I also don’t want to cause the feeling of disappointment I have often felt.

Last night for instance. There was nothing wrong with me that an early night wouldn’t fix, but I really didn’t want to go to a theatre showing I had committed too. I did go, I ended up really enjoying myself and didn’t get to bed until midnight. Why, though should the other person pay for my lack of planning skills?

‘Cause really, that’s what it comes down to, lack of planning.

I overcommitted myself this week. I have been out every night but Tuesday. I’m out again tonight as well. I can sleep in tomorrow.

Others however, have no compunction about calling to say, ‘sorry, my couch looks really good and Masterchef is on tonight’ or worse, ‘I’ve got a better offer’. Of course, these words are never actually used, but they are the core of it.

So when I say, ‘I’ll be there’, I really mean it. I won’t let you down unless I’m dying.

Chicken Gizzards

I’ve been at my new job long enough now, to be able to make what I believe, to be fairly sound comment on the working environment.

The office is in a part of town that is renown for it ethnic leanings. Most shops on the main street are labelled in Chinese before English. Being a big fan of dumplings, noodles and adventures in food land this isn’t really much of a problem. Where it does become a problem is if you want or need to buy anything (apart from food) of quality. The local shopping centre has a Best Buy, Franklins, and a Dick Smith (remnant warehouse). All the other shops, except the Post Office and leased out to market stall type shops that sell jewellery for a dollar and fry pans for four. The local butcher sells gizzards, skin, feet (of chook and pig) and the best cut of beef is blade. No Scotch Fillet for my dinner. Having said that, it does mean I can’t spend on M.A.C make-up (I’m sorry, did you say one dollar for the eye-shadow?) or clothes.

When I am at work, I have delays in computing. They are doing a roll out of new PCs, which is good, because when the machine can’t keep up with my typing speed you know there’s and issue. Stop. Plus I think I have the tiniest screen possible, it reminds my of the old DOS days when you have a massive off-white brick on your desk with a screen no bigger than a credit card. In my line of work, which currently involves extensive Copy/Paste activity I am really hoping I’m next on the list. However, I have feeling I’m going to have scraped the documents together only to find a geek standing at the end of my desk saying, ‘I’ve come to replace your tower’.

I’ve never been to so many meetings. Seriously. I swear they would have a meeting or ‘workshop’, … and I have put quotes around workshop because, often they have a ‘workshop’ to discuss things, but don’t actually have any workshop activities. I’m getting really close to widely distributing the definition of workshop.

Back to point. They have meeting for everything. So far I think I’ve been to three meetings that actually proved to be useful.

I do have a nice big desk.

Cara can come with me and be stealth, as she is today.

I can drive to the office in less than 45 minutes.

The people I work with are a nice bunch…I haven’t found any stand-outs as yet, but they are pleasant enough. I don’t have to work with the woman behind me, so she has no affect on me except I feel I need to channel warm, happy feelings in her direction. Being in such close proximity I haven’t seen any glimmer of smile crack, I am afraid though that I may cause damage if she does smile….so maybe I should stop that?

All in all, I don’t have a problem getting out of bed each morning at the moment. I even thought about putting my swimming cosie in the car for an after work swim at Homebush, then forgot this morning.

Things are on the up! :-)

Facebook

Facebook has it moments.

Moments of annoyance; such as when you click on a video that you friend posted, only to find it’s actually a virus that is self replicating, and you realize you have to warn all your friends not to click on the video you just posted.

Moments of sadness; when you read that a friend has lost a loved one. Even ‘friends’ that you have never met, you still feel a pang of grief, because inside you know what they are going through, but you know you can never express how you feel for them.

Moments of jubilation; A baby has been born, a child has graduated, the test results where negative (in the good way), the rescue puppy has stopped peeing on the carpet. These are time when you happily click the ‘like’, because you genuinely feel a glow inside.

