This was the last thing I was expecting to do when I logged onto my computer at approximately 9:30pm tonight.
Well not the last last thing... perhaps the last thing would have been to search for illegal weapons and look up porn. You know what I mean.
What I'm trying to say is it's been a LONG time. Very long. I can't believe I missed the year of 2013 completely. When I explain below, trust me, I will be forgiven.
I alluded to it in my last post, of things coming into fruition in the new year, which has now become last year...
In chronological order (I guess)
that family member... passed away. It was a very sad and difficult experience, and continues to be for all involved.
I had a baby! (on the total flipside). This is obviously very good news. I love her to pieces (I had a girl, clearly) and she's been our sunshine in the midst of so much darkness. She makes our lives brighter every day.
That's what I was alluding to in my last post: I was pregnant then, you see. It's difficult to go through a pregnancy when someone is so sick, and then unfortunately passes. Horrible for the sick person, horrible for the family, horrible for the pregnant person. I do not wish it upon my worst enemy. Both the sickness and being pregnant for the first time while someone you care for is ill.
I sent the first three chapters of my book to that agent who was showing interest, and after all that, she told me days before I had the baby that she was, after all, not interested in that 'style.' So after doing the whole sleep-deprivation and going insane in the early months of parenthood, I'm now back on the writing board, have sent queries to some agents and am waiting on one of them to get back to me soon on the first chapter I sent to them. Simultaneously I'm thinking of broadening my search, and am looking at writing jobs online so that I don't have to go back to my old job. I need to move on. I need flexible hours, and I feel sick at the thought of not being around my gorgeous girl while I waste time for hours on the road driving up and down across the city.
I've been doing searches on 'online writing jobs' and having read many an article about bloggers and writing and everything related I thought again (I've thought of it many times by now) how I haven't been on blogger in forever, and so thought I should stop by.
Clicking the 'new post' button though, was interesting. Brought back memories. Who am I kidding not really, but I do miss the blog. I like being anon, but I'm starting to think I need to be more public, in order to succeed in the world of publishing. That might mean eventually dropping this blog and starting a new one, and for that to take effect I can't really take any of my old followers with me, in fear of people in the real world finding out my secrets... LOL because there are so many scandals. Still, people in my life can work out a lot from my writings, hence I need to keep it protected to avoid hurting those around me.
(Big laugh at my mention of 'followers' too, not sure if anyone actually sees this blog despite my massive count of 3... ;) )
So, just thought I'd say, Hi.
Some things have changed, some not so much, some hugely, but ultimately, I'm still Miss S.
Mummy S too.
Monday, March 10, 2014
Friday, December 28, 2012
Don't you know who I am?
Isn’t that a Spice Girls song? Or am I getting confused with “Who do you think you are?” Kind of opposite my intended meaning, however had I actually said my post title out loud, I’m sure the receiver would have been quoting the Spice Girls.
Every so often, not too much thankfully (because to say the above would mean I’m in a not-very-good-situation) but I’ve had the feeling of wanting to say something along the lines of that.
In particular in relation to my job, if I’ve felt I was going to get unwelcome, in particular unfair trouble/treatment for whatever reason, I’ve had the strongest inclination to say “Do you know where I work?”
It’s something that naturally comes with working where I work, at a particular ‘influential’ media company, with ‘influential’ media contacts, and lots of other people I work with, have both admitted to thinking/doing the same, and encouraging the same. If you have it, you gotta use it, true?
Although I’m not one to take advantage of, guilt people into, or blackmail others into certain ‘desirable’ outcomes for myself, like I said, only when I felt I was getting inappropriate treatment did this thought cross my mind. Never have I used it.
A couple of weeks ago, something happened, that rather than make me want to say “Do you know where I work?” made me want to say something that only the biggest nose-in-the-air stuck-up celebs would say. I was soooo close.
I’d made my hair cut appointment over a month before the busy/crazy festive month. I’m never this early or organised with my hair, only just getting in before Christmas each year, but this time I was there at the hairdressers for a hair cut in October, and I thought “why not? I’ll be organised.”
So I made it.
Then something/someone broke my windscreen. I don’t know who/what it was, whether it was intentional or not, but one morning I got into my car, and there was a crack in the top right, and it proceeded to get longer and extend to the middle of the window over the next couple of days.
I initially freaked out. I thought the windscreen would shatter and cave in on me at any point in my driving. I was yet to find out that I could drive like that for 3 years (not that I wanted to), and in my freaked out state I had to IMMEDIATELY get it fixed.
The only day the guy could fix it, was a day I felt I already had an appointment. But I made the windscreen appointment anyway.
I called up my hairdresser’s, hoping whoever answered wouldn’t tell me what I already suspected. Yes I’d made the appointment so many months earlier, only I hadn’t been organised enough to write down the date. When I found out that the time of the hair cut coincided with the windscreen getting fixed, well I felt I had to cancel my hair cut appointment – I felt it was a matter of safety.
A bit disappointed, I informed the girl that I had to cancel, and asked her what other times I could see my usual hairdresser.
No times. Not that week or the one other.
I took a deep breath, and asked about getting my hair cut by the owner. He’s cut my hair a few times, and he actually knows me really well. I’ve been going there for so long, and he’s always really polite and friendly to me, and treats me almost like we’re friends. On several occasions he’s even bent over backwards to get me in, because I’m such a loyal customer.
