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.
Showing posts with label hubbie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hubbie. Show all posts
Friday, December 28, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
I ran over a mattress
There is no lie, no exaggeration to the above statement. True story. Just another one of the random things I do.
This actually happened to me last week. I do fairly early morning work shifts, and need to get up at an unfathomable time in order to get to work. The unfathomable-ness is made even more so by the fact that rather than sleep in an extra 20-30 minutes and get to work right on time, I actually need to leave the house earlier than I have to, just to get parking. That’s just shithouse.
Because of the insane hour I’m driving at, needless to say I’m still a little sleepy when I get in the car; not dangerously so, of course, but even after washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I’m still in a bit of a haze, with sleepy-land trailing slowly behind me.
And because it is so dark, well… there is not much on the road near my house, except for some other random poor soul in their car that also has to get up at an insane hour to get to work. Because not much happens, and it is relatively still and quiet at that time of the early morning, I was quite hazily staring into the far horizon of darkness as I drove down my street last week, not aware of what was coming up in front of me…
It was only when it came within a couple of metres of my impending headlights, that I noticed an unexpected white line. My immediate thought was “oh God, I’m going to hit something” but it was so close and I was travelling about 50 kms/h that it was too late to not hit it. As I reached it, braking, I realised what it was. However the brake stopped me just as I drove over it, and I was there, fully stopped, my car sitting on a freaking whole mattress in the middle of the road.
What made it worse was that a car had come out from a side street up ahead, and having seen me approach had to stop to give way. Only they stopped to watch me stop on a freaking mattress. How embarrassment. I had nothing else to do and accelerated hard, hoping to get off the mattress and away from the stupid situation as fast as I could.
I angrily called Hubbie as I sped away (emergency call it was). I wanted to warn him of the mattress so that he wouldn’t run over it on his way to work 30 minutes later. Huh. Like he would. As I told him he was like “you ran over a mattress? How come you didn’t see it?” As I angrily explained that it was dark and how it apparently had risen from the ground appearing out of nowhere, I could hear him smiling. Men.
Every time Hubbie sees a mattress now, he laughs.
This actually happened to me last week. I do fairly early morning work shifts, and need to get up at an unfathomable time in order to get to work. The unfathomable-ness is made even more so by the fact that rather than sleep in an extra 20-30 minutes and get to work right on time, I actually need to leave the house earlier than I have to, just to get parking. That’s just shithouse.
Because of the insane hour I’m driving at, needless to say I’m still a little sleepy when I get in the car; not dangerously so, of course, but even after washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I’m still in a bit of a haze, with sleepy-land trailing slowly behind me.
And because it is so dark, well… there is not much on the road near my house, except for some other random poor soul in their car that also has to get up at an insane hour to get to work. Because not much happens, and it is relatively still and quiet at that time of the early morning, I was quite hazily staring into the far horizon of darkness as I drove down my street last week, not aware of what was coming up in front of me…
It was only when it came within a couple of metres of my impending headlights, that I noticed an unexpected white line. My immediate thought was “oh God, I’m going to hit something” but it was so close and I was travelling about 50 kms/h that it was too late to not hit it. As I reached it, braking, I realised what it was. However the brake stopped me just as I drove over it, and I was there, fully stopped, my car sitting on a freaking whole mattress in the middle of the road.
What made it worse was that a car had come out from a side street up ahead, and having seen me approach had to stop to give way. Only they stopped to watch me stop on a freaking mattress. How embarrassment. I had nothing else to do and accelerated hard, hoping to get off the mattress and away from the stupid situation as fast as I could.
I angrily called Hubbie as I sped away (emergency call it was). I wanted to warn him of the mattress so that he wouldn’t run over it on his way to work 30 minutes later. Huh. Like he would. As I told him he was like “you ran over a mattress? How come you didn’t see it?” As I angrily explained that it was dark and how it apparently had risen from the ground appearing out of nowhere, I could hear him smiling. Men.
Every time Hubbie sees a mattress now, he laughs.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Nightmare on Sydney Road
Humans are a truly odd race. We strive for ideal lives, aspire to the best in everything, and seek constant perfection in a clearly imperfect world. Our world is flawed indeed. We are a perverse race. We watch the despair and destruction shown to us by the news every day, our ears perk up at the slightest information of someone’s dramas and unhappiness, and we slow down to observe the wreckages that are smashed-up cars on the freeway.