Moments of hilarity; that picture your friend posted made you laugh so hard, you wet your pants slightly. pmsl has never been more apt.

Moments of disappointment; when you realize that ‘random’ you added because they made you laugh on other friends profiles, turns out to be a God-bothering psycho that is just trying to convert everyone.

Moments when you just want to delete your profile; no-one has commented on anything you’ve posted, for HOURS!

And then there are moments when if forces you to reflect. A status update today gave me such a moment.

What my Mother taught me:
Religion: ‘You better pray that comes out of the carpet’.
Logic: ‘Because I said so, that's why’.
Irony: ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’
Wisdom: ‘When you get to my age you'll understand’.
Justice: ‘One day when you have kids, I hope they turn out just like you’.
Repost if your mother taught you right

I added, Discipline: ‘You’re never too old to be put over my knee’, because it felt right.


Here’s the situation where each of these (or near as) happened to me.

I was given some silly putty as a gift for Christmas. I decided to take an impression of my hair crown because, as it’s on the back of my head, I had never seen it. The silly putty got so stuck in the hair, nearly two hours of combing, Surfega, sunflower oil and finally diesel, saw it out. But at the beginning of the two hours Muv said to me, ‘You better pray this come out or all you’ll be left with is a tuft of hair.’

‘Why shouldn’t I shave my legs Muv?’ ‘Because I said so, that why. Plus, do you want your legs to feel like this?’ Quickly followed by a hand being run up her stubbly leg.

When I started my periods, I bit*hed and moaned about the pain and cramps. ‘Keep crying and I'll give you something to cry about.’ I kept crying, so Muv took me to have my ears pierced. That hurt much more.

I like to think I understand a lot more now I'm the age she was once. Life does indeed suck, and yes, you will die.

I’ve never had two legged children (as discussed in other posts) but my fur and feathered kids, sleep like me, eat food like me and love me to bits. Even the chookens. So in many ways…they are just like me.

When I was 18, we where having a laugh about something…I can’t remember what it was, but clearly I over stepped the bounds of the Mother/Daughter freedom of speech act, because she said the line. Despite being a couple of inches taller and wider than Muv, she could still say the words, 'You're never too old...', and I knew it was true.

So I had many moments all rolled into one today, and for that I an thankful to Facebook and a random add friend that didn't turn out to be a psycho, God-bothering or otherwise.

Stranger things have happened

I confess, I can’t think of many, but I’m sure they have.

The weather has turned cold in Sydney. Those of you that live here will know what I speak off, those that reside in other, far flung place, may not. On average Sydney gets seven days of temperatures below five degrees overnight in Winter. We’re still in Autumn and we have clocked up nearly two week of frosts. FROST! In Sydney. It’s almost unheard of.

Now, I’m not really one to complain about the weather, I like cold days with sunshine. Not too keen on wind or rain, but those lovely crisp days when the sun shines and the flowers still smile, make my heart sing. Thanks to a southerly coming up from Antarctica we’re getting those kind of days.

When I moved in November I moved my belonging into a house with a real fireplace. One you put logs in. I was told when I took up residence that it was in good working order, I found out on February, that it wasn’t. The baffle (the think steel plate just below the chimney hole) was melted through and it was missing several insulation bricks. After much tooing and frowing, the Landlord finally decreed that they would pay for the repairs. Of course, this was just as every man and his dog also wanted their chimneys and fireplaces serviced. So I’m on a list...he’s coming on 21st May.

The cold snap has been here for a few weeks now and the house was becoming as cold inside as outside. It was inhumane, to me, my housemate S and the animals. When you can see your breath inside, it’s too cold. So I lit the fire.

After three days the baffle snapped in half and fell out.

Fan heaters didn’t do a bad job for a couple of days, then the temperature dropped again. On Saturday, I’d had enough of not being able to feel my fingers so I lit the fire. Baffle and bricks be damned...I needed heat.

