Oh my gosh, so sweet

This week has been a cake kinda week.



I made Collingwood inspired cupcakes on Friday night, in support of my team ACTUALLY winning. But that didn't happen. We still enjoyed the cupcakes though. I bought (most of) them to the grand final party Hubbie and I were invited to: they were a chocolate quick-mix cupcake with a dark chocolate ganache as frosting, and white chocolate melts and white chocolate bits as decoration, to give the effect of a 'magic mushroom' as the recipe called it. But I looked at it as black and white colours, (if you squint) therefore Collingwood cupcakes.

They were good.

Then we saw some of our other footy mad friends on Sunday arvo, and I received a whole plate full of leftover cakes from their grand final footy party the day before.

There was a combination of tiramisu, white chocolate cheesecake and also chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing, and white choc bits throughout it, to represent the Maggies.

YYUUUUMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

All soooooo good.

So this whole week I have been having, like, 2 cakes a day. Taking them to work, eating it with dinner/lunch.

Today I've come in to work, and it's my boss' birthday. And guess what is on one of the benches here: small little teeny tiny cupcakes.

YUM!

I've just eaten one, and thank goodness for it's size as they are so incredibly sweet. The icing is so sweet, it makes the vanilla flavoured Melbourne black tea I'm drinking not taste so sweet. And I have sugar in the tea.

Now that's sweet.

Funnily enough I was observing my bare midriff before having a shower earlier today, astonished by myself at the fact that with no willpower, and no considerate focused effort, my little womanly bump that was once my stomach has gotten smaller.

I know I shouldn't be so picky with myself (but I am me, and I'm allowed to be how I like I think) but in my dangeorus pursuit of perfection, I want to have a flat tummy. I've seen supermodels on the catwalk with a similar type stomach to mine: you know the one that has a slight bulb in the lower stomach? It's just genetics and the type of body you have. I know that. But it's still not good enough for me. And seeing supermodels like that made me feel a little better. But I'm Miss S and I'm stupidly difficult.

So should I eat more cake? Will that do it? LOL. Can you imagine the joy for women around the world "Eat more cake, you will get a flat belly!"

As much as I wished that were the case for me and my fellow women around the world, I have a feeling that it's more to do with my changed lifestyle since marriage: eating less carbs (mum used to stuff me with them), doing housework (I was a princess at home with my parents) and also the stairs at home. Yes those stairs, the stupid ones I fell down. When I walk properly and I'm not tripping over stupid slippers, I walk up and down the stairs, and I think all this combined eating differently, and being physically-active activity has done it. And an attitude of constantly looking at my midriff and saying "it's flatter."

Honestly, I do not lie, I really believe that saying postive affirmations to yourself works. But you have to take steps towards reaching your goal as well. Which in a roundabout way, I have done.

So, how did I get from deliciously sweet cakes to my stomach?

I don't care. All I care about is that I have one of my Collingwood cupcakes waiting for me in my locker, to have as dessert after my dinner tonight...... :-D

Crazy Eye Update

So, the crazy eye is still here. I thought perhaps that all the right-eye twitching was a premonition of the highly unlikely and rare, ill-fated DRAW that was seen on Saturday that my team the Maggies was a participant of, as the twitching seemed to mildly subside following that horrific event.



However after some subtle twitches, I realised it was still there.


Then yesterday, I fell down the stairs at my house (yes, I actually FELL DOWN THE STAIRS HEAD-FIRST NO LESS) but today the right eye is still a-twitching.


I don't know what to think, it's been going on for at least a month now. I'm worried that it may be a future predictor of the grand final replay on this Saturday, and going by my mum's definitions of eye twitching, that it won't be a happy ending. I just don't know whether my eye is so clever that it can actually foresee an event as huge as this one.


Or maybe it isn't anything bad..... perhaps it's even a good sign. An extremely good sign that something awesome is coming....


I did do my taxes today, and I'm getting $$$ back! YAY! It may not be heaps, but any shopping money, is good money.

