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.

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.

Red vs. Blonde

I am currently on par with tones of burgundy in my hair, and in my late teen years there was always some streak of blonde, or multiple streaks of platinum running through my locks to make it fair.




This however, is not a post about hair colour. Rather it has to do with two of my closest buddies.



Red.



Blonde.



I love them both dearly. Red, I have known almost all my life. Even when we weren’t best friends before our high school days, we knew each other and even hung out for a short period of time in primary school. Friends for over 20 years, besties for about 15. That’s an impressive stat.



Blonde I’ve known for a bit less. Her I’ve known for 13 years, since high school, but it was in our post high school years that we grew even closer. I guess I’d say she’s been my ‘other’ bestie for about 7 years. Still a good feat.



I never say Blonde’s my bestie in front of Red. Nor do I say it about Red, in front of Blonde, though Blonde has heard it plenty out of Red’s mouth. The furthest I’ve gone, to speak about the other to the one I’m with, is to say “my closest friends.” But I’ve never said ‘best.’



Up until maybe a year ago, and especially in our early 20s, when Blonde was still living in the country, we were VERY VERY tight. The three of us. It was a constant ball. I always felt I was a good blend of the two. Red is more conservative in some respects, and I mean that only in the sense of not being so rude, not so out there with the sexual innuendos. No swearing, she’s good and kind and sweet to all people. She’ll bend over backwards for you, and is always smiling, always positive, cheerful and good-natured.



This is not to say she is boring or uninteresting in anyway, as most people think with ‘nice’ people (strike that – I hate the word ‘nice’). We’ve had the biggest laughs together Red and I. We share the same goofy, silly humour, generally the same taste in music, and have the same zest for life, constantly inspiring and motivating each other to reach higher, to achieve our wildest most unimaginable dreams. Because we know they’re not unimaginable. We know we can make them come true.



Blonde on the other hand, is quite… crazy. She has a very addictive personality: people just want to be around her. She is refreshing, in that she says whatever she’s thinking, does things without inhibition, and talks and talks until the cows come home. I have the utmost respect for her, because unlike ‘other’ motor-mouths who fail to realise that other people exist in their presence, when I speak, Blonde stops, and listens. She REALLY listens.



Blonde can sometimes be forgetful. She’ll forget your birthday; she’ll say she’s coming over, but then call 2 hours later and say, ‘I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry (because she can see through her sensory x-ray long-distance vision that I’m turning purple) but I’m coming now!’ And because of her happy-go-lucky persona, you always forgive her.



I like being a combo of the two of them, and that probably shows why I get along so well with them both. I think I’m sweet and kind like Red, willing to do a lot for my closest friends and family; yet like Blonde, I can be a bit rude, be a bit rash when the moment permits. I have a healthy dose of her wild side, yet a substantial portion of Red’s considerate-ness at the same time. Thoughtful yet crazy, I think.



They’re kind of the two extremes, yet we ALWAYS got along. Got along. One of my favourite memories, proof of how I’m a bit of both personalities, was when we went shopping together a while back, and Red upon looking at a kind of see-through top to try on, asked the shop assistant “do you have a singlet so I can put it on under this?” The guy started to look around, upon which Blonde jokingly said “no Red, you try it on like that so we see your boobs,” quite loudly, so the shop assistant could hear (he was gay by the way). As Blonde laughed out loud, and I giggled compulsively, Red turned to Blonde, shot her a dark look and said angrily “Blonde! That’s rude, don’t be so loud!”



Although that’s a fave memory, maybe that’s not the best example of the three of us. Maybe I use that example because that’s when I noticed things started to change. By that stage, it wasn’t 3 musketeers. It was 2. Or the ‘other’ 2. Never 3. I was always part of the 2. And by that time, from that incident, I started to realise I was leaning on the side of Blonde a bit more.



It almost hurts me to write this. I love them both so much. I wish the crap that had happened never did: not that anything, any event as such happened; it was just a slow removal, a non-revealing of information, non-sharing of life experiences, a waning of contact that led to the slow parting of Red and Blonde.



I don’t think Red would think they’ve parted. In true Red style, and though I love her for her positivity, her focus on that thing only leaves her with a bit of a dream-like, rose-coloured glasses view of everything. She doesn’t realise Blonde is shitty with her. She doesn’t realise she could have involved her more in her wedding. She doesn’t realise she hasn’t put into the friendship – she just thinks because she’s been busy, that Blonde understands.



It’s not just that. There are a few more nitty-gritty issues, things that got in the way and screwed things up. Other friends, partners.



Blonde sees it though. Blonde is hurt. And Blonde tells me all about it. Told me all about it.



Sigh.



I’m a bit stuck you see. I love both these girls. They fulfil parts of me, in completely different ways, and I’m the luckiest, most freaking blessed girl to have people like this in my life. Add to that my sister, who really, truly is (not biased, no joke) the best, most fantastic sister in the world – and I know it’s true because all my friends love her, even those who have sisters, wish they had her as one instead – and in the words of another friend, I feel like I’m shitting rainbows in the girlfriend department. I’m set.



Back in the day when we used to spend time together, Red, Blonde and I, it was magnificent. I actually can’t find an adjective appropriate enough to describe the time spent together. Explosive? Thrilling? Meaningful? Deep? Out of this world? If I was lesbian, I would probably have an affair with both of them, let’s just say that’s how much I love them.



And that’s the problem. I’d have an affair with both of them.



It would be so good, every time was the best time. Lately though, with the absence of both of them, simultaneously in my life, and with all of life’s changes… I’m missing those times. Thinking of it now, God I’m missing those times. SO BAD.



With all the shit and crap, doom and gloom and with all of life’s frustrations that have been so prevalent not just lately, but on and off for the past year, I’m missing that… and one of them more in particular.



Blonde.



Maybe it’s because the grass is greener. Blonde is overseas, I haven’t seen her in about 5 months, and I haven’t spoken to her in about the same time. No joke. Instead I’ve been busy with Red, and helping her plan her wedding.



And with all that’s been going on lately, I had a massive pang of sadness hit me last week. I miss Blonde. I need her. I need to talk to her. I want to know where she is.



Some best friend huh?



Blonde works overseas, and was going on holiday in that region a while ago. Up until just before my birthday, I knew what country she was in. I’d tried to call her before she left for her holiday, but her phone wasn’t working. She said she’d Skype me, but in true Blonde fashion, she never did. When she didn’t call me for my birthday, I was a bit sad: she makes an effort to remember my birthday, and I know she wouldn’t have forgotten it, despite how scatter-brained she can be at times.



I realised she wasn’t posting on facebook, AT ALL. In fact she still hasn’t. I’ve contacted her sister twice to ask about Blonde: once her sister said she was overseas and her normal phone wasn’t working; and most recently when I asked again, she mentioned Blonde was travelling to a conference. Well that sounds like she’s back at work. So why hasn’t she called me?



I’ve been a bit stubborn. I wanted to talk to Blonde earlier this year to tell her the exciting news that I’d finished my book. But when she didn’t call for my birthday I felt a bit rejected, honestly I did. Up until recently I was like ‘stuff her, she should call me, she should know I’ve been chasing her.’ But then I was like ‘does she?’ If she hasn’t updated her facebook, she wouldn’t see the messages left there. Her sister may not even be telling her (she can be the jealous type) and I even had a dream about her, where someone told me she had been shot, and all I saw of her was her top with a hole in it.