No free times for him either. Not that week or the one other.
And then they were on leave ‘til end of Jan. END OF ‘JAN.
I was quite upset, and mad, but asked to get my name and number down so they could call me if there was a cancellation. Surely there’d be a cancellation.
In the meantime, the windscreen man cancelled on me, 10 minutes late into the time he was meant to come and fix it. I told him not to worry about coming another time, and then screamed the house down when I hung up. I was having a bad week.
At about the same time I got a voicemail message from the hairdresser owner, telling me someone had cancelled. I was really excited calling back, until I realised the date he’d given was actually a date I was already booked with something else. I wasn’t going to cancel my work Christmas party for a haircut, no matter how much my split ends needed to be removed.
I asked to speak to him – it was the same girl who told me there were no bookings available the first time around – and when she asked why, I explained he’d left a message for me. She returned in less than 10 seconds, informing me he’d made a mistake and hadn’t seen the message that I actually couldn’t come in on the day he suggested. I knew that, I just wanted to talk to him and get him to help me! I knew, I felt, that if he actually spoke to me, HE would squeeze me in, because HE knew how important I was. “Do you know who I am? How long I’ve been going there?” I wanted to scream into the phone. But I didn’t scream it. I tried to remain calm.
I was soooo mad. I devised a plan to ‘swing by’ the salon after work the following week, even if they hadn’t called me, just so I could see him ‘in person’ and make a ‘booking’ for the following YEAR.
When I came in, perhaps right near their closing time, I found:
Owner
Woman with child (child appeared to be getting hair cut), &
Said women from phone with her hair in foils.
AHEM. IN FOILS.
So it appeared that two people were working, and only one was paying. They couldn’t fucking get me in, a loyal customer, for a simple haircut, but they could put foils in the hair of a non-paying employee. I was soooo shitty.
Owner seemed to be aware they’d been trying to get me in though. That’s what I found surprising. He asked when I was coming in next, and I said with some bite ‘next year.’ I couldn’t follow through though, and still said a nice goodbye and ‘Merry Christmas’ – but really thinking of the scenario there over and over, I felt they could have treated me better, and at least tried. Considering it was their last week of Christmas trading hours, they didn’t look busy AT ALL.
Maybe owner didn’t know I had previously booked, and had to cancel due to what I temporarily though was a safety emergency – I certainly didn’t tell the girl, but she knew I’d booked months earlier, I told her that much.
Maybe I should have asked to speak to said owner from the start, in order to avoid all these ‘what if’s’ and urgencies to scream “Do you know who I am?” through the phone receiver. Maybe he would have helped me out more. She doesn’t know who I am, after all.
However, it didn’t appear I was anyone, from the moderate, average treatment I got when I walked into the salon unexpectedly that day… from the lack of treatment I received.
I’m booked in with him in late Jan. On the first day they come back. Gosh I hope he comments on my split ends. I intend on making him feel soooooo guilty.
Because clearly he’s forgotten who I am.
Every so often, not too much thankfully (because to say the above would mean I’m in a not-very-good-situation) but I’ve had the feeling of wanting to say something along the lines of that.
In particular in relation to my job, if I’ve felt I was going to get unwelcome, in particular unfair trouble/treatment for whatever reason, I’ve had the strongest inclination to say “Do you know where I work?”
It’s something that naturally comes with working where I work, at a particular ‘influential’ media company, with ‘influential’ media contacts, and lots of other people I work with, have both admitted to thinking/doing the same, and encouraging the same. If you have it, you gotta use it, true?
Although I’m not one to take advantage of, guilt people into, or blackmail others into certain ‘desirable’ outcomes for myself, like I said, only when I felt I was getting inappropriate treatment did this thought cross my mind. Never have I used it.
A couple of weeks ago, something happened, that rather than make me want to say “Do you know where I work?” made me want to say something that only the biggest nose-in-the-air stuck-up celebs would say. I was soooo close.
I’d made my hair cut appointment over a month before the busy/crazy festive month. I’m never this early or organised with my hair, only just getting in before Christmas each year, but this time I was there at the hairdressers for a hair cut in October, and I thought “why not? I’ll be organised.”
So I made it.
Then something/someone broke my windscreen. I don’t know who/what it was, whether it was intentional or not, but one morning I got into my car, and there was a crack in the top right, and it proceeded to get longer and extend to the middle of the window over the next couple of days.
I initially freaked out. I thought the windscreen would shatter and cave in on me at any point in my driving. I was yet to find out that I could drive like that for 3 years (not that I wanted to), and in my freaked out state I had to IMMEDIATELY get it fixed.
The only day the guy could fix it, was a day I felt I already had an appointment. But I made the windscreen appointment anyway.
I called up my hairdresser’s, hoping whoever answered wouldn’t tell me what I already suspected. Yes I’d made the appointment so many months earlier, only I hadn’t been organised enough to write down the date. When I found out that the time of the hair cut coincided with the windscreen getting fixed, well I felt I had to cancel my hair cut appointment – I felt it was a matter of safety.
A bit disappointed, I informed the girl that I had to cancel, and asked her what other times I could see my usual hairdresser.
No times. Not that week or the one other.