Sometimes we’re lucky and the nightmares we view are far removed from us, as if we are watching them on a television screen or at the movie theatre. We are made a distant observer by our not-knowing the person involved, and ignorance to the situation at hand, unable to really comprehend the pain and anguish that the ‘other’ must be feeling. It becomes a real life play, but one that we can easily turn away from: from our computer screens, our radios and our tvs.
Although we may appear a confused and twisted race, we are nonetheless less perverse than some. Some are so sick and bitter, that their actions are hard to understand from a living point of view. It’s because these people’s motives and actions are so warped, so different and hostile from anything we’ve ever experienced, that we can only understand them from a ‘movie’ point of view. It can only be something out of a movie, we say. But unfortunately in many cases, it is not. It is real, and we are living it, living next door to and walking by these people every single day.
My predilection for horror movies and scary stories has been around for as long as I can remember. From my Mum and Dad’s stories about the mystery that surrounded them when they were young, I have always had a strong fascination for the unknown. I would watch ‘Australian’s Most Wanted,’ and ‘The Extraordinary,’ and then take flying, running-up leaps into my bed, in fear that standing too close to the foot of it would result in some unknown stranger/creature, grabbing me and taking me away to an unknown land of horror.
Stranger. Creature. Kind of one and the same when you think of what they can do.
This fascination has endured my whole life, and though I consider myself turned ‘soft’ with age, seemingly unable to watch a movie at the cinemas without covering my eyes at any footage of dark corridors, ominous shadows and rising, pitching, leading-to-something inevitable music, I am still drawn into this dark world. Angel remains one of my favourite shows of all time; I’m reading Dracula at the moment: yet it scares me. Maybe it’s the adrenaline that comes with the fear; maybe it’s the search for continuous drama. The thrill that comes after the fact is so terrifying at times, and yet I keep going back for more.
As much as these things both scare and thrill me, I’ve been fortunate: I don’t have nightmares, as such. I add these two words because I never dream about witches, ghosts, vampires or anything that’s really after me: as such. I add these two words again, in contradiction to the above, because lately, things have changed.
Sydney Road has changed. Melbourne and its people, and the characters in it, are showing their true dark colours. And its seeping into my dreams at night.
Up until just weeks ago, I didn’t really have vivid nightmares. My earliest recollection of one was probably when I was about 11 years old, of a weird animal-like creature chasing me into my house, and I remember in the dream furiously trying to get my key into the front door and open the door before IT could get to me. My neighbour was with me, and I remember it chased her down the street to her house too.
Days later when I went to her house, I discovered she had had her appendix removed. Upon review of my earlier dream, and with the information that I had been in hospital recently with the intent to get my appendix out, but it hadn’t happened due to certain recent pubescent ‘discoveries,’ I was able to deduce that this creature had ‘gotten’ her, so to speak, but not me. I was able to escape the appendix fairies.
Ever since then I’ve paid a massive amount of attention to my dreams.
If I ever had a bad dream, it was more of an eerie feeling, rather than anything actually happening. A weird lady would be cackling at me, or someone would be watching me. But there was never any fight, struggle, chase, or horrifying monster coming to get me from the shadows.
But you don’t need to dream about it for it to be real. Sometimes the monsters manifest and come for you in real life.
Last week, when the news came out that a Melbourne woman, 29 year old Jill Meagher, had been reported missing by her husband in the inner-northern suburbs of Melbourne after Friday night work drinks, the news spread quickly. Her media-related job helped the case get a lot of notice – from what I heard people she worked with kept giving the story a lot of attention. Her family set up a facebook page to find her, and being on social media, it took off.
She went missing after leaving a bar in Brunswick early Saturday morning: it was just after 1:30pm, certainly not too late by any stretch of the imagination, definitely not for the weekend. Coupled with that fact, she was walking down Sydney Road which is a pretty main road, on her way home – and home was about a 5 minute walk away.
Those were her last known whereabouts.
I heard about the case last weekend, but it wasn’t until I saw her husband on the news on Monday morning that my heart crumpled. He was so distraught, so sad, so upset; he was absolutely shattered. I couldn’t help but think of me and my own husband, and I just felt his pain, right there and then, as he hoped and prayed for any information, for her safe return, for her to come back home.