The smell of the wood, the heat that filled the room, the gentle roar and the glow in the house brought out the domestic goddess. I baked bread, I cooked lamb shanks and I felt like making biscuits. I never really want to cook. I’m sure it was the influence of the real fire burning in the corner. Maybe it’s a primal instinct to make home and nest. Maybe, and I think this may be it, it was the years of a real fire as a child when we’d spend time in the kitchen in the colder months (most of the year in the UK) baking cakes, Muv made a mean Victoria Sponge, making sweeties (rum truffle or clotted cream fudge anyone?), Yum Yum Pie, Bread and Butter pudding and all manner of other goodies. Muv was a regular Barbara Good. There was always a cake in the cupboard.

The bread has gone and due to lack of ingredients the only sweet treat I could make was Honey Joys. I had sugar, butter, honey and cornflakes in the cupboard, but as I didn’t have any paper cases I made giant ones in pate ramekins. It was a bit of fun.

I’ve been out and purchased baking things...almonds, castor and icing sugar, vanilla essence, condensed milk, and a couple of things to try a Jamie Oliver recipe. I’m even thinking of doing what Julie Powell did, but unlike her, rather than a book of savouries’ and general Frenchieness, I thought I'd work my way through the Baking Bible.

The Printed Word

I watched a movie last night. It was released in 1998. You may have heard of it, it called ‘You’ve got Mail’ and it stars Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.

For those that have been living under a rock for 13 years and may not have seen it, it’s about two people who meet online and fall in love despite not knowing each others names, meanwhile in the real world they do know each other and only ever really exchange cutting remarks as they are competitors in business. She own a small book store that specialises in children’s books and service (she knows all of her customer’s names), he a mulit-millionaire that own a chain of book superstores that offer books at a cheap price, but little in the way of service or knowledge about books (think Borders). Of course, as with all romantic comedies, it turns out well in the end.

Apart from the sound of dial-up internet, which I had almost forgotten, the movie got me thinking about books and where they are heading.

I’m sure when Nora Ephron devised the tale, she had no idea that in 2011 book superstores would be closing because people had stopped buy books made from paper and had switched to electronic tomes. No everybody of course. I still love the feel of the paper and board in my hands, the smell of the ink on freshly pulped wood. I know it’s frightfully un-PC of me, but I like books.

I enjoy spending time fossicking the shelves of second hand book shops for that illusive find. Being surrounded by the mustiness of the years of thumbing the pages have seen. The paper of varying thickness; tissue thin in wartime to save resources, sturdy and wrinkle free in the 60s when nothing needed to be saved, including love. Foxy spots of yellow on the pages and inscriptions of congratulations, happy birthday and ownership; you read more than just the story in print. Sometimes you find added bonuses between the pages; a theatre ticket, a train ticket or postcard. These items tell you even more about the previous owner.

With an electronic book you can make notations and highlight interesting passages, you can turn the pages and you can, or course, read it. But you can’t feel it, smell it, and love it. You can’t take care not to crack the spine, you can’t inscribe it as a gift and you can’t pass it on.

I hope books don’t disappear in my lifetime, after all where would the girl of the world be without pearls of wisdom like ‘Linda Learns to Type’ by Patirica Baldwin written in 1961. What will the world do without tales of young ladies aspiring to be private secretaries?

St David's Day

Today would have been my 14th wedding anniversary, but seeing as I’m divorced now, it’s just St David’s Day. It’ll still evoke special memories in me, they’ll just be a little more wistful.

Instead of flowers, dinner and an amazing night of snugly ohing and ahing, I went to see the doctors.

I’ve been putting it off, knowing that I was getting worse and knowing that I’d inevitably walk out with a prescription for mind altering drugs and a suggestion to see a counsellor. I was right. But I know I’ve reached a point where I need the help.