I took a deep breath, and asked about getting my hair cut by the owner. He’s cut my hair a few times, and he actually knows me really well. I’ve been going there for so long, and he’s always really polite and friendly to me, and treats me almost like we’re friends. On several occasions he’s even bent over backwards to get me in, because I’m such a loyal customer.
No free times for him either. Not that week or the one other.
And then they were on leave ‘til end of Jan. END OF ‘JAN.
I was quite upset, and mad, but asked to get my name and number down so they could call me if there was a cancellation. Surely there’d be a cancellation.
In the meantime, the windscreen man cancelled on me, 10 minutes late into the time he was meant to come and fix it. I told him not to worry about coming another time, and then screamed the house down when I hung up. I was having a bad week.
At about the same time I got a voicemail message from the hairdresser owner, telling me someone had cancelled. I was really excited calling back, until I realised the date he’d given was actually a date I was already booked with something else. I wasn’t going to cancel my work Christmas party for a haircut, no matter how much my split ends needed to be removed.
I asked to speak to him – it was the same girl who told me there were no bookings available the first time around – and when she asked why, I explained he’d left a message for me. She returned in less than 10 seconds, informing me he’d made a mistake and hadn’t seen the message that I actually couldn’t come in on the day he suggested. I knew that, I just wanted to talk to him and get him to help me! I knew, I felt, that if he actually spoke to me, HE would squeeze me in, because HE knew how important I was. “Do you know who I am? How long I’ve been going there?” I wanted to scream into the phone. But I didn’t scream it. I tried to remain calm.
I was soooo mad. I devised a plan to ‘swing by’ the salon after work the following week, even if they hadn’t called me, just so I could see him ‘in person’ and make a ‘booking’ for the following YEAR.
When I came in, perhaps right near their closing time, I found:
Owner
Woman with child (child appeared to be getting hair cut), &
Said women from phone with her hair in foils.
AHEM. IN FOILS.
So it appeared that two people were working, and only one was paying. They couldn’t fucking get me in, a loyal customer, for a simple haircut, but they could put foils in the hair of a non-paying employee. I was soooo shitty.
Owner seemed to be aware they’d been trying to get me in though. That’s what I found surprising. He asked when I was coming in next, and I said with some bite ‘next year.’ I couldn’t follow through though, and still said a nice goodbye and ‘Merry Christmas’ – but really thinking of the scenario there over and over, I felt they could have treated me better, and at least tried. Considering it was their last week of Christmas trading hours, they didn’t look busy AT ALL.
Maybe owner didn’t know I had previously booked, and had to cancel due to what I temporarily though was a safety emergency – I certainly didn’t tell the girl, but she knew I’d booked months earlier, I told her that much.
Maybe I should have asked to speak to said owner from the start, in order to avoid all these ‘what if’s’ and urgencies to scream “Do you know who I am?” through the phone receiver. Maybe he would have helped me out more. She doesn’t know who I am, after all.
However, it didn’t appear I was anyone, from the moderate, average treatment I got when I walked into the salon unexpectedly that day… from the lack of treatment I received.
I’m booked in with him in late Jan. On the first day they come back. Gosh I hope he comments on my split ends. I intend on making him feel soooooo guilty.
Because clearly he’s forgotten who I am.
The weetbix incident
So after a long time of no blog posting, let’s now bombard Blogger in one day.
Let me now recount, the ‘weetbix’ incident.
I have a certain name, that whilst young, could be teased. Sorry, WILL be teased. Fortunately when I was growing up I didn’t get teased much for it; however, I was really quite tough when it came to that aspect of my personality, as it honestly didn’t faze me. I would say, and still do say “honestly is that the best you can come up with?” These days it rarely comes up, only an extremely immature person would say something funny relating to my name, and I suspect even then people would look at them like ‘you’re so dumb right now.’
In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve been teased as much for my name, as I have been teased for my morning weetbix at work.
Honestly, it must be a male thing. Because only males here do it.
In the short time that I’ve been eating brekkie at work, I have had so many guys being so ridiculously stupid, it’s not funny. I have a large container that I fill with my weetbix, and leave in my locker, so every morning I take out 2 weetbix for my brekkie. 2, that’s all. Not 18, like the amount that is in my container at maximum capacity, but 2.
The container will sometimes be on my work desk, or on the table in the kitchen as I get my breakfast ready, and always some stupid person, even from a supposedly smart mouth, will say this remark “oh ,you’ve got a lot of weetbix.”
“That’s a lot of weetbix.”
“Oh, big breakfast!”
“You do a lot of weetbix!”
They are soooo rapt with themselves for their brilliant/stupid insight. They almost pat themselves on the back. Obviously it’s done as a joke. However, for some reason, it shits me up the wall.
I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s super early when I’m at work, and I need to have my breakfast before I can gain my regular sense of humour. Maybe it’s because men say generally stupid things. Or maybe it’s because it’s so blatantly obvious to me that I only have a few, that I find it absurd that the guys here continue to say the most stupidly insane things. It really annoys me.
It annoyed me to a point of no return a couple of months ago.
I came in to work, and had my container on my work bench before making my way into the kitchen. This guy who works near me walked past, and after we said a polite hello to each other, he proceeded to fuck his morning up with this:
“oh, you have a lot of weetbix.” (hahaha, jibe-smile remark – all this ‘intellectual’ though average-breed male was missing was a fellow caveman to prod in the side as they looked on stupidly at me)
And I proceeded to fuck up MY morning with this:
“(deep breath) I don’t know why everyone says that, it’s obvious that I only have 2 weetbix, really.”