:-D

Maybe my little financial windfall is the beginning of some amazing monetary rewards.

Ahhh, the shopping possibilities.

But, then again, my right arm is actually somewhat damaged (I don't know how much) from my very random fall down the stairs yesterday. Maybe the twitching was a predictor of.... that.

Ugh.

Yuck. I don't like thinking of my eye as an evil forcaster of random stupid events happening to me. It makes me feel creeped out.

Creepy crazy eye. Don't make me fly down stairs and have my team draw in the most unlikely of events.

Give me $$$.

Lost In Limbo

Standing there, watching the big screen, wide-eyed.

Bubbles sparkling in the glass of my cold hand.

Drinking so to do something, anything, to preoccupy myself and to ease the tension, the insurmountable knots in the pit of my stomach that I'm feeling.

Watching the men on screen, run and fall and jump and kick.

My heart beats increase by the second. I'm sure I'm having palpitations.

My free hand grasps at what's in front of me: it thrusts forward when my guys have the ball; it clutches at the air when they run for it, somehow hoping my unseen hand will help to make the incredible, the seemingly impossible happen.

I feel wheezy. Faint. Distant rings make their presence in my ears. I hold onto the adjoining shelf, other hand desperately clutching the now-flat bubbly. The champagne has lost it's purpose: it should be there as a celebratory sign, rather it's use is to numb the shattering shock of it all.

I crouch down. The sudden light-headedness is too much for me. I manage to lift my head to observe the screen, willing the team to fight forward, to make the dreams and hopes of so many thousands and thousands of followers become reality.

I can hear the blood of my heart, pounding in my ears. My breath is ragged. I chant quietly under my breath "Collingwood, Collingwood, Collingwood..."

I stand up. We scream, holler and yell at them. We pump our fists in the air with excitement, and then we stare in shock, bowing our heads and muttering under our breaths.

When the siren sounds, there are yells of incredulousness spreading around the room. Some laugh, some yell.

I stare, open-mouthed at the score.

68-68.

It's a draw.

And now, after all the hoping and the praying, the excitement and the despair, we must wait one whole week to see the Pies meet the Saints again, to settle the score.

Shoot me now.

Take Note

So, I find myself sitting here in front of my laptop, approximately 12:17am Friday morning.
Yes, approximately. That's a joke Red and I have.

I really should go to bed. I'm not at work tomorrow, but for some reason the thought of climbing into bed right now isn't sitting well with me. Maybe because it would be like I'm making peace with my scrambled thoughts and uneasy feelings, when I'm definitely not.

So instead I've been sitting here for the last 10 minutes, clicking "Next Blog," in my search to find great blogs out there in the Blogger-verse.

Amidst the bike riding and personal blogs (there were a few parent/kiddy ones too, in true Blogger style) there were a lot coming up about religion, in particular Christians and pastors, with many a Bible quoting.

I was thinking "enough already," especially since I know that once Blogger gets onto a theme, it won't stop.  It seems the shorter you stay on a blog and the quicker you click "Next Blog," the more of that kind of blog you will get.

Eh, Murphy's Law.

But then I stopped and thought. What if this is trying to tell me something? I happened to be on a Christian blog (I told you) so I stopped and looked at some words on the page:
"Stop looking at the struggle, look at the joy!"

Here I was feeling down and depressed for no apparent reason other than from my own doing, and totally ignoring the subtle signs around me. Maybe I was supposed to be focusing on good things in my life, rather than letting myself feel weird. I should just put it down to my latest 10-day work marathon and lack of sleep this week, rather than look to some fake external cause to my recent state of mind.

Ok, not so subtle sign. Something just totally slammed/fell/broke in this silent house. Not kidding. I have no idea what it is.

So maybe that's a wrap up. The blogs are telling me "don't be so sad dudette," and my house is telling me "go to bed or I'll freaking kill you."

Going now.

20 years in waiting....(I strongly apologise for this sport-focused post, but I must)

No time for regrets, on with the show!



So, this week is going to be M-A-J-O-R. Super major in the lead-up to a monumental weekend.