As the case received more attention, there was a sudden discovery. Police had found her handbag in a nearby laneway, in an area they had previously searched through on the weekend. This told them that possibly it had been planted there, to throw police off the assumed kidnappers trail. Unfortunately, this led the line of enquiry back to her husband, and through repeated questions and an investigative period of over 6 hours at the home he shared with his missing wife, the police came out with a definite “he is NOT a suspect.”
As much as the evidence of them spending so long at her house suggested at it being the other, something inside of me, and of the way her husband had been so pleading on the news, told me he was not the culprit. Family members and friends of the victim are always the first to be interrogated in any tragedy that befalls them, so it was no surprise that her husband would be receiving that kind of scrutiny. We’ve seen it before in other cases: years ago a man was crying out for the safe return of his pregnant wife and young daughter on the news, and days later it was discovered that HE had in fact buried them both. Sad but true, but this is where the investigations usually, firstly lead. I was so glad to see the attention moving to find the real, actual abductor.
When CCTV footage emerged of a man walking up and down Sydney Road, talking to a woman who turned out to be Jill, the investigation and the media response to it turned up a gear. Everyone was talking about it. They still are. I still get goosebumps just thinking about it all. It was only days ago that I was watching the footage at work, the cameras from a boutique store on that road that captured the footpath outside. It showed a man in a blue hoodie walk past the shop headed left, then moments later backtrack and pass to the right. It is believed that before coming onto the CCTV camera, he passed her before we can actually see, and passed the camera. Then he comes back, and comes across her before she reaches the shop. However we soon see them talking in front of it. It’s my belief that perhaps he went up ahead to see if there were any people around, to see if the coast was clear. In fact, there were. The footage shows several people walk past minutes before the hooded man and Jill come into view.
As they come into view again, from the right, it shows him talking to her, and her hovering somewhat behind. She has her mobile in hand, as if about to use it. They move to the left of screen – he is out of the field of vision, but we can still see her, lingering, almost unsure of what to do. They then move off camera, and it is assumed she followed after him.
When talking to a colleague at work about this footage, she told me some theories have emerged online about this hoodie man being the same person who has tried several times to abduct and rape other women around Melbourne. The story used by this man to reel in his victims is to say that they are being followed by someone else, and he is there to help. Although it hasn’t come out what they were talking about, her hesitation shows some degree of confusion as to what he is telling her.
As days turned into more days, hope of finding her alive dimmed. As positive as I am, I know that an investigation like this is dependent on hours rather than days to find the victim. Still, something inside of me hoped and prayed that she was alright, however dim the possibility and the chance of finding her alive seemed to be.
I’ve had nightmares lately. A couple of weeks ago I had a dream about being in a haunted house with my husband, and having intense pressure weighted down on me by an unknown force – turning out to be the ghost who haunted that house. Other times I’ve woken up in a fright because of a feeling that someone is in the room, due to an eerie, weird dream I’ve had. Sometimes it just has to be a scary place, like the haunted house I dreamt about. That’s all it takes.
A couple of nights ago I woke to tell Hubbie “someone’s at the door.” I had heard knocking in the middle of the night, I was sure of it. But he assured me it was only a dream.
Nights later I dreamt of someone pushing me hard in the back. It was an intense, focused push, like a finger digging into my back. In my dream, it was Hubbie coming back from the toilet and pushing me, but when I woke up, screaming out “ahh!” I woke him up beside me. He was facing away from me, and yet the sensation of having someone push me from behind remained, like the feeling of sunburn hours after being outdoors for too long. It lingered, and that troubled me.
I didn’t know where all these dreams were coming from.
Last night, my nightmares escalated. It was night time, I was home alone and in the kitchen, and I could hear someone knocking loudly on our back sliding door. The stranger was yelling that he was going to come in if I didn’t let him in. In realising he wasn’t joking and he could perhaps be dangerous, I crept to the front door, let myself out into the darkness, and began bolting down the street. I kept looking back but there was no one to be seen. I kept running, thinking how I would run to the comfort and security of my parent’s house, but it was at this time that I started to wake up.
It seemed I’d woken up just before my alarm was to go off. I was so scared I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I eventually convinced myself that it was safe to do so, getting up, knowing I’d be late to work if I didn’t.