I must mention that I responded quite strongly/vehemently, which resulted in intellectual caveman putting his hands up in front of him in a ‘I back down, don’t bite’ motion, as he stepped backwards slowly.
And then I HAD to add:
“Sorry, you were just the straw that broke my back.”
OMG. Just shut up already Miss S.
I was freaking worried then, and embarrassed after the fact, that I would get some stupid office reputation as being a ‘weetbix stickler’; someone paranoid over/about their breakfast; just a general breakfast-biscuit freak.
This dude, he totally avoided me, FOR AGES. I don’t generally talk to this guy, not only because we don’t exactly, well in any way shape or form really have to talk to each other with our work, but also because he kind of annoys me. I don’t like his sense of humour. It offended me once upon a time, so in my books, he’s out.
He’s just ‘not my type.’
And yet now, I was feeling so bad. Seriously, I think I scarred him. I was thinking of it for ages, and I even wanted to somehow say sorry, without putting more weight on the topic. But really that’s what I would have done had I said something. So I just left it. And left it. And we walked by each other, while he absent-mindedly on purpose pretended he didn’t see me.
We have spoken some words since then. Very few, so I hope he’s gotten over the pain of being verbally attacked by a supposed ‘wallflower’ like me. I don’t think he’ll stir me about my brekkie again. I don’t think he’ll mention weetbix to anyone again, EVER.
I did get a weetbix remark a couple weeks ago, in the kitchen, by another unsuspecting caveman.
He said “oh, you do a lot of weetbix.”
Remembering how I thrashed caveman 1 a while back, I just smiled, not looking at him, and said sarcastically “yeah, I have a 15 a day problem.”
He laughed. Stupid caveman.
Let me now recount, the ‘weetbix’ incident.
I have a certain name, that whilst young, could be teased. Sorry, WILL be teased. Fortunately when I was growing up I didn’t get teased much for it; however, I was really quite tough when it came to that aspect of my personality, as it honestly didn’t faze me. I would say, and still do say “honestly is that the best you can come up with?” These days it rarely comes up, only an extremely immature person would say something funny relating to my name, and I suspect even then people would look at them like ‘you’re so dumb right now.’
In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve been teased as much for my name, as I have been teased for my morning weetbix at work.
Honestly, it must be a male thing. Because only males here do it.
In the short time that I’ve been eating brekkie at work, I have had so many guys being so ridiculously stupid, it’s not funny. I have a large container that I fill with my weetbix, and leave in my locker, so every morning I take out 2 weetbix for my brekkie. 2, that’s all. Not 18, like the amount that is in my container at maximum capacity, but 2.
The container will sometimes be on my work desk, or on the table in the kitchen as I get my breakfast ready, and always some stupid person, even from a supposedly smart mouth, will say this remark “oh ,you’ve got a lot of weetbix.”
“That’s a lot of weetbix.”
“Oh, big breakfast!”
“You do a lot of weetbix!”
They are soooo rapt with themselves for their brilliant/stupid insight. They almost pat themselves on the back. Obviously it’s done as a joke. However, for some reason, it shits me up the wall.
I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s super early when I’m at work, and I need to have my breakfast before I can gain my regular sense of humour. Maybe it’s because men say generally stupid things. Or maybe it’s because it’s so blatantly obvious to me that I only have a few, that I find it absurd that the guys here continue to say the most stupidly insane things. It really annoys me.
It annoyed me to a point of no return a couple of months ago.
I came in to work, and had my container on my work bench before making my way into the kitchen. This guy who works near me walked past, and after we said a polite hello to each other, he proceeded to fuck his morning up with this:
“oh, you have a lot of weetbix.” (hahaha, jibe-smile remark – all this ‘intellectual’ though average-breed male was missing was a fellow caveman to prod in the side as they looked on stupidly at me)
And I proceeded to fuck up MY morning with this:
“(deep breath) I don’t know why everyone says that, it’s obvious that I only have 2 weetbix, really.”
I must mention that I responded quite strongly/vehemently, which resulted in intellectual caveman putting his hands up in front of him in a ‘I back down, don’t bite’ motion, as he stepped backwards slowly.
And then I HAD to add:
“Sorry, you were just the straw that broke my back.”
OMG. Just shut up already Miss S.
I was freaking worried then, and embarrassed after the fact, that I would get some stupid office reputation as being a ‘weetbix stickler’; someone paranoid over/about their breakfast; just a general breakfast-biscuit freak.
This dude, he totally avoided me, FOR AGES. I don’t generally talk to this guy, not only because we don’t exactly, well in any way shape or form really have to talk to each other with our work, but also because he kind of annoys me. I don’t like his sense of humour. It offended me once upon a time, so in my books, he’s out.
He’s just ‘not my type.’
And yet now, I was feeling so bad. Seriously, I think I scarred him. I was thinking of it for ages, and I even wanted to somehow say sorry, without putting more weight on the topic. But really that’s what I would have done had I said something. So I just left it. And left it. And we walked by each other, while he absent-mindedly on purpose pretended he didn’t see me.