The AFL team I support, good ol' Collingwood, is playing in the grand final this weekend against St. Kilda.

This is soooo major. AFL (Australian Rules Football) is a massive deal in Australia, none more so than in our fair city of Melbourne. The way the Americans go crazy over the NBA play-offs, is the way the folk here go mad over footy. I know this well because Hubbie would love to live in the U.S., purely for his game of b-ball.

It's a tough sport to play. I mean, our Aussie men are tough. And hot. They don't wear loads of protective body or head gear while on the ground playing. In fact, they wear none at all. Oh, well, when one of them has an injury and are still playing (because they're tough) they might have a helmet or a mouthguard to protect their injury. But otherwise, just their uniforms, just their nice fitted, tight, muscle-enhancing uniforms (!)

I follow perhaps one of the most loved and hated teams in the AFL, as before mentioned, the Collingwood Magpies. I think one of the reasons that they are hated so much is because of their strong, passionate following of devotees, and the fact that they are quite possibly the most popular AFL team of all time, with the most supporters. You know, tall poppy syndrome and all that? The haters just can't take it :)

And so this coming weekend is the culmination of what we 'pies supporters have been looking forward to ALL year. In fact, the last 20 YEARS. 1990 was the last time they won an AFL premiereship, and all mighty, they, and we the supporters, are sooooo hungry for it.

I'm fearful, however, because the Saints haven't won a premiereship for almost 50 years (ouch!), and I'm afraid that they'll use that fuel to propel them towards.....you know. Gulp.

Not to say that the 'pies don't have fuel of their own. They were in 2 finals in the last decade of which they lost both, to the same freakin team! Watching your teams' dreams be shattered 2 years in a row is very difficult to swallow. In fact it's tear-jerking, pain-inducing, and all round the worst thing that can happen in the last week of September.

I don't think I could go through this weekend, watching the 'pies lose. I think it would actually shatter me, affect me to a point where I would be a changed person and not ever fully recover from the loss.

So that's why they must win. For me. And for the thousands of supporters out there that have been waiting for this moment for so long.



COME ON 'PIES!!!!!

I just have to vent that I don't suck arse

Yes, arse, as in the Aussie spelling of it.




You know, I just get peeved when I see people blatantly selling their blogging brand in a pathetic attempt to create pity and blogger generosity. There are people who use their blogs as a social interactive tool, where they try better the lives of others and create general goodwill. (Insert blog case carrotspeak.) Carrie, she's awesome. There are those that like to educate, reviewing social media such as television, books and the like. (Insert blog case LikeTelevision Blog). That is cool. I read some interesting things on Quentin Tarantino not too long ago. And I luurrvvveeee Quentin.

Then there are others that like to talk about their life (like me! sheepish grin ensues ;) ) I have found the blog of 'Clever Girl Goes Blog' most recently, and her blog is especially entertaining to read.

Then there are those, who it seems simply want to use their followers in an effort to gain popularity and better their own cause, without a thought as to the true intentions one is supposed to be involved in, in the unofficial etiquette of the blogging world. (Not naming ANY names) Why can't we all just blog together in happiness and not be selfish with our blogging intentions?

As a purely fabricated example, would YOU be happy with a blogger indirectly asking you to help them out by being their taxi driver 24/7?

(As I said, purely fabricated example, it's late and quite surprisingly my creative juices are at a nil, and it's late at work and it's past home time. 'Nuff said.)

So this is just me people, getting frustrated by annoying people again.

Why must there be so many annoying people in this world?

Sucking arse, is sooooo annoying. This anonymous blogger that I randomly came across is sucking arse in asking his/her (haha, didn't think you'd get it out of me that easily now, would you? I'm not that tired) followers to pick them up and take them around the city, and shockingly, these followers are so desperate to gain followers and suck arse in return, that they are willingly begging to be the taxi driver! Yes! All of them! One stupid person yes, but a zillion?! This is why I ask, why are there annoying people out there?

Sigh.

Going home now.