I listened to the radio with a keen ear on the way, knowing, hoping that surely, there would have been some development in the Jill Meagher case. It had been reported late last night that police had arrested a man after a day of questioning, but nothing had been confirmed as yet, as to whether he was the hooded man in the CCTV footage, or someone else knowing and/or responsible for her disappearance.
It was with great shock, sadness and also relief when I heard the news come through on the hour. Yes, he was the hooded man. Yes, he had been charged and arrested for her disappearance. And yes, they had found her… but not as everyone had hoped they would find her. He had led the police to her body overnight.
The few of us that were here at work crowded around the breaking news broadcasting over the TV, watching in curiosity and sadness the story that had captured the attentions of a city for the past week. I felt somewhat gratified that he had been captured: justice had prevailed, and the police had done a remarkable job of finding the man following a huge media campaign and awareness of what had happened. However it was too late, and knowing that it was probably too late even before her husband reported her missing the day after, was a sore realisation.
It’s a sad Friday morning in Melbourne. Both mine and my friends FB statuses display the sadness that this horrifying ordeal has come to. In the workplace it’s the most talked about conversation, and on the news it’s the feature story of every bulletin. Type in her name on the net, and endless searches about the case and the hooded man’s subsequent arrest abound.
And what have we learnt? What has this told us? That women shouldn’t EVER walk alone… in a world of equal opportunity and fair trial, what does it mean when a woman can’t walk home, 5 minutes to the comfort and safety of her home on a public street? What does it mean when this happens to a girl who lives in a busy neighbourhood, in a suburb you frequent, to a girl of your age, who has only been married as long as you have, and who works at a media organisation similar to yours? Who worked. What does that mean for me, for all women, for the entire city?
My imagination never let me stay secure and in a place of comfort before… I’d always look over my shoulder in my dark morning walk to work, quickly jump in and out of the car when it was night time, and turn on all the house lights as I made my way to the bathroom. I was paranoid and jumpy, just because of my upbringing, because of my preferred choice of entertainment… solely without any real reason for being, other than what I read and saw, what was fiction. Though when fiction becomes reality, and you truly have a reason to be scared… what then? Do you become a hermit, locked in your house, fearful of what’s beyond the safety of your own walls? What if what is dark and disturbing comes to you, as is the case of so many other real-life horror stories?
Thank goodness that damned cursed excuse for being is behind bars. May he be prosecuted, castrated, and all the limbs on his body slowly pulled apart, one by one, until all that remains is a big bloody mess. The universal law of Karma will ensure he gets that, and so much more. He’s hasn’t just hurt Jill, he hasn’t just hurt her family: he’s hurt an entire city.
In time, of course, our wounds will heal. Women will temporarily be on the lookout for odd-looking people, for these night creatures; they’ll travel in pairs, drive each other home with no chance of leaving them to walk alone, and avoid all conversation with randoms.
Time will heal, and with time, we’ll forget. We’re able to, because although it has happened to us, it hasn’t happened to us. As sad as it is, it will remain in the city’s subconscious… and like all things there, it will wane into a distant memory, almost forgotten, something that happened long ago.
And that is a sad thing, because things like these should never be forgotten. We should keep the memories in our minds, because with ignorance comes danger. Paranoia is a small price to pay for safety.
And that is a sober thought in the end. That the actions of a few twisted individuals of society should ruin the well-intentions of the rest of us. No one is safe anymore, and no one is allowed to ask for help, or be nice to anyone.
Like my dream, we can all run away. We can run away from the danger in our minds, push it far away, and pray for the stranger not to follow. We can do it, because all it is for us is a thought in our minds.
Jill sadly, cannot run away. She couldn’t. Her husband and her family can’t run away from it either, for it will remain a walking nightmare for them for the rest of their lives. I pray for them, and hope that they can take some comfort in knowing that justice will on some level be served.
R.I.P. Jill Meagher.
Sometimes we’re lucky and the nightmares we view are far removed from us, as if we are watching them on a television screen or at the movie theatre. We are made a distant observer by our not-knowing the person involved, and ignorance to the situation at hand, unable to really comprehend the pain and anguish that the ‘other’ must be feeling. It becomes a real life play, but one that we can easily turn away from: from our computer screens, our radios and our tvs.