We have spoken some words since then. Very few, so I hope he’s gotten over the pain of being verbally attacked by a supposed ‘wallflower’ like me. I don’t think he’ll stir me about my brekkie again. I don’t think he’ll mention weetbix to anyone again, EVER.
I did get a weetbix remark a couple weeks ago, in the kitchen, by another unsuspecting caveman.
He said “oh, you do a lot of weetbix.”
Remembering how I thrashed caveman 1 a while back, I just smiled, not looking at him, and said sarcastically “yeah, I have a 15 a day problem.”
He laughed. Stupid caveman.
Yowza
Wow. So I haven’t written in a LONG time.
I lie. I write heaps, I just haven’t written in here.
I think it’s time for a bit of a catch-up post, don’t ya think?
So life apparently, is getting better. Who am I kidding, it most definitely is. Some things I’m unable to divulge just yet (quite amusing since this is an anonymous blog) but I can say that
a) I won a competition (which helped with the red light camera fine I received)
b) family members who were sick, well are sick, appear to be getting better, and we are very hopeful (fingers crossed) that they will continue getting satisfactory and positive results
c) and in the month leading up to Red’s wedding, it was a massive reunion with all our friends, including Blonde (yes, it appears she gave up on her stubborn stance, in my opinion anyway – listen to her reason for attending “it just worked out with work” LOL)
Following the wedding Hubbie and I went away, and now we’re looking forward to the year of 2013. I’ve never been keen on the number ‘13’ yet it seems life has other things in store for me, wanting to turn my perception of the number into a REALLY good one. Watch this space.
There’s nothing quite like cracking it at someone who you have confused or unresolved feelings about. This happened at Red’s wedding with Blonde. Hubbie was paying her a lot of attention, and hugging her and talking to her, and I was getting peeved because I felt like when I was talking to her, she was being quite flippant about it. This continued for a couple of hours, until I cracked and said in front of her and Hubbie “Blonde has her own friends tonight,” referring to the table she was at.
Now let me get things perfectly clear: I have no issues, no jealousies whatsoever when it comes to Hubbie showing affection to the people I love most: this most particularly includes my sister, Red and Blonde. In fact, it fills my heart with such joy when I see these people getting along with Hubbie so well, that I feel as if my heart might burst. I love it sooooo much, it makes me so happy. But it was the fact that he was giving her attention, and I felt she wasn’t me, that I said the above remark with very much intended and directed malice. No subtlety there.
And, I’m one of those ‘nice’ people. I hate the word, but it’s the only way to explain. You know those people who never crack it? Well I do crack it, however quietly, and not directly at people. So if in the rare circumstance I have a go at someone, a close friend who knows me so well, I suspect a part of them cries internally.
I don’t mean to brag, but it’s just how it is, and I saw it in Blonde’s face and how it changed so much when I said it. Hubbie went “ooooh,” and I danced away, as you do at a wedding, but with my insides raging.
I later felt the true meaning of guilt and foot-in-the-mouth syndrome when I spoke to a close friend of Blonde’s. In talking about how we need to catch up, she mentioned how she had said to Blonde “I hope Miss S isn’t upset how I haven’t made an effort, I’ve been so busy,” to which she told me Blonde replied with “no, Miss S is so sweet she can’t get upset.”
Insert massively uncomfortable rock in centre of stomach.
I felt so bad. Blonde perhaps had her own issues that day; she was back in the country, having to deal with family issues even as she was at the wedding, and maybe was feeling a little envious that I was such a huge part of the bridal party, and she wasn’t. Maybe she had her own things going on.
I went to visit her at one stage at her table, and kind of, not really casually, but in a way so as not to get too deep into it, I said “I’m sorry about before, what I said, just forget it.”
She went “why? What happened? Why were you upset?”
I tried to brush it off, saying something like “don’t worry.” I was too ashamed to go through the real reasons; I felt too selfish to say ‘I feel like you don’t care about me’ when she had so much going on. Her behaviour following that was immaculate. Not to say you should crack it at your friends just to get them to pay attention to you, but she proved to me how much she does care, with remarks like “and this was here at your wedding, and I remember this, and that” etc and etc. She remembered things I didn’t. I felt touched, yet so bad for what I’d abruptly said.
She continues to send me messages from overseas, with things like “I bought you this. One for me, my sister and you.”
I see what you’re doing Blonde. I see.
My writing project has temporarily stalled. My first writing project. Intentionally I might add, which makes it acceptable I think. I’ve decided it’s inappropriate sending out a synopsis with chapters and all the bits and bobs to market the book, to prospective agents when it’s the yuletide/holiday season. So I’ve deliberately put it on hold until after Christmas, (which is now) but I’ve given myself the deadline of about 2-3 weeks into Jan by which to have it sent by, to the initial agent who showed interest if I reduced the word count.
Oh that. Yeah I didn’t get to reduce it by much. (very little, shh) But I figure she can’t tell that from the first 3 chapters.
Oh, and I still drink coffee. Like now. Hence my randomly impromptu post. I’m out.
I lie. I write heaps, I just haven’t written in here.
I think it’s time for a bit of a catch-up post, don’t ya think?