That made me worried. I started to doubt my stubbornness, and wonder whether I should just woman up and call her. If it’s your friend, you forgive them I say. Not just that, but you don’t know what’s been happening. You don’t know their side of the story. For all I know something bad has happened and she hasn’t been able to call. But her sister would have told me, surely…



But then again the other day I saw she ‘liked’ something on facebook – even though she hasn’t put anything on her page. So she IS around. But where IS she? I wonder whether she is avoiding us all, maybe because she doesn’t want to go to Red’s wedding. Maybe this is all in protest, in not having been chosen to be a part of the bridal party, in not having been chosen to be included AT ALL.



It’s just so confusing, and so frustrating. And so sad. I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and it’s actually HER that I miss. Despite my love for both of them, I actually need to speak to Blonde. With all that’s been going on, I feel I need to let my feelings out, and that Blonde is the right person to talk to. To air my grievances with. Red would listen I know, but she’d be all, “look on the bright side, be positive,” and I actually don’t need that. I want someone to listen, and to say “that’s shit.”



That’s Blonde. I need her matter-of-fact, listen without trying to make you feel better point of view. I just need the realism of life.



Maybe I just need to try call her again. Now.

Imagination can drive you to Insanity

I’ve come to a very unhealthy conclusion. My imagination is both my greatest strength as it is my Achilles heel.




I haven’t been writing creatively (as in story book writing) for a couple of weeks, as I try to leave my work alone, letting it stew in my head as I continue to get slow trickling feedback on my book via the few people who are actually reading it (more on that later). Apart from my blogging and other journaling, this removal from writing and thinking about my characters, the absence of being in their world and constantly thinking up inventive ways to make the work interesting, has given me TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK. Waaayyyyy too much time. And it’s not good. Not good at all.



Shit happens when I think too much. I over-analyse. I create bullshit scenarios in my head that aren’t true. I imagine how much better my life can be, when there is actually no problems in it (minus Motor-Mouth – there’s a name you haven’t heard in a while – but I’m just learning how to completely ignore her shit so all is relatively good there).



Just last week, I was talking to Densley on our morning coffee walk, and he mentioned a FB status of mine where I mentioned something about finding myself. He said to me “why would you be upset? You’ve got everything anyone could want in life!”



He completely stumped me there. Both for his frankness, and for apparently knowing me, or perceiving my life better than I was doing myself. I replied with a smile “maybe one day we can talk about it, I’ll tell you then.” Of course I was referring to my book, my upsets over work, and other projects Hubbie and I have going on in our personal life at home, but I didn’t wanna tell him that, as it’s all very private right now.



Yet I felt such a sudden awareness, a selfishness overcome me with his words, and I had to think “am I creating elephants out of ants as I usually do?” Am I really upset for no good reason at all?



It’s my freaking head. I need to write. I’ve had so many creative stories running through me for over a year now, that upon completion and failing to continue to use that now-trained part of my brain, I’m finding myself looking to create dramas and angst in my own life, when there is no reason to. There is no need to, but try telling the overused part of my head that, the part that like your mother wants to cook for you even when you have moved out of home.



The findings? Well I need to try and stop thinking, or start channelling these creativities into my next book, before I completely screw up my life and everything in it with my magical fixed-ness to unbroken things. I have sent off an email today to a prospective agent (everyone is prospective to me) hoping that they will like what I tell them about my story and ask to see some at the very least of my manuscript. I’m putting off checking my email for a response for as long as possible, trying not to get far ahead of myself. Maybe I should be putting my energies into writing up a good synopsis. Yet the thought terrifies me. Shudder.



On a partially connected note, I have been completely blown away by my sister’s response to my story. She is one of the busiest people I know, and I’m grateful just for the fact that she has agreed to look at it. But no, she’s gone further. She’s already read 3 chapters and is constantly giving me chapter by chapter feedback, despite her unyielding manic family schedule. And she likes it, she actually likes it, and no, she wouldn’t lie to me.



My sister is giving me what I thought Red would. As besties, Red and I have been inspiring each other about our respective passions for over a year now. It took her a week to actually pick up my manuscript and start reading from the day I actually gave it to her (she messaged me on Friday night when she said she turned the first page) yet I haven’t heard a thing from her since. I absolutely refuse to message her and ask what she thinks, in a kind of fear of what she’ll say, but I also feel it’s not up to me to say anything. I just can’t believe she hasn’t: this is so unlike her. I completely expected her to be all like “it’s good” if not “I love it!” but nothing. Is it that shit? Has she been busy? Did she start reading and then have to stop, and doesn’t want to give feedback on the first chapter until she’s finished it? But she would have messaged me that that was what’s happening! That’s the confusing thing!



It’s been going round and around in my head all weekend, and even Hubbie agrees it’s weird of her not to messaged me by now. She’s not the jealous type, and she has been so supportive through all of this, excited for me, telling me “I can’t wait to read it Miss S.!” And now… NOTHING! Nothing at all! I’m sticking to my guns and refusing to message her, and I will hold out for a long time (until I need to get my hair coloured which will be about a week and a half from now so until then I can’t message her…)



My sister and Red have had a complete role reversal. I didn’t expect my Sis to give me as much feedback as she has, and to be so enthusiastic as she has been because of how busy she is, and yet she has. At least I’m getting SOME positive feedback…



And then my other bestie, Blonde – I don’t even KNOW where in the world she is. I love her to bits, but I think she’s travelling somewhere in Europe, and I don’t know where or for how long. I want to tell her about finishing my book and catch up on her life, and she’s virtually in-contactable. (Apparently that’s not a word, but screw it).



Both my besties are MIA. And I have a head full of imagination to contend with. Just great.

Every freaking shade of grey possible.

I’ve been under the humungous naïve preconception that the writing of my book was going to be the hardest work out of all hard-works in the entire process to publication. Hence my highly premature and over-excited recent posts. Well look, I’m allowed to celebrate that part, it is exciting. But I just thought the greatest toil and turmoil was over…




How wrong I was.



My purchase of, subsequent thinking-of-when-to-read, followed by my starting-to-read Fifty Shades of Grey, has coincided with the research of all things that will get me on the road to getting published.



As I stared at the book on the coffee table, thinking I should read it when I finish my King one, I was in the midst of looking into agents/publishing houses/solicited manuscripts vs. unsolicited manuscripts: and I didn’t feel good about what I was reading at all.



Then I would go back to staring at the Grey book, and the thought of it made me sick. I couldn’t work it out. Why was the thought of reading it making me feel wrong, unhappy, unwell, repulsed even? It had nothing to do with the content of the book – hell I thoroughly enjoy sex and think it an exceptionally vital part of life. It wasn’t that, I was very well aware of the content, as advised by Blonde.



No, it was something else. When I was reading Twilight, I was thinking of writing, thinking of what to write and where to start, however I still allowed myself to be absorbed in the story and become captivated, even a bit obsessed by it.



This time, I’ve started reading Grey following the completion of my story. Following Hubbie having read the 1st four pages of it, and having Mum read the entire thing (in one go, see previous post). Also following the fear of seeing it in hard copy, following the antagonism of realising I can edit more of it, and following Hubbie telling me “look, I don’t read, but there’s a lot of explaining in here…” … following from comments like that, intense DOUBT creeping in.