Although we may appear a confused and twisted race, we are nonetheless less perverse than some. Some are so sick and bitter, that their actions are hard to understand from a living point of view. It’s because these people’s motives and actions are so warped, so different and hostile from anything we’ve ever experienced, that we can only understand them from a ‘movie’ point of view. It can only be something out of a movie, we say. But unfortunately in many cases, it is not. It is real, and we are living it, living next door to and walking by these people every single day.
My predilection for horror movies and scary stories has been around for as long as I can remember. From my Mum and Dad’s stories about the mystery that surrounded them when they were young, I have always had a strong fascination for the unknown. I would watch ‘Australian’s Most Wanted,’ and ‘The Extraordinary,’ and then take flying, running-up leaps into my bed, in fear that standing too close to the foot of it would result in some unknown stranger/creature, grabbing me and taking me away to an unknown land of horror.
Stranger. Creature. Kind of one and the same when you think of what they can do.
This fascination has endured my whole life, and though I consider myself turned ‘soft’ with age, seemingly unable to watch a movie at the cinemas without covering my eyes at any footage of dark corridors, ominous shadows and rising, pitching, leading-to-something inevitable music, I am still drawn into this dark world. Angel remains one of my favourite shows of all time; I’m reading Dracula at the moment: yet it scares me. Maybe it’s the adrenaline that comes with the fear; maybe it’s the search for continuous drama. The thrill that comes after the fact is so terrifying at times, and yet I keep going back for more.
As much as these things both scare and thrill me, I’ve been fortunate: I don’t have nightmares, as such. I add these two words because I never dream about witches, ghosts, vampires or anything that’s really after me: as such. I add these two words again, in contradiction to the above, because lately, things have changed.
Sydney Road has changed. Melbourne and its people, and the characters in it, are showing their true dark colours. And its seeping into my dreams at night.
Up until just weeks ago, I didn’t really have vivid nightmares. My earliest recollection of one was probably when I was about 11 years old, of a weird animal-like creature chasing me into my house, and I remember in the dream furiously trying to get my key into the front door and open the door before IT could get to me. My neighbour was with me, and I remember it chased her down the street to her house too.
Days later when I went to her house, I discovered she had had her appendix removed. Upon review of my earlier dream, and with the information that I had been in hospital recently with the intent to get my appendix out, but it hadn’t happened due to certain recent pubescent ‘discoveries,’ I was able to deduce that this creature had ‘gotten’ her, so to speak, but not me. I was able to escape the appendix fairies.
Ever since then I’ve paid a massive amount of attention to my dreams.
If I ever had a bad dream, it was more of an eerie feeling, rather than anything actually happening. A weird lady would be cackling at me, or someone would be watching me. But there was never any fight, struggle, chase, or horrifying monster coming to get me from the shadows.
But you don’t need to dream about it for it to be real. Sometimes the monsters manifest and come for you in real life.
Last week, when the news came out that a Melbourne woman, 29 year old Jill Meagher, had been reported missing by her husband in the inner-northern suburbs of Melbourne after Friday night work drinks, the news spread quickly. Her media-related job helped the case get a lot of notice – from what I heard people she worked with kept giving the story a lot of attention. Her family set up a facebook page to find her, and being on social media, it took off.
She went missing after leaving a bar in Brunswick early Saturday morning: it was just after 1:30pm, certainly not too late by any stretch of the imagination, definitely not for the weekend. Coupled with that fact, she was walking down Sydney Road which is a pretty main road, on her way home – and home was about a 5 minute walk away.
Those were her last known whereabouts.
I heard about the case last weekend, but it wasn’t until I saw her husband on the news on Monday morning that my heart crumpled. He was so distraught, so sad, so upset; he was absolutely shattered. I couldn’t help but think of me and my own husband, and I just felt his pain, right there and then, as he hoped and prayed for any information, for her safe return, for her to come back home.
As the case received more attention, there was a sudden discovery. Police had found her handbag in a nearby laneway, in an area they had previously searched through on the weekend. This told them that possibly it had been planted there, to throw police off the assumed kidnappers trail. Unfortunately, this led the line of enquiry back to her husband, and through repeated questions and an investigative period of over 6 hours at the home he shared with his missing wife, the police came out with a definite “he is NOT a suspect.”