So life apparently, is getting better. Who am I kidding, it most definitely is. Some things I’m unable to divulge just yet (quite amusing since this is an anonymous blog) but I can say that
a) I won a competition (which helped with the red light camera fine I received)
b) family members who were sick, well are sick, appear to be getting better, and we are very hopeful (fingers crossed) that they will continue getting satisfactory and positive results
c) and in the month leading up to Red’s wedding, it was a massive reunion with all our friends, including Blonde (yes, it appears she gave up on her stubborn stance, in my opinion anyway – listen to her reason for attending “it just worked out with work” LOL)
Following the wedding Hubbie and I went away, and now we’re looking forward to the year of 2013. I’ve never been keen on the number ‘13’ yet it seems life has other things in store for me, wanting to turn my perception of the number into a REALLY good one. Watch this space.
There’s nothing quite like cracking it at someone who you have confused or unresolved feelings about. This happened at Red’s wedding with Blonde. Hubbie was paying her a lot of attention, and hugging her and talking to her, and I was getting peeved because I felt like when I was talking to her, she was being quite flippant about it. This continued for a couple of hours, until I cracked and said in front of her and Hubbie “Blonde has her own friends tonight,” referring to the table she was at.
Now let me get things perfectly clear: I have no issues, no jealousies whatsoever when it comes to Hubbie showing affection to the people I love most: this most particularly includes my sister, Red and Blonde. In fact, it fills my heart with such joy when I see these people getting along with Hubbie so well, that I feel as if my heart might burst. I love it sooooo much, it makes me so happy. But it was the fact that he was giving her attention, and I felt she wasn’t me, that I said the above remark with very much intended and directed malice. No subtlety there.
And, I’m one of those ‘nice’ people. I hate the word, but it’s the only way to explain. You know those people who never crack it? Well I do crack it, however quietly, and not directly at people. So if in the rare circumstance I have a go at someone, a close friend who knows me so well, I suspect a part of them cries internally.
I don’t mean to brag, but it’s just how it is, and I saw it in Blonde’s face and how it changed so much when I said it. Hubbie went “ooooh,” and I danced away, as you do at a wedding, but with my insides raging.
I later felt the true meaning of guilt and foot-in-the-mouth syndrome when I spoke to a close friend of Blonde’s. In talking about how we need to catch up, she mentioned how she had said to Blonde “I hope Miss S isn’t upset how I haven’t made an effort, I’ve been so busy,” to which she told me Blonde replied with “no, Miss S is so sweet she can’t get upset.”
Insert massively uncomfortable rock in centre of stomach.
I felt so bad. Blonde perhaps had her own issues that day; she was back in the country, having to deal with family issues even as she was at the wedding, and maybe was feeling a little envious that I was such a huge part of the bridal party, and she wasn’t. Maybe she had her own things going on.
I went to visit her at one stage at her table, and kind of, not really casually, but in a way so as not to get too deep into it, I said “I’m sorry about before, what I said, just forget it.”
She went “why? What happened? Why were you upset?”
I tried to brush it off, saying something like “don’t worry.” I was too ashamed to go through the real reasons; I felt too selfish to say ‘I feel like you don’t care about me’ when she had so much going on. Her behaviour following that was immaculate. Not to say you should crack it at your friends just to get them to pay attention to you, but she proved to me how much she does care, with remarks like “and this was here at your wedding, and I remember this, and that” etc and etc. She remembered things I didn’t. I felt touched, yet so bad for what I’d abruptly said.
She continues to send me messages from overseas, with things like “I bought you this. One for me, my sister and you.”
I see what you’re doing Blonde. I see.
My writing project has temporarily stalled. My first writing project. Intentionally I might add, which makes it acceptable I think. I’ve decided it’s inappropriate sending out a synopsis with chapters and all the bits and bobs to market the book, to prospective agents when it’s the yuletide/holiday season. So I’ve deliberately put it on hold until after Christmas, (which is now) but I’ve given myself the deadline of about 2-3 weeks into Jan by which to have it sent by, to the initial agent who showed interest if I reduced the word count.
Oh that. Yeah I didn’t get to reduce it by much. (very little, shh) But I figure she can’t tell that from the first 3 chapters.
Oh, and I still drink coffee. Like now. Hence my randomly impromptu post. I’m out.
Friday, October 26, 2012
I ran over a mattress
There is no lie, no exaggeration to the above statement. True story. Just another one of the random things I do.
This actually happened to me last week. I do fairly early morning work shifts, and need to get up at an unfathomable time in order to get to work. The unfathomable-ness is made even more so by the fact that rather than sleep in an extra 20-30 minutes and get to work right on time, I actually need to leave the house earlier than I have to, just to get parking. That’s just shithouse.
Because of the insane hour I’m driving at, needless to say I’m still a little sleepy when I get in the car; not dangerously so, of course, but even after washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I’m still in a bit of a haze, with sleepy-land trailing slowly behind me.
And because it is so dark, well… there is not much on the road near my house, except for some other random poor soul in their car that also has to get up at an insane hour to get to work. Because not much happens, and it is relatively still and quiet at that time of the early morning, I was quite hazily staring into the far horizon of darkness as I drove down my street last week, not aware of what was coming up in front of me…
It was only when it came within a couple of metres of my impending headlights, that I noticed an unexpected white line. My immediate thought was “oh God, I’m going to hit something” but it was so close and I was travelling about 50 kms/h that it was too late to not hit it. As I reached it, braking, I realised what it was. However the brake stopped me just as I drove over it, and I was there, fully stopped, my car sitting on a freaking whole mattress in the middle of the road.