And like the morning after a one-night stand, in the morning I will look at this post and say "Ugh, I did that?!"

The Train Chronicles #2

He shuffles his way onto the train. Moving through the thick density of commuters crowded at one of the train doorways, he eyes an empty seat, cradled away in a corner. He has to make his way past all the people sitting around it, but it will be well worth it.


Perfect.


He squeezes through. Pushing, worming his way past the crowds; it makes him feel weird. All the more uncomfortable. Every touch, every nudge, every accidental brush-up, brings goosebumps to the back of his neck. Through the aching misery of it all, he manages to get to the seat. At last, solitude.


Shuffling into position, he at once hangs his head. Sitting there, slouched into the seat, wedged against the wall, his head is completely hung. Shunning himself from the people. Getting away from the daily grind. Removing himself from all forms of existence. He sits there, head hanging low, eyes on his lap. If his head was any more hung, he would be looking at himself.


She sits across from him.

She's perplexed. She glances over at him every so often, hoping to catch a glimpse of his eyes. What will they tell her? Will they speak of a troubled soul? Someone shying away, due to loneliness, fear of rejection..... what?


He continues. Head hung, stance mainly unmoving. Occasionally he quickly glances out the window, checking to see where the train is at. He shuffles around slightly. Moves uncomfortably in his seat. Adjusting himself without reason to. And the head remains. Hung.


She stares at him now. Longer. Willing him to look up at her. Willing him to meet her eyes, to meet her expression of confusion, sadness, empathy. She stares at his stocky frame, wondering how a man of this size could feel so uncomfortable and unsure in such a strong physique. His olive-brown skin, so smooth, so silky, his dark black hair, wavy and tousled.... where has his insecurity come from? What has shattered him so much, that he cannot keep his eyes level?


Her hand twitches. What does she want to do? Comfort him? Tell him it's okay? The maternal instincts are clear in the young girls' eyes. She wishes to help. To take the pain away. To offer an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on, a hand to reach out to.


She continues her watch, as he continues his downward stare. What will become of him? What will be when he walks out the door? So many questions to ponder, as the train continues on its journey.


His destination has arrived. He makes a furtive upward glance, before slowly getting up and making the slow, painful squeeze through the commuters again, out the train doors.

He walks out. Never to be seen by her again.

Crazy Eye

I am not kidding or exaggerating in the least when I say that for the last three weeks, my right eye has been twitching on and off.


I say on and off (thank goodness) because you could imagine my utter embarrassment if it was actually twitching non-stop. I wouldn't be able to leave the house in fear of scaring off people with my wildly flailing eye.

At first I thought my crazy-eye twitching was as a result of hearing or speaking of something unfavourable, something or someone I didn't like, hence the name 'crazy eye.' This deduction came to mind after talking to my mum about an annoying cousin, and noticing that my right eye was twitching. That was my first 'A-ha!' moment.

My next moment came in a fit of road rage over stupid incompetent drivers, where also, lo and behold, I noticed the now all too familiar eye twitch.

However, despite my little nickname for this sudden deformity I've developed, I don't believe it to be caused by anything. That is, my eye twitch resulting from being mad or upset. This eye twitch does not discriminate: home, work, family, friends, happy, sad..... no matter how I'm feeling, where I am or who I'm talking to, my right eye will just begin to twitch of it's own accord.

(It's even twitching right now, I'm not freaking kidding!)

I used to believe that your right eye twitching was an indicator of good things to come, you know, like superstition, the way someone might believe that seeing a dove is a sign of good fortune. I think I read it in one of those dream books that decipher dream meanings. However I'm inclined to lean towards my mums belief, only because hey, she's my mum and she knows 'stuff' and has a WHOLE lot more experience than me. She believes that it's in fact your left eye that brings you luck, and that your right eye twitching is a BAD sign.


Dum, da dum da.


She has experience in these matters you see, as a result of having grown up in a heavily-superstitious environment/time/culture, as mentioned in a much earlier post. So I take most of her stories at face value.