I was so consumed in the world of my book for such a long time. Hearing about  Grey's author supposedly earning 1 million a week for her series, hearing about the book continuously on the radio, and having people I know read and like it, and recommend me to like it, has left me feeling…



Crap. Sick. A bit jealous? Gosh I hate that emotion. And a little part of me is scared. Terrified even.



Why?



Because I don’t want to get obsessed about another’s work… even though finishing chapter 3 of Grey last night I feel I well and truly am on my way. Getting obsessed in another's world, when I should be in my own… does it mean my world’s not good enough? Who will be enthralled by the world I’ve created, when so many are currently consumed by Grey?



Ahhhh! I hate the way I’m thinking! I HATE IT! But unfortunately, I can’t stop the feelings.



I coach myself. I say “Miss S., you can’t compare your book to Grey. It’s a completely different genre.”



“Miss S., there are no limitations in this world, only the ones you impose on yourself. There are enough authors and stories to go around.”



“Miss S., you don’t over explain. It’s called establishing. Hubbie would know that if he read books.”



But none of those arguments hold any weight. I know that because the same sick, heavy feeling remains. Unmoving, just sitting, THERE, in the pit of my stomach.



Deep breath.



Throwing oil on the flame is the fact that apparently:



Many publishers don’t accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Many agents only accept writers with a contract (which you get through a publisher) or writers who have been published before.



And the ugly circle of being screwed in the middle with no place to go begins.



I have neither of the above. The only light I get from the above info - which I gained from another blog - (which in its sum was actually quite positive about the publishing process, inspiring hope and all) was the operative word in both statements. Most. There are publishers that accept unsolicited manuscripts, and there are agents that are looking for new, raw, undiscovered talent. And every undiscovered writer in Australia wants to be that one needle in the haystack, that unpolished gem that’s found by a hard-nosed and passionate agent/publisher.



I’m part of that passionate (desperate almost, even?) bunch of undiscovered writers that wants to be published. Fuck yeah I am. I’m freaking shitty with myself now for even writing the previous doubt-inducing, sad, woeful sentences that came before this.



Mofos, I will do this. I will succeed. Yes there is work to be done, research to be had. Yes there are no rainbows shooting out of my book to catch the expectant and hopeful eye of some passing agent/publisher. But if they’re not shooting now, I will make them shoot, and shoot far and wide they will.



And I refuse to belittle myself with jealousy games. I will read ALL 3 Fifty Shades books, and I know I will enjoy it. I will not reduce myself to stupidity because I had a momentary moment of feeling threatened. I’m NOT threatened: Grey writer deserves the success, the attention, and the money. She isn’t the first, and she won’t be the last.



She WON’T be the last. Because I’m coming mother-fuckers.

Happiness Is.... #5

Happiness Is....

Shopping with your best buddies. Walking around a shopping centre aimlessly, not necessarily buying anything but nontheless window-dreaming and thinking big. Talking about a random multitude of subjects because hey, that's what old friends do. They are never at a loss for words.

The conversation is about people, places, things; everything. Somehow it turns to books. And I say to Blonde teasingly, in reference to her inability to complete reading an entire book (she much rather prefers shopping) "When I finish my book, Red can read it and then tell you all about it."

I say this quite seriously even though I'm teasing. I'm under no false pretences about her choice of activites. I'm giving her a 'get out of jail free' card.

Immediately she turns to me: it's an instantaneous reaction. "No, I'M going to read it!" I laugh.

A few minutes pass before I realise how valuable her reaction to my statement was. I tell her and we laugh again.

I love it. I love my friends. Red and Blonde are the best. Their support to me in my creative endeavours is incredible. I love them for wanting to read my book because they want to. And I love them for wanting to read my book even more, even though it may not be the first preference of sparetime activity they would normally choose.

Cherish your true friends :)

Movie Moments

The above is what I'm trying my best to focus on in my return back to work today after 2 weeks.

Like I've previously blogged, many many posts ago, it felt not only weird to be back at work today but also depressing. I know the first day back is always difficult, and it takes a while to get back into the everyday routine.
But I've had such a good time while on leave with Hubbie. Not just good, but great, brilliant, fantastic, fun, every wonderful and heart-warming, good times-explosive word you can imagine.

And it's not even like we went away very far, or for very long. Yes, we went away for a few nights for my birthday, with the rest of the time spent furniture/home furnishing shopping, whilst drinking coffees, going out to brunches and dinners, and going out heaps with our family and friends, with a good dose of drinking and partying to make things that extra bit awesome.

Having the time off with Hubbie was absolute bliss. We haven't had this much time off together since our honeymoon. And it was tooooooo good. Which is why I felt so depressed this morning.

Things did seem a bit weird, a bit off around the office this morning, however I can't quite put my finger on what the changes are, because everything looks the same. Except for the printer, that is different.

Again, in light of these strong feelings, my resolve to write and be my own boss is stronger than ever. Although I had a bit of writers block last week (is it writer's block when you can't find ideas, or you can't find the right words? Maybe both) I know I need to finish this story (I've finished chapter 9) and after finishing it, keep ON writing to develop more books, as not writing would be like killing these characters off in my head. And they definitely have a story that needs to be heard.

Also, coming back to work to learn that once again

hey you! yes you! you are going to be in charge again while your boss is away! YAY!

is not exactly love inducing. I wanted to come back to work and have it be all cruisy because I'm still in freaking holiday mode. I have my brother-in-law's birthday tonight, my bestie Blonde is visiting again from the U.S, and I want to ease into this thing. But no. Work has other plans doesn't it. And not only that, but people have to snap at me too, don't they, just for fucking asking questions and doing my job as opposed to slacking off and counting down the seconds like the complete idiotic incompetent wankers that they are (ahem, cough* no-show boy).

So, here I sit, breathing deeply, and thinking of my book. Of my success. How all this bullshit is going to make it so much more worth it one day.

I think back to brunch with my friends yesterday. Talking to Red about her engagement plans on the busy street sidewalk, while Blonde and our other friends wave at us through the shop window, pointing at bags and accessories. I think of Blonde walking up to us and enveloping us in a big group hug.

I think of Hubbie. My everything. I think of us walking around in random circles in over-commercialised shopping centres, drinking expensive coffee and getting excited about practically everything, all the while trying to focus on buying things for the home while getting constantly sidetracked from our over-hyped, caffeine-induced states. And then buying really expensive things at the drop of a hat just because we can :)

Those are the movie moments.

I think of lying across Hubbie and staring up at him, and this I struggle to think of in fear of tears trickling down my face, because I miss that so much. Yes I have that still, but I want it every day, not just end of day when we're all over the routine and work of life, tired and crap.

So that's why I've got to focus and push past the writer's block. Because I want it all. I can have it all, I know I can.

"Me, I want what's coming to me. The world Chico, and everything in it." - Tony Montana, Scarface.

Mouse-capades

***Disclaimer! Do not read this post if you are particularly fond of mice or any type of rodent, as you will not find love for them here. Instead, click onto my "Happiness Is...." posts, you will find much more joyful reading there.... Mice haters read on.***





This last month has seen the fall and capture of Bin Laden, the end of Autumn and start of Winter, and the biggest party of the year, where my sister and I organised my Dad's surprise 70th birthday.



And then there were the mouse adventures of Hubbie and I.



Yes, the mouse. The mouse that had scarred us like no tomorrow.



It all began a couple of Fridays ago.