These are a few things I know to watch;
Anger. It’s much worse than it’s been in a very long while. Frankly, I want to tell everyone to just f*ck off then go and hide in a hole.
Sleep. I sleep like a cat, but wake up tired after my dreams have been invaded by nastiness. No frolicking in lush green meadows with the man of my dreams at the moment.
Motivation. I’m sorry you want me to do what? I can’t be arsed to get showered or dressed at the weekend let alone leave the house if I don’t HAVE to.
Motorbike. I’m avoiding it. I very nearly sold it at a loss the other day.
Food. I starving all the time, but don’t want to eat. Once I start eating I can’t stop.
Concentration. How many times did I wash my face in the shower this morning because I’d forgotten I just done it?
Writing. I haven't done any for ages unless I'm complaining or griping about something. I'm not really a miserable git, but I'm sure some think I am. Consider this exhibit A.

Of course there are still those that ask me for help, even though I’ve attempted to retreat into the pit of despair that is my life at present. I’ve stopped going out even though I have a couple of fellas trying to court (I use that word because date seems odd). I’m wrong at the moment. I’m up for a bit, then down as low as can be.

Dr Rosemary says I need to be less stoic, ‘it’s a very British mentality’.

I freaking out about how the bills are going to be paid. I need to get a housemate, but despite a lovely spare room and over 100 views on the advert I’ve had no enquiries. My mental health is slipping into disrepair along with my kidneys.

I’ve been here before and I survived. Actually I’ve been here a couple of times in the last few years. I bounce back, but as a friend said the other day, ‘I’m just not sure how many bounces I have left in me’.

I can’t help thinking; while Africa was a great adventure, I would have been better staying at home.

I can’t help thinking; if I’d never have left my husband, I’d be financially OK?

I can’t help thinking; what’s going to happen to me, am I going to die alone, broke and eaten by cats?

I can’t help thinking; would anyone really miss me?

Realisation

Just over a year ago I moved house. I moved from a little two bedroom cottage in the inner city to a three bedroom colonial double brick place and reduced my rent in the process. I didn’t really want to move, but after I had the affront to ask the landlord to fix a leaking roof I was asked to leave.

The blessing in disguise has worked out quite nicely really. Puss has a garden to roam around in. I rattle around a night and weekends deciding whether I should sit in the office, the lounge, the bedroom or out in the deckchair on the patio. It’s quiet (except when the mad Polish woman over the back fence is telling her tenant to f*ck off) and I only have a three or four minute walk to the railway station, better still, a six minute walk to the best kebab in the world. I like my house, it feels like home and I’ve just signed another two year lease on the place.

Last night however, there was a drive by shooting.

This latest act of violence is just one of the many law breaking events from the past twelve months that have rocked Merrylands, a multi cultural community just south of Parramatta, west of Sydney.

There has been drive-bys, robberies, a machete attack in a school and even a lady so drunk she drove her car into a Starbucks.

The thing that concerns me most about all this, is that I’ve come to realise, I’m on the road to becoming a Westie!

Ignorance or Disinterest?

On Wednesday I brought a punnet of fresh figs. I love them; they are soft and tender, and ever so sensual to eat. Plus they keep you regular.

My first encounter with a fig was at Christmas many moons ago, when they appeared as in a plastic tub, dried and gritty. Muv encouraged me to try the fresh variety one day when in Sainsbury’s (UK supermarket) whilst doing the weekly shop. I think I was about eight years old.

After that tasting, I was hooked.

It didn’t stop at figs though, this random testing and tasting of fruits or veg that we hadn’t seen before continued. We tried kumquats, dragon fruit, lycees, passion fruit, celeriac, fennel and pomegranate. I’m sure there are more; I just can’t remember them all, right now.

Anyway, back to this weeks punnet of figs. Four different people in my office, people I consider to be well educated, have visited my desk, pointed at the succulent purple fruit and asked, ‘What’s that?’

Now, I would think that in a country that has tree, vine or bush ripened fruit year round, they would know what a fig is, tasted it and decided they either like it or not. But complete ignorance of the humble fig, I find that confusing and it distresses me somewhat.



picture from - Herbal Extracts Plus

Don't Think, Just Do!