The fact that my eye has been twitching though for 3 weeks now, I can't help but thinking that it means neither good, or bad (I know, as literally crazy as it sounds) but that it may be as simple as some kind of weird twitch.

It's just that I keep getting these random flashes in my mind of Jack Nicholson in "The Shining," where he's experiencing an eye twitch after his hallucinations have transgressed him into an outrageous other-worldly realm.

Am I turning into some psycho-weird mad-woman right eye twitcher? Influenced by stupid people over the last year, whose behaviours have turned me into an enraged bottled-up fuel of emotions, whose only physical outlet is the right eye twitching?


Stay tuned to this mad woman.

Random Quote #3

(At work, talking on the phone to Hubbie, being all cute-sy)



"Let me know when you're eating your caramel slice, so I can eat mine at the same time."


Hubbie - "Ohhhh, like phone sex."

Pause.


Me - "Okay, I wasn't going there, but ok."

I like Anonymity

I've just been on Blogger for the past short while, clicking and clicking on the 'Next Blog' button, hoping against hope that I will come across a blog like my own. Sure, there are some awesome blogs I follow that are about both random things and life experiences, much like my own. But I want to find more. I want to see if there is anyone actually like-minded out there, like me. Anyone who is fascinated by people and their behaviours. Anyone who is curious about life, searching for the hidden meanings. Anyone striving for excellence, aiming to achieve their dreams. Someone like moi.

But alas, no. Every single time I hit 'Next Blog' I come across either an all-Spanish blog or a parenting, child-focused blog. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Spaniards nor parents and their kids. However, I can't exactly read Spanish, so if I happened to stumble across the best Spanish blog since churros were invented, I would have absolutely no chance of knowing it. As for all the parent/kiddy blogs out there, again, nothing against you. Hey, when I have kids, I have no doubt I'll start up a whole new blog about my new world of parenting exploits and child-rearing revelations. And as I've mentioned in other posts, I do love kids. However I don't want to hear about them EVERY-SINGLE-DAY. I have my my sister-in-law for that.

No kidding, this isn't the first time I've come across so many blogs about Spaniards and parents. It seems that the world of Blogger is FILLED with them.
I guess that's what you expect: I don't have many followers (um, at last count, let me think...... 1? LOL. Thank you Margaret:))
Followers=Blogs you read.
I'm sure some would disagree with me. I think it's like a case of the Chicken vs the Egg scenario, and what came first. Let me explain.

In my blog-world, it goes like this: the Followers are the 'Chicken.' The subsequent blogs YOU follow, are the 'Egg.' It follows (LOL) that Followers that add themselves to your page, create more blogs for you to view and admire.

You see a new follower > "Oooooh goody!" > "Hmmm, let me check out this blog" > "Oooooh this blog is cool"> "I think I will follow that blog."

Yes that's the actual cycle people, that's how it goes. Verbatim ;P
And yes, I DO believe the chicken came first. It then evolved over time and created the egg. My theory anyway.

So, the fact that I have one follower, means I myself follow very few blogs. Thus far. I'm sure there is someone out there who can contest this theory of mine, but I have no business arguing with a blogger who has 10,000 followers but follows none only because their blogging experience is akin to having the most friends on facebook. 'Nuff said. So don't go there. I'm talking genuine bloggers with genuine sincerity in blogging.

Hey, no pity, please. I actually don't mind it. I like the anonymity. It means that I can continue to bitch and moan about people who shit me in my life, without ever worrying that someone out there will realise who I am. I didn't the create the oh-so-not-really-original-but-if-you-knew-me-you'd-know-where-it-came-from pseudonym of Miss S for nothing. If anyone out there who knows me stumbles across my blog, they wouldn't have any idea it was me blogging. Not even my little teeny photo reveals much :) (Making sense now, huh???)

I like blogging. I consider it like my own personal diary. And as I've long since stopped writing in my diary, (1. because when I write I go on forever and my hand hurts, and
2.typing is much quicker and less time consuming, and
3.I can do it at work!)
this is my only other avenue to explore the things in my head, my life, my world.