One Friday afternoon, Hubbie and I had made plans to catch up with his boss and his wife. They were going to come to our place after 6pm, and then we were going to make our way to a local pizza place for dinner. I had to drop off some presents to Blonde's parents, as they were heading overseas to stay with their daughter for a couple of months, and so I wanted them to pass on some presents from Red and I to her.



Well, the drop-off didn't really happen. I came to her parents very dark and apparently vacant looking house, and called Blonde's sister, saying, "I'm in front of your parents!" only to find out that they had left for overseas that morning. Apparently when her mum said for me to come on Friday, she probably actually meant that they were leaving on the Friday. Oh well. Blonde would get her presents in July when she visited us here.



So off I drove back home, half-laughing at myself, thinking 'wait til Hubbie hears about this mix up.' I'd left him at home, and knew that once I got back we would slowly start getting ready for that night.



I was a bit peeved off when I got to the front door, loaded with presents I thought I'd have dropped off already, and struggling with my keys, wondering 'where is he?' as Hubbie will often open the front door for me when he hears me.



I finally got the door open, and seeing the kitchen light on, was going to call out to him 'guess what happened?'



Instead he beat me to it. All I heard was "Don't be alarmed, but there's a mouse in here."



Because of his precaution, I wasn't too freaked out. And I wasn't so surprised either. I'd almost brought this predicament onto myself, I felt, as I thought of the past few weeks. Twice the previous week, in the lead up to my Dad's birthday during my baking marathons in the kitchen, I'd seen a mouse run through our backyard through our large sliding door windows.

I'd been very suspicious then. We have a sizeable gap on one end of the door that leads to the garage. So once something, anything was in the garage, it wasn't hard to imagine it not finding its way inside. That, coupled with a big talk Hubbie and I had had with a family member about recent mice problems in our area, gave me a huge feeling that I was going to attract something very unwelcome with my worries.



I came into the kitchen, and Hubbie was definitely, very freaked out. I wasn't so much at this stage. Disgusted and shocked yes, still slightly in denial perhaps, as I hadn't yet seen the rodent.



He had actually lost sight of it. He'd been in the kitchen, and had turned around to see it's ugly tail flit across the sink/bench and behind the microwave. It had then run behind the stereo when he had moved the microwave, and now couldn't find it. It had apparently 'disappeared' behind the stereo.



I was instructed to stand and keep watch on one side of the stereo while Hubbie stood at the other, so we had all corners covered. I was getting icky by this stage and had to stand on a chair: I couldn't be on the ground if it suddenly sprung out at me. Yuck, shudder.



I was peering behind the stereo from my birds-eye view, and Hubbie was moving around the stereo, speakers and cables from the other side: nothing.

Hubbie was convinced he hadn't lost it, yet we couldn't see it anywhere. Occasionally we could hear something, like scurrying, but at the same time couldn't find the source of where it was coming from.



I don't know how he realised, but suddenly Hubbie turned to me, flashlight shining in one hand, long knife sharpener in the other, whispering, eyes shining bright "it's in the speaker!"



"How is it in the speaker?"



"It is, I can hear it!"



Then we realised. The small speaker hole, located at the base, was large enough for a freaking mouse to go through. It must have snuck in when Hubbie was looking for it from one side, and slid in undetected. 'Til now.



We realised if it was inside, we would have to try get the speaker to an outside area to get rid of the mouse. We were freaking out a bit more at this stage, especially given Hubbie was going to have to pick up and carry the mouse-filled speaker (there was no way in hell I would do it!)



I got an old tea towel that was in the laundry hamper, and he wrapped it around the base of the speaker, so that when he picked it up the hole was covered and the mouse couldn't escape. I quickly opened the sliding door for him, and he placed it in the middle of our backyard area, in the very dim light.



Here lied the problem. It was now so dark, that we could just barely see outside, and that was with our faint backyard light on. We didn't know how we could tell if the mouse had escaped from the speaker (which is what we wanted, we just didn't want it inside), and on top of that it was beginning to consistently drizzle.



And our not even 1 year old speaker was getting wetter and wetter.



We didn't know what to do. Hubbie went back outside, grabbed it and brought it in, the speaker that hadn't been out there more than a minute.



And he started to shake it. Hubbie was like "I don't think it's in there," SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE, and you could hear a faint moving inside, like the small parts of a piece of equipment jiggling around or cables moving. I stood there, unconvinced, wanting, almost, about to say "I don't think that's cables."



SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE.



SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE.



And then with one of the shakes, the mouse sprang out of the speaker hole, running towards our lounge room. It was already a full 2-3 metres in front of us before we had a chance to react, that's how fast it was. I gave a high-pitched squeal, Hubbie dropped the stereo and began taking long, quick strides, trying to balance and cover as much ground as possible and try get as good an aim at the mouse as he could. I will never for the rest of my life forget how funny he looked running after that mouse. Never.




But of course, the mouse was too quick, and appeared to have disappeared beneath the couches.



By this stage, my denial had dissipated, and was quickly replaced by hysteria.

"Oh my God! There's a mouse, in our house! How disgusting! I feel so gross! I can't believe it! Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God...."



Again, Hubbie ordered me to stand at one end of the lounge room while he went to the other, so he could search for it beneath the couch. I couldn't stand to stand, and once again brought over a chair so I could be at aerial height.



Hubbie looked and looked. He swept the floor, beneath the lounge, coffee table and TV unit with the torchlight. He moved the lounge and the coffee table. I wasn't convinced and was forced to look under the couch as well. There was no mouse. At one point I thought I saw something move near the stairs, but then realised it couldn't have run right in front of us to the stairs, we would have seen it.



I was starting to freak out. There was no mouse, I didn't know where it was, and I didn't like NOT KNOWING WHERE THINGS WERE. NOT BEING IN CONTROL. I hated it. And I was really hating this mouse for beating us.



We went through a lot of scenarios. Where it could have been. We decided and I very reluctantly agreed, that after it ran under the couch, it must have run along the back wall there and come upon the very door that leads to the garage, the one with the sizable gap on one side. It would have made its escape, away from the two mad people screaming and chasing at it.

The other scenario could have been that it was still under the couch. However Hubbie stressed to me (after I stated that we could not under any circumstances have his boss and wife over in the small chance that there was a disgusting rodent in our house) that in a room full of noisy people a mouse wouldn't be so stupid as to run out in front of us and say hello. He said we couldn't cancel on them, especially since they had gone to the lengths to get their children babysat that night to go out with us. I was really mad and stressed. But I knew I had to agree.



However I had my guidelines. I instructed Hubbie to get any drinks we would need out from our 'drinks fridge' in the garage. Then, he would close up the gap in the door leading to the garage (from the garage side so you couldn't tell) with my laundry hamper tea towels, to prevent any mouse re-entering the house.



And then we were going to like madmen get ready, in less than half an hour, returning furniture to its original places, putting our mess away, cleaning up broken glass (a glass broke when we were searching for the mouse in the kitchen) and any other CRAP mess the mouse had brought upon us in our hunt for it.

What had become a time bomb had within half an hour turned into a well-kept, clean and modern environment. I was muttering to myself "If these walls could talk."