As much as the evidence of them spending so long at her house suggested at it being the other, something inside of me, and of the way her husband had been so pleading on the news, told me he was not the culprit. Family members and friends of the victim are always the first to be interrogated in any tragedy that befalls them, so it was no surprise that her husband would be receiving that kind of scrutiny. We’ve seen it before in other cases: years ago a man was crying out for the safe return of his pregnant wife and young daughter on the news, and days later it was discovered that HE had in fact buried them both. Sad but true, but this is where the investigations usually, firstly lead. I was so glad to see the attention moving to find the real, actual abductor.
When CCTV footage emerged of a man walking up and down Sydney Road, talking to a woman who turned out to be Jill, the investigation and the media response to it turned up a gear. Everyone was talking about it. They still are. I still get goosebumps just thinking about it all. It was only days ago that I was watching the footage at work, the cameras from a boutique store on that road that captured the footpath outside. It showed a man in a blue hoodie walk past the shop headed left, then moments later backtrack and pass to the right. It is believed that before coming onto the CCTV camera, he passed her before we can actually see, and passed the camera. Then he comes back, and comes across her before she reaches the shop. However we soon see them talking in front of it. It’s my belief that perhaps he went up ahead to see if there were any people around, to see if the coast was clear. In fact, there were. The footage shows several people walk past minutes before the hooded man and Jill come into view.
As they come into view again, from the right, it shows him talking to her, and her hovering somewhat behind. She has her mobile in hand, as if about to use it. They move to the left of screen – he is out of the field of vision, but we can still see her, lingering, almost unsure of what to do. They then move off camera, and it is assumed she followed after him.
When talking to a colleague at work about this footage, she told me some theories have emerged online about this hoodie man being the same person who has tried several times to abduct and rape other women around Melbourne. The story used by this man to reel in his victims is to say that they are being followed by someone else, and he is there to help. Although it hasn’t come out what they were talking about, her hesitation shows some degree of confusion as to what he is telling her.
As days turned into more days, hope of finding her alive dimmed. As positive as I am, I know that an investigation like this is dependent on hours rather than days to find the victim. Still, something inside of me hoped and prayed that she was alright, however dim the possibility and the chance of finding her alive seemed to be.
I’ve had nightmares lately. A couple of weeks ago I had a dream about being in a haunted house with my husband, and having intense pressure weighted down on me by an unknown force – turning out to be the ghost who haunted that house. Other times I’ve woken up in a fright because of a feeling that someone is in the room, due to an eerie, weird dream I’ve had. Sometimes it just has to be a scary place, like the haunted house I dreamt about. That’s all it takes.
A couple of nights ago I woke to tell Hubbie “someone’s at the door.” I had heard knocking in the middle of the night, I was sure of it. But he assured me it was only a dream.
Nights later I dreamt of someone pushing me hard in the back. It was an intense, focused push, like a finger digging into my back. In my dream, it was Hubbie coming back from the toilet and pushing me, but when I woke up, screaming out “ahh!” I woke him up beside me. He was facing away from me, and yet the sensation of having someone push me from behind remained, like the feeling of sunburn hours after being outdoors for too long. It lingered, and that troubled me.
I didn’t know where all these dreams were coming from.
Last night, my nightmares escalated. It was night time, I was home alone and in the kitchen, and I could hear someone knocking loudly on our back sliding door. The stranger was yelling that he was going to come in if I didn’t let him in. In realising he wasn’t joking and he could perhaps be dangerous, I crept to the front door, let myself out into the darkness, and began bolting down the street. I kept looking back but there was no one to be seen. I kept running, thinking how I would run to the comfort and security of my parent’s house, but it was at this time that I started to wake up.
It seemed I’d woken up just before my alarm was to go off. I was so scared I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I eventually convinced myself that it was safe to do so, getting up, knowing I’d be late to work if I didn’t.
I listened to the radio with a keen ear on the way, knowing, hoping that surely, there would have been some development in the Jill Meagher case. It had been reported late last night that police had arrested a man after a day of questioning, but nothing had been confirmed as yet, as to whether he was the hooded man in the CCTV footage, or someone else knowing and/or responsible for her disappearance.
It was with great shock, sadness and also relief when I heard the news come through on the hour. Yes, he was the hooded man. Yes, he had been charged and arrested for her disappearance. And yes, they had found her… but not as everyone had hoped they would find her. He had led the police to her body overnight.