I’ve been thinking.

I know thinking can be dangerous in the wrong hands, but thinking needed to be done. I’ve been putting it off for too long. I’ve been keeping myself busy to avoid the thinking that was required.

On Monday, I was forced to face something while sitting on the train on my way home from Uni. I sat there looking out of the window, watching the Inner West pass me by in a blur when a thought popped into my head.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

To what am I referring to I hear you ask. I know I did. My internal monologue kicked in and found myself going over all the things that I have experienced since this time last year.

It’s been less than idyllic year, I have to say. I know in the grand scheme of things like floods, bush fires and thousands out of work, my issues don’t even register a blip on the global radar, but to me they have been pretty monumental and life changing.

I reasoned with myself that I needed to get my life back on track with my goals in life.
- I need to sort out my revolting financial situation after over six months of unemployment.
- I need to start having some sort of social life, now that I may actually be able to afford to get out of the house on occasion.
- I would like to read some of the books I haven’t read after a couple of years of reading things that Uni has told me I have to read.
- I would like a relationship that involves a little passion and romance.
- I want to be able to spend time developing my skills as a photographer
- I want to get my motorbike licence

The list goes on…

Then I think about how working full time and studying for yet another Masters degree fits in with these desires. They don’t.

So today, I filed for a leave of Absence for my Uni course.

I figure I can start it in one year if I still want to do it. I think I applied to do a Master of Education because I didn’t have anything else to do at the time. Now I do. A leave of Absence means I don’t need to reapply (which is frankly, a pain). Hopefully they say I can, if the Uni denies my request, I’ll just withdraw completely.

Making this decision lifted a weight from my shoulders, and I feel like things are moving ahead for the first time in a very long time.

I don't want too...

read
eat
shower
get out of bed

well, most things really

Pinch Punch

I went to see 'The Curious case of Benjamin Button' yesterday. I cried all the way through without a tissue to control the flow of water from my eyes or the pale watery snot from my nose. I was not because the film was sad,although, to be honest I've seen happier joy joy movies. It was because of the opening sequence and small plot exploration sequences that kept cropping up throughout. The girlfriend I was with understood the problem and handed me a tissue.

Today I saw 'Slumdog Millionaire'. It didn't make me cry, but it made me think about how life is passing me by and how I'm missing a few things at the moment. When I got to the home of my companion for the afternoon, I sliced a few vegetables for the BBQ then went outside and laid on his recently mowed back lawn. He stayed inside to watch the cricket. The grass was spiky were it touched my bear shoulders causing a not unpleasant inching sensation. I lay there looking up at the sky, watching the clouds
roll across the blue sky. Clouds of brilliant white and pale grey bringing with them the first cool change in days.

I lay there looking up, feeling the breeze lick across my skin. I listened to the sounds around me. The lorikeet singing in the jacaranda tree behind me. The native miner bird walking across the roof of the veranda a couple of yards from my feet. I saw the silloette of a magpie flying above me. I noticed that from the angle I was looking at the white concrete ballistraid of the neighbor really didn't look as pristine as when looking from a standing position.

I felt a tickle on my right forearm. I lifted it to see a single black ant carrying a crumb. The ant worked its way toward the inside of my elbow before I gave it a gentle flick back onto the grass. The grass had made its temporary mark on my skin, leaving tiny red, uneven indents all over my arms.

I looked back up at the sky. The blue now almost completely gone, covered with the rapidly shifting clouds. As I watched they cleared a little, allowing the blue to once more peek through. A pair of shadowed passed over me, their cry revealing two more lorikeets.

I'm not quite sure how long I lay there, but I realised something while I did.

I miss doing nothing with someone special.