And so the rest of the night passed by relatively effortlessly. We had our friends over, went out for dinner and then went to my parents quickly to get some stuff, which we'd been planning to do the whole time - this worked out rather favourably for us. We told them about the story - and Dad gave us 2 mouse traps of his: one for the garage, as that's where we assumed the mouse had ended up, and one for the house, just in case it hadn't escaped. That part I didn't want to think about. Hubbie decided he'd put the house trap near the kitchen, his reasoning being that if a mouse were looking for food, that would be the most logical place for it to go.

I was whinging a whole lot to my parents. Look, it wasn't so much that I was scared of it. Yes a part of me was, although I knew it wasn't going to run up and bite me. But its movements were unexpected, and wherever I was faced with something, someone or a situation in which I felt helpless, I got frustrated and angry. This mouse had come into our house with no invite, and had made me feel all icky and disgusting. My Mum made me feel better though: "The mouse just wants food! He's not going to come into your room to look at your perfumes!" We all laughed at that, and the ridiculous statement sort of put it into perspective for me. Of course she was right. Mice went to food, and there was no food in our bedroom.

...

We were very hesitant, to say the least, walking through the house throughout Saturday. But as they say, 'out of sight, out of mind.' And we were beginning to think that the mouse had really gone, as there was no sighting of it anywhere in the house.

Sunday early morning came, and Hubbie got up to go to work. It was about 6am, but his movements stirred me, and it was almost as if I knew what he was going to do. I heard him open the door leading to the garage, and pause. Then he walked up a part of our stairs. He called out to me "the trap went off."

"Alright. Is the mouse there?"

"Yep, it's dead."

Relief flooded over me. I was still freaked out - knowing that the mouse had been in there, somewhere the whole time. However knowing it had been caught made me feel safe, and I fell asleep again.

I was sleeping so nicely. I woke up a bit about 8am but fell asleep again. Something entered my dream. It was scurrying, twitching noises. I opened my eyes. The noise was coming from under the bed.

I shot upright in bed, and looked towards Hubbie's alarm clock. It was 9.00am. The noises had stopped. I sat there, frozen, and flung the blankets off of me.

Calm down Miss S, I thought to myself. You dreamt it. There's nothing under the bed. The mouse was caught. There's nothing under your bed.

You dreamt it, my internal voice continued. You were dreaming about weird noises, but now that you've woken up, you can't hear him. Because you stopped dreaming.

As much as I repeated the calming thoughts, the nagging just wouldn't go away. I hadn't dreamt it. I had woken up and heard the end sound of some scurrying under my bed. Like something was crawling right under the mattress, walking against the walls.

I got up. I swung my feet wide from the edge of the bed. I walked to the doorway, and crouched down on my hands and knees, to scan from a distance if anything was under the bed.

When I saw the large lump under the bed I got a small heart attack, until I realised that it was just a spare blanket that we sometimes use to hang in front of our blinds in summer when the morning light becomes too bright. I moved my eyes around, adjusting to the dim light under the bed, until I came to the bedside drawer. My bedside drawer.

There was a very small, roundish object, under the bedside drawer, right up against the wall.

My breathing increased. I tried to rationalise. What could be under there? The cables from my alarm clock and my lamp? No, they wouldn't bundle into a circle like that. I stared the bundle down, knowing full well that if it moved I would scream and shout like no tomorrow.

I remembered Hubbie's flashlight was in his bedside drawer, and so I quickly and tentatively walked over there, still trying to keep a view of the floor in our room. Although it's a good brand flashlight (that you can tell from how freaking heavy it is) for some reason the light flickers when it's on, and we've barely used it. So I'm desperately knocking it lightly with my hand, pleading with it, as the light flickers on, then off. "Please work, please please please...."

Finally it stayed on. I swung the light under the bedside drawer, to see that it was a definite object, no bunch of cables there. But I still couldn't work out what it was, crouching from the other end of the room.

So I stepped onto the bed, walked over to the wall side up near the pillows, and shone the light down, behind the drawer, pressing my face against the wall to see.

And I saw 2 little eyes glinting in the light.

I started to gingerly step from one side of the bed to its end, and as softly yet as quickly as I could, I stepped off and closed the door behind me.

"Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God. There's a mouse in my room. Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God." I remembered my Mum's words from a few days earlier. The mouse had come into my bedroom to see my perfumes!

I was in full flight mode, with a good dose of fight, as I remembered the mouse trap we had in the kitchen. I carefully picked it up, terrified it was going to go off, and ran back up the stairs.

I opened the door slowly. Set the mouse trap down near the door. Checked again under the drawer. Yep, mouse was still there. Closed the door and down the stairs I ran.

I hadn't even had a chance to grab my nightgown, and I wasn't gonna chance going into my bedroom again. First thing in my manic hysteria and disbelief: call Hubbie.

I got put through and immediately spoke the words he'd only days before spoken to me: "don't be alarmed, but there is a mouse in our bedroom, under our bed."

I explained how I came to hear/see it. I knew there wasn't much he could do since he was at work, but I just had to vent my frustrations and fears, and we hung up, me sensing the dread and disappointment in his voice. We'd both thought we'd got it, the mouse. But it seems as if there was another one waiting in the wings....

I ended up calling my parents, and they came over shortly after. While I waited I ate cereal on the couch, the throw gathered around me, throwing suspicious looks towards the stairs, wondering if and when I would hear a snap!

When they arrived, I went up with Dad to do some investigating. I never intended on going too far, as just from opening the door I could tell the mouse was still not caught - the trap was empty. My Dad decided to bring the mouse trap 'closer' to the mouse behind the drawer, and in horror I realised he meant CLOSE. He was taking the mouse trap right up to the drawer, as if 10 centimetres from, against the wall. I was calling out "Dad, it will run!" and freaking out, when the mouse ran along the length of the back wall. I screamed. It disappeared behind the bed along the wall again. My Mum called out to me from downstairs "come here Miss S, don't watch." As I quickly shut the door and ran I heard my Dad calling out "well, where do you want me to put the trap then?"

After sitting downstairs and freaking out for a bit, Dad came downstairs, saying that it was going to be impossible for him to catch the mouse, there had to be 2 people in the room. I told him to wait until Hubbie got home and they could do it together. Lo and behold it was as if Hubbie read my mind. He was owed some hours off, and so took that day as an opportunity to come home to our mouse crisis. He called me, and said he was on his way.

When Hubbie came home, the formalities were few: hello, how are you - let's go upstairs. Up he and Dad went, into a room already with 2 mouse traps (Dad had set up another) to catch the mouse. I was getting grossed out when they started asking for footwear to borrow in order to 'catch' it. Ew. Double Ew. Triple Ew. Ew, ew, ew.

Mum and I were downstairs at the table, talking all things mice. At one point we heard Hubbie go "ohhhhh" in deep realisation, and I wondered whether they had caught it. But still nothing. And then there was a loud noise. I stood up, waiting to hear the opening of the door, and soon it came followed by my Dad's asking for a bag. It was dead. Mouse no more.

They told us that it was impossible to catch. Just when they went to take a swing at it as it flew out from one end of the room to another, it was gone before their arm was even coming down. They said it never would have gotten caught if it weren't for the mouse trap. It ran straight into it.

After the whole debacle, we sat around drinking tea and eating cookies, while I recounted my morning horror again to them all in full detail. It was a story I was never going to forget. We were still wondering how the mouse had gotten into the bedroom, and I suggested that back when Hubbie and I were chasing it on the Friday night, maybe it had gone up the stairs somehow, like I thought I'd seen from the corner of my eye. Maybe it waited behind a couch, and then when we were gone went searching upstairs for food. The one caught in the garage that morning, that one I believe was the partner, coming in search of its mate. Although we were pretty satisfied that being a couple, there shouldn't be anymore, we still kept a few mouse traps around: one in our bedroom, one in the garage and one in the extra bedroom.