So I'm cool with it. Having less followers means I can continue being me, and not worrying about the potential repercussions of someone I know possibly coming across my blog. (That's not to say I don't want followers, I can deal with that, honestly I can!) Seriously though, the only person who even knows I blog is Hubbie, and he's never even read ANY of my posts (maybe better that for now) because he seriously, is not much of a reader. My family don't know. My sister. My besties. My work buddies. My cousins. EVERYONE and ANYONE who knows me is totally clueless to my random ramblings about me and them and everything in my life. He he. If you read my other posts, you'll KNOW that NO ONE in my personal life knows I blog :)

I guess I'm just saying I'm happy where I am right now, exploring everything about my life as I continue my quest to achieving my dreams of writing and wedding video creating.
Speaking of. I was saying to Hubbie last night, as I drove, high on one alcoholic drink, (don't drink-drive people)  from his sisters to my sisters place.
Me: "Writing is the best kind of fame....."
Hubbie : (listening, probably wondering what random shit would come out of my mouth now)
Me: "....because you are FAMOUS, but only the people that read your books know about you. It's the best of both worlds. You live a normal life most of the time, and only your fans make you feel like a celebrity."
Hubbie: (nodding now, smiling. He does talk, it just so happens he was listening exceptionally well last night in the car)
Me: "That's what I'm gonna be. An Author. Australia's answer to Stephenie Meyer. Do you know who that is?"
Hubbie: "Who?" (finally, a word!)
Me: "Uhhhh, Twilight? Yes, thank you very much. Of course, being Australia's answer to her means I will be famous on a lesser scale, but I can still deal with that."

Ahhh dreams. Yes, not only do I dream psycho weird dreams when my eyes are closed at night, but I also dream during the day with my eyes wide awake. I think I will end with a T.E. Lawrence quote, one that I read AGES ago, but didn't remember and rediscover 'til just recently (it's a quote sort of month). It is quite appropriate given my musings about dreams, and also consequently fuels my desire to achieving my dreams even MORE if that's even possible.

“All men dream, but unequally. Those that dream at night in the dusty recesses of their minds awake the next day to find that their dreams were just vanity. But those who dream during the day with their eyes wide open are dangerous men; they act out their dreams to make them reality.” -T.E. Lawrence

Thank you Mr. Lawrence. Thank you.

My Baby Girl, Alana

I had a really weird dream waking up on Saturday.




(I know, I'm always having some sort of weird dream).



But this was quite odd, as that particular early morning when I heard Hubbie getting ready in the bedroom as he was getting ready to leave for work, I then fell asleep and had this trippy dream, only to wake up again as his car was departing.

So knowing his morning get-to-work routine, I'd had this dream within 10-15 minutes of being awake, falling asleep and waking up again.

Weeeiirrddddd.

The dream itself was a bit jumpy. Here's what I remember though.

- Being in a dimly-lit hospital room. Heavily pregnant, lying on a bed, with a midwife besides me. She says "One more push, and that's it." I tense and give one big push, and it seems the baby just POPS! out.

- Standing in front of a mirror, my midriff visible, admiring my flat stomach. Thinking 'this isn't so bad. See I just gave birth and my stomach is super flat.'

- Looking at an ultrasound photo of my baby girl. Thinking 'she looks like me when I was a baby.'

- Arriving home with the new addition. Looking at her and thinking 'my baby girl, Alana.'

- Remembering suddenly after being home for 24 hours that 'oh shit! I need to check on her! Does she need milk, a nappy change, anything?' Realising that I was gonna have to do this mother thing a bit differently, and focus a bit more on the new baby that was suddenly a part of our lives.

- Listening to Hubbie who was on his way to work (he was dressed for it) who had just checked up on our baby girl, recount how he felt looking at her: "she's so amazing! I could just look at her all day." Watching his face, how it lit up when he spoke of her, how his eyes shone with wonder and awe, his whole demeanour a picture of fascination and utter devotion.