Stars

On a work daily basis I read my stars while on the train platform. Then I go into Facebook and catch up. It's become a bit of a morning ritual that I quiet like although I have turned into one of those commuters that is wired for sound and more interested in my mobile than those around me. What I'm not too happy about is that for the last week my stars have been forecasting doom and gloom;

Romance: Thunder
Finance: Rain
Work: Snow
Mental: Snow
Physical: Sun
Emotional: Snow
Spiitual: Thunder

Today, as with everyday, it goes on to detail each of these aspects of my life and it doesn't look good. Power struggles, toxic envirnments, not rushing into friendships and today it even told me I should call my Mum. On the plus side, I do have some sun in my physical today.

I console myself with the fact that Year of the Rat is nearly over and next year it should get better.

What a lot of old bollocks horoscopes are ;-)

My eyes...

... keep leaking and I'm having trouble getting out of bed.

A Scattering of Ashes

Last Saturday a select few, myself included dragged our arses to the top of Kingley Vale to scatter the last of my Mum’s ashes. It’s complicated, so here goes.

On the Friday after the Crematorium service (14th and 18th July respectively) my mums husband wanted a quiet scattering of ashes, as she had requested on the top on Kingley Vale in West Sussex. Only he’s 72 and not really capable of walking to the top, in fact he didn’t even make it to the base from the car park until his legs started playing up. We got to the first copse where I scattered and he watched in silence.

I really wanted to do a more fitting tribute, so I keep a few ashes back (roughly her feet) and arranged a seconding scattering at the summit.

So, on the 16th at 1pm, my sister Helen, her husband Chris, Marky my first love/very good friend and I met I the car park just north of West Stoke and commenced the climb to the top. I know you are thinking this all sounds very mountain climber speak when really it’s just a leisurely stroll up a hill. It is a leisurely stroll, if you go the right way. However, if the only person who’s done it more than a dozen times is in a green plastic tub, the second most familiar person hasn’t done it for nearly twelve years and the other three didn’t even know where Kingley Vale was until two days before, it’s very easy to go the hard way. And we went the hard way. For fifty minutes with clambered up the side of the hill at a 35degree angle, slipped in mud and nearly lost footing. But to the top we got, huffin' and puffin' except Marky who's related to the Enegiser Bunny!

At the top we were rewarded with 360 degree views of Chichester Harbour and the South Downs. After getting our breath back, we found a stick to act as a dibber and we planted sunflower seeds, had a gin and tonic, a laugh and a rolly. Then we scattered the remainder of my mum’s ashes. Helen held the tub with me and we all marvelled at the surreal nature of the whole day that had started with Big Mac’s for lunch (My mum loved Maccas, and no one ever really got it, except me). We even left a G’n’T in the bushes for later.

The path down was much easier.

Just this morning my sister said again that it doesn’t feel like she’s really gone, and I have to agree. Maybe it was because we lived in different continents, maybe it was because we would go without talking on the phone until we actually had something to say to each other (2 – 3 weeks), maybe because we’re both still in denial. Whatever the truth of this, I still think I have the realisation to come and when it does…it’ll hit hard.

Rain Rain, Go Away

On my way to work this morning I didn’t get wet for the first time in days. There was a brief reprieve for the rain. We have hit February, traditionally the hottest month of the year, and it’s pissing with rain and sitting at about 23degrees, down to 20-21 over night.

I had a quick look at the TOA blog and it appears that he and many others feel the same. Enough already! I know we’ve been in drought for what seems like forever, but really can we have a little break, say until autumn, when it’s supposed to rain.

To cap it off, the roof started leaking last night. I got up to pee at just after 3 and stepped in something cold and wet…I’m ashamed to admit I thought Puss had puked, but after establishing that I had no solids between my toes and I had just felt a drip on my head I came to the conclusion that my little cottage was truly crap, just another thing in a long line of ‘things’.

So, please, those of you still doing rain dances. Give it a rest, so TOA can dry his kitchen out and I can have the roof fixed before the carpet goes mouldy.