Why the extra bedroom you may ask? Well shortly following the whole mouse catching episode, we curiously went around the rooms, and realised that the mouse that had been in our bedroom had been in our spare bedroom with the easter eggs that couldn't fit into our pantry, and had knawed through a Lindt bunny's head, leaving bits of gold foil around the carpet. It was so disgusting, but it made sense: it went from room to room looking for more food. Why it didn't just stay in that room and keep eating, is beyond me. Maybe they're not so smart.

A day later, and back in that same spare bedroom I realised another Lindt bunny had had a section of it's ears eaten. We were freaked out, because we hadn't noticed it the day before, making us believe there was still a mouse in the house! Hubbie and I went on a massive excavation, moving all objects in all rooms and searching within and behind all furniture, nooks and crannies. Nothing. It left us with a sense of relief, but that doubt over why we hadn't noticed the 2nd eaten bunny earlier was grating on us, making us think constantly "what if?"

Hubbie sent me the best msg a few days later. I was at work, he at home, and he sms'd me this:
"I also put foil around the chocolate upstairs to see whether we still have company. Left the room door open to kindly invite him in."

His ploy being if the mouse were there, it would have to eat through fresh foil again, and we would then know for sure that there was another mouse. Fortunately for us nothing else has come up since, no sighting, and just yesterday Hubbie movied the mouse traps into the garage. We believe we are now mouse free!

What have we learned from this situation? Never leave sizeable gaps under any of your doors. Dad was able to patch it up immediately for us, and we discovered there was a decent hole in the brick wall of our garage that has now been filled in with a few chunks of wood.

Also, we've heard over the last while that there has been many, many, many reports of an influx of mice entering homes and backyards all over our region, due to the amount of rain that has been falling. It makes us feel that much better knowing the mice didn't necessarily choose our house because we were grotty (we're not) - rather they're all just running.

But like I say to the bugs that enter our home, before I smack them down with my shoe

"Why didn't you stay outside? Outside I don't touch you; in here, all bets are off!"

And so ends our Mouse-capade Adventure....

French Kiss the Morning

Prior to my affogato burst early last week, I was buzzing on something entirely different the previous Saturday night.

Cosmopolitans.

And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.

Let me explain.

It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)

Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.

Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.

And the world started spinning a dizzying black.

I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.

It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.

No. 1.

Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.

The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.

The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.

Yeah right.

As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.

I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.

I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.

I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.

Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'

I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.

Hahahahahahaha.

I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"

Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"

"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."

That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.

"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."

Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.

I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.

Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.

(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)

So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.

I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'

I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)

And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.

I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'

Wrong.

I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.

I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.

This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.

That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.

I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.

Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.

But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)

I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!

But then I broke the seal.


Seal Breaker 1:

My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.

Seal Breaker 2:

Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.

This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.

All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."

It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.

My warning thoughts are as follows:

* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all

So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.

2 things

It's been a while since I last wrote about anything happening in my life, and a lot of that has to do with the busy-ness of the Chrissy season. I've been trying to get cards written and sent, presents bought and wrapped, as well as send some pretty packages to family, and Blonde, spending their Christmas' overseas.



All that combined with the boss having sudden surgery, and being slightly overwhelmed at work with the increased workload (merging not so nicely with the busiest time of year for us) and I haven't had much free time for anything else.


The two things that I can say are this:


* With the insect-spraying that Hubbie did weeks ago, (knock on wood) the appearance of spiders has dwindled to none - wait for it - instead being replaced by cockroaches. Yes indeed. It is so weird. Never has there been so many in our house in such a short period of time. And they're fast too, or so Hubbie says when he chases after them. See I just spray them, and spray, until they stop moving. He's the effective one.


* I had this weird dream 2 nights ago that I just had to mention. Really weird. So in the dream, I'm on a train. With me is Red, but also, a friend of mine's sister. I can't remember if the friend is there. I recently met her sister at a lingerie party I held at my place, but in this dream, the sister looks different, more like my friend than the sister. Confused? Ok I will call the friend B in lack of a better name, because I feel creatively challenged right now. So in the dream, B's sister looks more like B, and perhaps that has to do with a real-life convo I had with B where she mentioned her sisters. I've only met one you see, and perhaps my subconscious mind was creating an image of her.

Why all the talk of B's sister? Just wait. Also, Red was at this lingerie party, so they all saw each other there. She said to me later on, that B's sister looked familiar to her, but couldn't remember from where. Maybe this is why Red is also in the dream.

Anyway, in my dream, I have somewhat finished my book. Yes, my book which I intend on beginning to write in the New Year. I say somewhat finished because in the dream the book looked rather thin, and not only do I KNOW I can write way more than that, but I just had a sense in the dream that it was an unfinished rough copy. Nontheless it had a decent cover and all in the dream. And for some reason, the book has ended up in B's sisters hands.

She's flicked through the pages, unenthusiastically scanned the first few paragraphs, and made some remark about it. I don't know even know if she said something to be honest, it was just the vibe I got from her: she didn't like it. In that moment I remember thinking "what can I do? How can I make the beginning more engaging, more interesting?"

And that was about it really. The dream fascinates me because A) in it I have a rough copy of my book, and B) someone who I've met once, who seemed really nice, is critiquing my book in it! Maybe her name has something to do with it. Maybe the thing is, someone of her name, sharing the same name will critique my book, such as an editor..... perhaps. That's a big thing to look out for. My mum tends to say that the opposite happens in dreams.... so will the same-name person like it? I hope so:)


In the last few days I've been thinking of writing a hell of a lot more. A few things have happened lately to inspire me, and along with re-remembering my old childhood loves, in terms of movies and books, reading some inspirational messages from my "The Secret" subscription emails, and I guess just letting the thoughts and ideas run through my head, it's left me feeling really excited. Hubbie's Christmas card to me which I received this morning, contained a message along the lines of "may you reach your goals in the next year."

I loved it. Because I knew what he meant. Even though he considers a lot of my positive-thinking, dream-creating stuff a lot of mumbo-jumbo. He's still supporting me:)

Happiness Is.... #2

Happiness Is....

Discovering that one of my best friends, Blonde, has bought a 'star' (yes those in the night sky) for Hubbie and I, in our name. Dated on the day we got married.

Can't help but sigh. This is the stuff we shoot to the stars for. (giggle).

Honestly though, she moved me to tears. I feel utterly blessed to have the most amazing women in my life. Mum, Sis, Red and Blonde. My Women. My Inspiration.

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.

Random Quote #2

"You left my house before I could cut you more carrots!" I cried into the mobile to Blonde last night.

And we both LOLOL-ed.

So EXCITED!!!! I think I might spontaneously combust

For more than one reason.




Firstly, my initial feeling of combustion comes from the very good news that Hubbie is picking up our wedding video today!

YAY!

It has been a year and 3 months-ish in waiting, and my gosh, although I KNEW that this dude was gonna take long editing the video, and I TRIED to be patient, it was really, really hard.

So the fact that at 11am today Hubbie had an appointment to see him, and now as I'm writing this it is precisely 11.26am, I am getting very squirmish, constantly looking at my mobile while at work, and waiting for that all important message to say "we've got it."