When I woke up only minutes later, hearing Hubbie's car start up in the garage, I couldn't stop repeating the scenes of the dream in my head. You know when you've woken from a dream, and even though you know it was just a dream, you can't stop thinking of it and believing in it? I just kept thinking 'oh wow, our baby girl, Alana. What a unique name.' I kept thinking of how much love I had just developed, for this unplanned and unreal baby, that hadn't been in my consciousness for more than 20 minutes. Thinking of the love on Hubbie's face, the coinciding love that I too had felt, and the feelings of the dream just continued to overwhelm me. I couldn't stop thinking about it, however miraculously I was able to fall asleep again.



The dream itself and the subsequent emotions it produced in me are very out of the ordinary, as EVERY OTHER dream I've EVER had about being pregnant, or having a baby leads to both dream-feelings and after-dream-real-life-feelings of 'no, I'm not ready,' or 'no, I don't wanna do this' or 'I want this thing out of me but I don't wanna get it out, AHHH!'

Suffice to say that Hubbie and I are not yet in the middle of plans to extend the family. I have never despised children, but seeing as we both have sisters with children of their own, we have been first-hand witnesses to the struggles of raising them, and both the effort and commitment required to grow them up.

That combined with my open proclaimation that I am in a selfish phase (Hubbie likes to say we are simply 'enjoying' this phase of our marriage!), I want to be extra, extra, extra sure that I have certain things out of my system before we take the next big step. I need to be ready. Blonde tells me from her talks with mothers that you will never ever really be ready. Which is also quite scary if you think about being unprepared for the next step and having something growing inside of you. But I truly believe that I will feel something change in me, and I will know it is time.

However after this dream, I don't feel there needs to be much twisting of my arm, too much coaxing from Hubbie before we make the decision. When you feel the emotion of love, so true and so real in a dream, the feeling produced lasts long after the dream has ended. Like the fear brought about from a nightmare, so too does the feeling of love transfer into real life and extend long past days into weeks.

I guess I'm lucky, I have time on my side. We can't really do anything, seeing as our plan is first to build our house and move in and get settled before making any other big changes.

But, I can't lie, the dream has got my head ticking....ticking.....

Hubbie thinks Alana is an interesting name. I had to run the dream past him, of course :)



On an aside, it's also weird that I dreamt this, seeing as just recently I read and commented on a blog which I follow called "The Crymes Syndicate."

Margaret's post "The giraffe-necked baby was all in your head" recounts her dream of her unborn child, and it's a great read. You must check it out:



http://www.crymesyndicate.com/2010/08/giraffe-necked-baby-was-all-in-your.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+TheCrymesSyndicate+%28The+Crymes+Syndicate%29



And on an aside number 2, guess what one of the story highlights of the day are on todays My Daily News link?



"What should you eat to fall pregnant with a girl?"



Not. Joking.

Walt Disney

It takes the slightest thing to inspire me. Which is good in a way I guess, seeing as I'm trying to work ot what goal it is I want to achieve in life, in particular with my career.

Perhaps a year ago I saw the Disney movie "Meet the Robinsons." I found it so beautiful, sweet and touching, as well as funny in the usual brand of Disney humour. I think I was moved because of the story of the orphaned boy, and how the message of hope rang throughout the film and highlighted to him, that even he, was wanted and had a bright promising future.

No less inspiring was what came at the end of the film, when a Walt Disney quote came up after the conclusion, totally catching me off guard:


"Around here, however, we don't look backwards for very long.
We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things, because we're curious.....And curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
-Walt Disney


I was absolutely moved to tears. I had to struggle against them since I was at work at the time, and didn't want a fellow work colleague to walk by and go "she's crying at a Disney movie?"

In my current search for inspiration and guidance, as I think of my writing, as I ponder creating personalised videos, my sudden recollection of seeing this quote, and tracking it down, gives me hope that my silent questions are being answered, and also, that everything will be ok.

Everything will be just fine. In the words of the inspiring and self-help author Louise Hay, "All is Well in My World."