What made it worse was that a car had come out from a side street up ahead, and having seen me approach had to stop to give way. Only they stopped to watch me stop on a freaking mattress. How embarrassment. I had nothing else to do and accelerated hard, hoping to get off the mattress and away from the stupid situation as fast as I could.
I angrily called Hubbie as I sped away (emergency call it was). I wanted to warn him of the mattress so that he wouldn’t run over it on his way to work 30 minutes later. Huh. Like he would. As I told him he was like “you ran over a mattress? How come you didn’t see it?” As I angrily explained that it was dark and how it apparently had risen from the ground appearing out of nowhere, I could hear him smiling. Men.
Every time Hubbie sees a mattress now, he laughs.
This actually happened to me last week. I do fairly early morning work shifts, and need to get up at an unfathomable time in order to get to work. The unfathomable-ness is made even more so by the fact that rather than sleep in an extra 20-30 minutes and get to work right on time, I actually need to leave the house earlier than I have to, just to get parking. That’s just shithouse.
Because of the insane hour I’m driving at, needless to say I’m still a little sleepy when I get in the car; not dangerously so, of course, but even after washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I’m still in a bit of a haze, with sleepy-land trailing slowly behind me.
And because it is so dark, well… there is not much on the road near my house, except for some other random poor soul in their car that also has to get up at an insane hour to get to work. Because not much happens, and it is relatively still and quiet at that time of the early morning, I was quite hazily staring into the far horizon of darkness as I drove down my street last week, not aware of what was coming up in front of me…
It was only when it came within a couple of metres of my impending headlights, that I noticed an unexpected white line. My immediate thought was “oh God, I’m going to hit something” but it was so close and I was travelling about 50 kms/h that it was too late to not hit it. As I reached it, braking, I realised what it was. However the brake stopped me just as I drove over it, and I was there, fully stopped, my car sitting on a freaking whole mattress in the middle of the road.
What made it worse was that a car had come out from a side street up ahead, and having seen me approach had to stop to give way. Only they stopped to watch me stop on a freaking mattress. How embarrassment. I had nothing else to do and accelerated hard, hoping to get off the mattress and away from the stupid situation as fast as I could.
I angrily called Hubbie as I sped away (emergency call it was). I wanted to warn him of the mattress so that he wouldn’t run over it on his way to work 30 minutes later. Huh. Like he would. As I told him he was like “you ran over a mattress? How come you didn’t see it?” As I angrily explained that it was dark and how it apparently had risen from the ground appearing out of nowhere, I could hear him smiling. Men.
Every time Hubbie sees a mattress now, he laughs.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Red Gerberas
Yesterday I went to the place where Jill was last seen. Walking past the church which had become a makeshift shrine for her... past the bridal shop where the influential CCTV footage had been taken of her attacker... walking past Hope street... it made me shiver. Still does.
I had to buy her flowers. After I did my jobs on Sydney Road, I went up to a shop I had driven by on my way there. The thought had been in my mind as I drove towards the area: "What colour flowers?" I don't know why it was but the thought kind of lingered in my mind, and yet there was no real question, no real hesitation in the colour that I had already chosen before the question even existed in my mind.
I reached the shop and at the front saw a small bouquet of bright red.
The image of her on all the posters we've been seeing - on the news, street poles, online - smiling with her mass of dark hair waving behind her, punctuated by her dark red lipstick, is so fresh in my mind.
However red can be a cruel colour. On the flip side, it means rage; anger; fury.
For me though, red stands for everything that is powerful, for all that is great. It means passion, desire, strength and love. It stands for old-fashioned virtues, and everything that is bold and new in this world.
The red I bought is a reminder to her, her family, and to everyone out there: the fury may have momentarily taken a beautiful woman from this world; however the love and light of the community, the city, and the world, will always win out over the scum.
The passion of red will always endure. No one can take that away.
I had to buy her flowers. After I did my jobs on Sydney Road, I went up to a shop I had driven by on my way there. The thought had been in my mind as I drove towards the area: "What colour flowers?" I don't know why it was but the thought kind of lingered in my mind, and yet there was no real question, no real hesitation in the colour that I had already chosen before the question even existed in my mind.
I reached the shop and at the front saw a small bouquet of bright red.
The image of her on all the posters we've been seeing - on the news, street poles, online - smiling with her mass of dark hair waving behind her, punctuated by her dark red lipstick, is so fresh in my mind.
However red can be a cruel colour. On the flip side, it means rage; anger; fury.
For me though, red stands for everything that is powerful, for all that is great. It means passion, desire, strength and love. It stands for old-fashioned virtues, and everything that is bold and new in this world.
The red I bought is a reminder to her, her family, and to everyone out there: the fury may have momentarily taken a beautiful woman from this world; however the love and light of the community, the city, and the world, will always win out over the scum.
The passion of red will always endure. No one can take that away.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
My Blonde Continuation
That sounds like it should be a title in the Bourne series.
I was going to use the word conclusion, but then I realised when it comes to this girl, nothing she does, no motive, no event, is really ever going to be final or conclusive. Just as our friendship.