I've made Hubbie promise not to watch it until we watch it together. This will prove very hard for him for 2 reasons:

A: He is currently on leave, and has the whole day off while I'm at work.

B: We can't even watch it tonight, because I won't be home.



So he needs to keep himself from watching it 'til tomorrow morning, in the meantime with the full knowledge that he could watch it, as he has the WHOLE day off, and I wouldn't know.

It's very nerve-wracking for me, as I've begged him for the last few days since we found out we were getting it today, that he must not, under any circumstance, watch it without me.

I mean come on. I think that is relatively fair, given that it's our wedding video, that for the first time we should watch it together. He really didn't like this argument, and strongly opposed this idea at first, saying he should at least be able to watch the wedding morning at his house, and then we would watch the rest together.

But it just won't do! It won't be the same! I want us to be able to watch it for the first time together, and have it be a joint, loving, couple-y, together-ly thing we do because WE'RE married and it's our wedding video!

I don't think I'm being selfish. I don't think I'm asking for too much..... right?

No of course not. It's the video for goodness sakes. It's a BIG thing.

But generally, and overwhelmingly, it's exciting :-D I can't wait to see how our big day looks like on screen, and I really would like to remember more of the reception, as sooo much of that night is such a blur.



My second feeling of combustion comes from my girls :) My darling besties, Red and Blonde, of who I am going out with tonight. Blonde and I amongst others are going to watch Red perform in a dance concert, and then following that we're all going out to dance and drink and party:) Hence why Hubbie will be staring down the wedding DVD tonight while I'm out somewhere getting stupid.

Not in a bad way, but since Hubbie isn't coming, and since it's us '3,' I'm crossing my fingers that Red's boy, Mr Wine doesn't follow us out. He probably won't. Just because I can feel it being a really good girls night, and seeing as Blonde is going back to the U.S on Monday, this will be the last time we really get to party with her until who knows when she comes back again.

No boys allowed. Chicks only :)

LOL.

I will now go back to work and continue with my feelings of spontaneous combustion.

POP BANG POP BANG POP.

"Make sure I always drink 150 litres of water a day." "Okay."

Those were my whispery, pain-induced words, last night at 3am in the morning after I took 2 panadols to stop the jack-hammer that was forcing its way out of my head, crack by crack at a time.


Never mind the stomach cramps, no those were child's play compared to the head cracking.

It had been a long day. A hard, long day at times, towards the end though, it had actually turned out great. However most of the day I was all "Woe is me." I wasn't liking it one bit.


I spent a good majority of it whinging about all things surrounding my birthday.



I want lots of people to come out to the bar on Friday night.

I want lots of people to come out so it makes up for last years poor performance.

What about Saturday's party, will my cousins be upset I didn't invite them?

Will they see my facebook photos and be upset? Will it start a war?

Why haven't they come to my place yet?

Why should I throw an official party so they come?

Crying. Whinging. Depressed. Sobbing. Just all round down, down, down.

I'd had some deep and meaningfuls with my mum and sister over the past 2 days. Although they meant well, those talks definitely contributed to my downfall in demeanour.

It happens every year. Every year, leading up to my birthday, something REALLY gets me down. Like clockwork something happens. I'm starting to think that it's because I put soooo much emphasis on my birthday, and I build it up and look forward to it so much that quite inevitably, the slghtest thing happens to trigger an onslaught of negative emotions. Either someone upsets me, I remember something bad (yes I get THAT sensitive), someone doesn't agree with me, etc, etc. And suddenly the tidal waves of tears crash down with fierce intensity.

Hubbie was awesome. After getting me to snap out of my stupid/sad/pathetic state, I slowly went through my bullshit arguments to try clear up all the sadness I was feeling overwhelmed by.


1. Who cares who comes on Friday night? I knew for a FACT that I would definitely be with Hubbie, Red, Blonde and Mr Wine. Our group would rock the joint and have the most fun ever! It's not the quantity of people, rather the quality.


2. As above, with the addition of, so what? The difference between this year and last, is I won't be holding on to expectations of waiting for people to turn up and make me happy. I'll be happy because I'll make the happiness.


3. No. Firstly, because our house doesn't fit a million people, secondly, any cousins that I've called for Friday night will be called for Saturday, and thirdly, they themselves might even be otherwise engaged with the multitude of August birthdays that we have in our familial calendar!


4. No, because who doesn't come Friday, won't be called Saturday. And if they don't come Friday, most likely because they're busy Friday and/or Saturday.


5. Because they want a freakin' formal invite and the red carpet to be rolled out (hence the deep and meaningfuls before mentioned with Mum and Sister).

6. Because, at the end of the day, they do love me, they do care, and if they didn't they wouldn't have showered Hubbie and I with so much love, affection and presents as they did on the events leading up to our wedding day, including the big day.

Ok, so the last 2 points weren't entirely related to the birthday topic, but they did prove a point of confusion for me yesterday.

So I eventually got better-er, saw Blonde, Red and friends again last night for a catch-up (after seeing Blonde after her flight back here on Sunday).


However my new-found joy didn't help the fact that in the midst of my rage-fuelled depression during the day, and contributing-developing stomach cramps, I had failed to drink enough water. I had in fact, drank very little water, and that coupled with the fact that I had cried a few oceans, left me as dry as a desert.


Bringing us back to the post title. Lying in bed after taking my drugs, I was trying to keep myself very still in order to keep my head from throbbing so much. Every movement brought with it more pain. I'd never experienced anything like it. I'd never really had headaches, EVER until perhaps the age of 18 onwards, and even then I'd say "my head hurts" instead of "I have a headache," because it didn't seem so bad. And I soon learnt that I only got them (however rarely) when I didn't drink enough water.

Usually sleep washes it away. I wake up all refreshed and the 'hurt' is gone. I know drinking water isn't enough, especially at that late stage, so sleep is really the best medicine. But it clearly wasn't enough last night. I fell asleep and found myself tossing and turning, for 3 hours, until I reached such a painful point that I was mercifully thrown from my half-asleep stupor into full consciousness, whining, whispering "I have such a headache."



And then, while I waited for the wonderful drugs to kick in, I let Hubbie know, whimpering, in my struggling, agonised tone of voice,


"Make sure I always drink 150 litres of water a day."

"Okay." he whispered back.



(P.S My Birthday Extravaganza is gonna be Awesome!)

M.I.A: A Poem

In light of the fact that I have been totally absent from blogging for what seems like forever, rather than chronicle the exciting and fantastic adventures of my everyday life in an effort to update the blog world, I decided to compose a poem.




Ahem.



The biggest news I have to share

Would be about our latest dare

We bought a block of land you see

A house to build upon will be



My Swedish friend came back to visit

(Odd to visit her home don't you think?)

Nonetheless we all had fun

And back in December she will come



Another friend of mine did wed

For 8 years now a life they'd shared

The day was great! we talked, laughed and danced

And took stupid photos 'til we pissed our pants



My cousin came from overseas

And I took her out to a Hens Night Party

We had good times, took heaps of shots

(Both alcoholic and photo sorts!)



On the work front, it has been flat out

Since our boss here decided to depart

But having returned from her South African cruise

All our worries have gone, and our blues



As for my dear cousin Legs' days

She's still planning her matrimonial ways

And she has been asking me for advice

To which I think it is really nice :)



My Bestie's boy, Wine we call him

some days are good, some are a whim

It's up and down, but generally I believe,

all of us are different - so accept it, PLEASE!



My overseas bestie is planning her return

A visit only (I know, I know)

Her sister is going through a pregnancy

And a doting aunty my friend will be!



We've had an invasion of disgusting pests

Portugese Millipedes - ugh (are they migrants?)

They come into the house and slide upon our floors

And we just pick them up and hurl them outdoors



A revelation it seems 'bout Ricky Martin

He prefers men - have I been dim?

My love for his music has kept me biased

But now I must accept his truth, not deny it



Speaking of which, went to see George!

Michael that is, of Wham! days - and oh Lord

He is a true talent, genius and a star

A musical legend he is by FAR



Some sad news of late from overseas

A cousin of mine met his fate unfortunately

He died before his time, a shock for all

But when you rise too fast, eventually you must fall



Still Twilight-ing, Eclipse I have read

Starting Breaking Dawn soon - and yes I do care

These books are addictive, they make me mad!

More often than not, I go from happy to sad



A positive spin on things I try to do

It keeps me sane and feeling brand new

It's important to focus on life's good things

Like love, health and happiness, and all else that it brings.




I think that sums up the last few months perfectly. At the time I felt there was really no way I could write a blog that measured up to the immensity of information and emotion of my last blog, regarding Richard Carlson's death. But time helps you think, move on, and think of things in perspective.

So, I re-introduce myself to you, as Miss S :)

WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s - Part 2 of my Marathon

Friday morning I had instructions. Before work I was to get half a piece of bread, make it soggy with water and then break it up into little-itty-bitty pieces so that the little-itty-bitty bird could eat it.
I was shitty because firstly, I had to do this. Why couldn't Hubbie do this, he found the bird? I'm almost late to work everyday as it is, let alone having a bird I needed to feed.
His excuse was it's still dark when he gets up. Yes, but.... hmph.
So, I did my bit. And I must admit, when I walked into the shed, and tentatively peeked into the beer box, through the old bbq rack, and saw this cute, so so so small bird staring up at me, my heart melted. It was standing, just staring up, quite unaware of all the trauma we were feeling because of it.
It was soooo sweet. I started crumbing up bits of soggy bread, dropping it through the bbq rack steel slats, and they just dropped around the bird. The bird didn't flinch, it just kept looking at me, it didn't even look down at what I had just dropped. Although I crumbed up the whole piece, I realised this bird was probably looking at me as a substitute for its mother, and expecting me to put the food directly in its mouth. After trying to aim the bread INTO its mouth, unsuccessfully, I whispered some words of eating encouragement to the little one ( I was growing quite fond of it now ) and left.
I had an appointment to get my hair cut and coloured that day after work, so I went there straight after without going home. Before I walked in, I called Hubbie to find out what had happened with the bird when he got home.
I was so surprised, both happy surprised and sad surprised, when he told me he had taken the bird to the local vet, so that they could feed it properly to eventually release it. Happy because this poor bird was finally gonna get some decent help, but sad because in that short amount of time, I felt like I needed to say goodbye to it first before it continued on its journey. Weird, huh?
But I was glad, glad that our efforts had paid off, and that this bird which would have otherwise been eaten by a neighbourhood cat, was getting a second chance at life. Albeit without its little family of birds, but better a life alone than death....
When I got home, more good news. Hubbie had left the fridge in its place, but now the bins were outside in the backyard again. Although we couldn't take them out through the garage anymore, we could just roll them through the house. A little price to pay to make everyone happy.
I had to wait for my U.S pal to stop by to drop off some stuff, and once she had, I rushed to the shops to FINALLY do my massive grocery shop. In my heels, I ran through the store, trolley flying in front of me, and managed to get everything in about 30 minutes. There was no checking for prices or brands, I was just randomly grabbing whatever it was I needed with no usual grocery shopping deliberation about which brand is better and/or cheaper. The store closed and I was on my happy way.
I managed to make my cookie batch that night, and then there was still heaps to do awaiting me the next day.
In summary, Saturday was spent going to the shops, making a lasagna ( and this is a lasagna! ) cleaning the ENTIRE house and getting myself ready for the wedding we had that night, my U.S bestie's sister. It may not sound like much but let me tell you, I barely had time to eat. And all this preparation, for my Hubbie's birthday the next day, where we were having both his and mine immediate families over for lunch, plus some close friends. And Hubbie and I don't do things in halves.
By Saturday night, as excited as I was about having a great night out with my friends, I was spent, and having a glass of red didn't help the cause either.
By the time I got to sleep at 1.30am, I was so tired, not just from that day, but from knowing what would await me the next day, and how much I still had to do.
7.00am I got up, it was painful, really. I'd set my alarm for 6.30am, but I just couldn't get myself up. I trudged out of bed and made my way to my tasks ahead.
Which included: making a cake, preparing the tables, making various salads and other foods and just a whole lot of preparation. If Hubbie hadn't gotten up and helped me out, I'd have been screwed.
Ha ha. The irony of that.
The day went fine, busy but fine. I barely had a chance to sit down, other than when I ate, and after when the cake had been cut and we'd sung happy birthday. I'd actually been finishing the cake throughout the day, so you can see how busy the day had been. The cake was a white chocolate cheesecake and it was a definite success! Everyone loved it, especially Hubbie, which is what mattered most :)
On top of everything that day, my friends came over that night, mainly because my U.S pal was now heading back to the States the next morning, so it was our last little get together.
Thank goodness I'd taken the Monday off. I had a surprise for Hubbie, I'd organised a Crime Tour of our city, after some lunch, and the tour alone took about 3 hours. It was nice, if not just to see our city through new, refreshed eyes.
That night our folks came over to help us eat the leftovers, and then more friends came by later on. It was fun, but the busy-ness was starting to look never-ending to me.
I thought the next night was gonna be quiet, but we ended up out to dinner with some OTHER friends, and then they came over for drinks. Sigh.
FINALLY my break came on Wednesday night. Once I'd finished my nightly duties, I think I just sat on the couch (actually I LAY down) and watched eps of The Bold and the Beautiful that I'd taped. And it felt sooooo good.
Although the previous week/s had been fun, because they had involved our close family, close friends and fun celebrations, I was still so wrecked by it all. As much as I love them all, I was so glad for it to be over. That following weekend we still had some stuff on, but this time it was different, because I didn't have to cook everything and clean the whole house in preparation! We were going out, which was easier....
We had dinner out Saturday night with Hubbie's boss and his wife (boss had gotten a bonus, so we were benefiting from it!) and Sunday night was another wedding.
A public holiday came during the week, and usually on a day like that where I would encourage Hubbie and I to do something with friends, you know what it was that I wanted? All I wanted was "peace and quiet." As my 7-year-old nephew says to his parents when they have a hectic weekend going everywhere, and all he wants to do is stay home and play with his toys. I just wanted to stay at home, and relax.
Which is what you need. Sometimes you need it. Nothingness can be so good.
We won't mind the story about the back-door neighbours stupid dog that dug underneath our fence to make it into our backyard and ruin the small vegie patch we had going. That's a stupid incident we won't indulge in here, because here and now, it's all well, and it's all good.
The weekend ahead looks promising. The forecast says the sun will be shining, there are blue skies ahead, and good times look like a definite. With weather like that, I think I'm ready to get busy again :)