Boy was my dream right. The hole in her top from being shot at, represents the shots being fired at her in real life. Her sister didn’t tell me this when I asked about Blonde, because she too is involved in the family turmoil that is clouding them all.
Without getting into detail, shit has happened, life changes and choices abound, and she feels like a little lost puppy, with many places to go, but with no real home.
I’m feeling quite torn and confused after our almost 2 hour Skype chat. I feel deeply sorry for her, and I even shed some tears of my own about my life in amongst her tear-stained face. We were a couple of massive sooks on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.
And, although my question of why she hasn’t made contact with me in ages has sort of been answered, in another way it kind of hasn’t. Although she said she tends to bottle things up, she mentioned how she’s been speaking to another close friend of hers, and I couldn’t help thinking ‘who contacted who?’ It’s very likely that the ‘other’ friend contacted Blonde, but I’m kind of wondering, festering slowly over the annoying chance that Blonde went to her… and then I must ask – why didn’t she come to me?
I know it’s a lot of ‘what ifs?’ but there’s the other annoying thing, the part where she didn’t mention, or take note ofthe fact that I was quite worried about her these last few months. Either she is oblivious to it, or doesn’t care that I was looking for her. I know she’s had a lot on, I get it; however I had this really overwhelming emotion come over me when we were talking, and I thought to myself ‘I’ve been listening to everyone this year, from their happiness, to mostly their crap and problems and issues with life, and now it’s time for me. What about me?’
What about me. That has been circling my head for a couple of days now. I need someone to listen to me as well. I need someone to care. I need someone to ask if I’m doing alright. I’m a person with real needs and emotions too.
The day after our Skype chat I noticed she had sent me an email which I hadn’t seen at the time. She said she was going to bed. Having not seen this, I’d logged onto Skype and she had told me she’d get out of bed when I messaged her. I just thought she was resting there… that shit me too. Here we are, we haven’t spoken in yonks, I’m worried about her, and she can’t stay up for a bit to talk to her ‘close’ friend? I can’t say bestie anymore…
I know she cares… but I just have to wonder. I wonder if I’ve invested more into this friendship than she has, and I feel that is apparent from her failure to acknowledge my concern, in her absence of reaching out to me in her hard time, and in the fact that she was still crying over Red. That makes me sad too; but I’m here. There is someone who cares. I don’t know if she’s seeing that, or if I’m looking into things too much.
I can’t talk to her for a while now. As hard as it is, and as much as I wanted her to know I'm thinking of her, I need to distance at this point in time. As much as I learnt the other day, I feel like I know that much less about our friendship. And the not-knowing hurts.
I was going to use the word conclusion, but then I realised when it comes to this girl, nothing she does, no motive, no event, is really ever going to be final or conclusive. Just as our friendship.
Boy was my dream right. The hole in her top from being shot at, represents the shots being fired at her in real life. Her sister didn’t tell me this when I asked about Blonde, because she too is involved in the family turmoil that is clouding them all.
Without getting into detail, shit has happened, life changes and choices abound, and she feels like a little lost puppy, with many places to go, but with no real home.
I’m feeling quite torn and confused after our almost 2 hour Skype chat. I feel deeply sorry for her, and I even shed some tears of my own about my life in amongst her tear-stained face. We were a couple of massive sooks on a sunny Tuesday afternoon.
And, although my question of why she hasn’t made contact with me in ages has sort of been answered, in another way it kind of hasn’t. Although she said she tends to bottle things up, she mentioned how she’s been speaking to another close friend of hers, and I couldn’t help thinking ‘who contacted who?’ It’s very likely that the ‘other’ friend contacted Blonde, but I’m kind of wondering, festering slowly over the annoying chance that Blonde went to her… and then I must ask – why didn’t she come to me?
I know it’s a lot of ‘what ifs?’ but there’s the other annoying thing, the part where she didn’t mention, or take note ofthe fact that I was quite worried about her these last few months. Either she is oblivious to it, or doesn’t care that I was looking for her. I know she’s had a lot on, I get it; however I had this really overwhelming emotion come over me when we were talking, and I thought to myself ‘I’ve been listening to everyone this year, from their happiness, to mostly their crap and problems and issues with life, and now it’s time for me. What about me?’
What about me. That has been circling my head for a couple of days now. I need someone to listen to me as well. I need someone to care. I need someone to ask if I’m doing alright. I’m a person with real needs and emotions too.
The day after our Skype chat I noticed she had sent me an email which I hadn’t seen at the time. She said she was going to bed. Having not seen this, I’d logged onto Skype and she had told me she’d get out of bed when I messaged her. I just thought she was resting there… that shit me too. Here we are, we haven’t spoken in yonks, I’m worried about her, and she can’t stay up for a bit to talk to her ‘close’ friend? I can’t say bestie anymore…
I know she cares… but I just have to wonder. I wonder if I’ve invested more into this friendship than she has, and I feel that is apparent from her failure to acknowledge my concern, in her absence of reaching out to me in her hard time, and in the fact that she was still crying over Red. That makes me sad too; but I’m here. There is someone who cares. I don’t know if she’s seeing that, or if I’m looking into things too much.
I can’t talk to her for a while now. As hard as it is, and as much as I wanted her to know I'm thinking of her, I need to distance at this point in time. As much as I learnt the other day, I feel like I know that much less about our friendship. And the not-knowing hurts.
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