The few of us that were here at work crowded around the breaking news broadcasting over the TV, watching in curiosity and sadness the story that had captured the attentions of a city for the past week. I felt somewhat gratified that he had been captured: justice had prevailed, and the police had done a remarkable job of finding the man following a huge media campaign and awareness of what had happened. However it was too late, and knowing that it was probably too late even before her husband reported her missing the day after, was a sore realisation.
It’s a sad Friday morning in Melbourne. Both mine and my friends FB statuses display the sadness that this horrifying ordeal has come to. In the workplace it’s the most talked about conversation, and on the news it’s the feature story of every bulletin. Type in her name on the net, and endless searches about the case and the hooded man’s subsequent arrest abound.
And what have we learnt? What has this told us? That women shouldn’t EVER walk alone… in a world of equal opportunity and fair trial, what does it mean when a woman can’t walk home, 5 minutes to the comfort and safety of her home on a public street? What does it mean when this happens to a girl who lives in a busy neighbourhood, in a suburb you frequent, to a girl of your age, who has only been married as long as you have, and who works at a media organisation similar to yours? Who worked. What does that mean for me, for all women, for the entire city?
My imagination never let me stay secure and in a place of comfort before… I’d always look over my shoulder in my dark morning walk to work, quickly jump in and out of the car when it was night time, and turn on all the house lights as I made my way to the bathroom. I was paranoid and jumpy, just because of my upbringing, because of my preferred choice of entertainment… solely without any real reason for being, other than what I read and saw, what was fiction. Though when fiction becomes reality, and you truly have a reason to be scared… what then? Do you become a hermit, locked in your house, fearful of what’s beyond the safety of your own walls? What if what is dark and disturbing comes to you, as is the case of so many other real-life horror stories?
Thank goodness that damned cursed excuse for being is behind bars. May he be prosecuted, castrated, and all the limbs on his body slowly pulled apart, one by one, until all that remains is a big bloody mess. The universal law of Karma will ensure he gets that, and so much more. He’s hasn’t just hurt Jill, he hasn’t just hurt her family: he’s hurt an entire city.
In time, of course, our wounds will heal. Women will temporarily be on the lookout for odd-looking people, for these night creatures; they’ll travel in pairs, drive each other home with no chance of leaving them to walk alone, and avoid all conversation with randoms.
Time will heal, and with time, we’ll forget. We’re able to, because although it has happened to us, it hasn’t happened to us. As sad as it is, it will remain in the city’s subconscious… and like all things there, it will wane into a distant memory, almost forgotten, something that happened long ago.
And that is a sad thing, because things like these should never be forgotten. We should keep the memories in our minds, because with ignorance comes danger. Paranoia is a small price to pay for safety.
And that is a sober thought in the end. That the actions of a few twisted individuals of society should ruin the well-intentions of the rest of us. No one is safe anymore, and no one is allowed to ask for help, or be nice to anyone.
Like my dream, we can all run away. We can run away from the danger in our minds, push it far away, and pray for the stranger not to follow. We can do it, because all it is for us is a thought in our minds.
Jill sadly, cannot run away. She couldn’t. Her husband and her family can’t run away from it either, for it will remain a walking nightmare for them for the rest of their lives. I pray for them, and hope that they can take some comfort in knowing that justice will on some level be served.
R.I.P. Jill Meagher.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
I'm so weird
This is a completely random post.
I woke up at about 4am this morning to discover I had no top on. It took me a bit to get my head around it – it would have been longer had it not happened the week before, only then I vaguely had the recollection of having ripped it off me in my half-asleep stupor. Only this time I couldn’t remember anything. And I would have had to actually sit upright to get it off of me with the layers of sheets and blankets on top.
So as I fished around for my top in the darkness, I mumbled to Hubbie, “I took my top off,” and he was like “sleep, just sleep.” And then somehow he said to me that I’d been snoring, and he had to nudge me to make me stop. I was like “what? seriously?” Apparently he was. He even imitated the noise I was making. I was like “far out.” As much as he shit stirs he wouldn’t do so in the middle of our sleeping.
I don’t snore. I sleep-talk. However now it appears I’m waking him up from my night noises. And apparently now I’m also in the habit of dis-robing, and I find that funny considering I could have just taken the covers off.
Weird.
I woke up at about 4am this morning to discover I had no top on. It took me a bit to get my head around it – it would have been longer had it not happened the week before, only then I vaguely had the recollection of having ripped it off me in my half-asleep stupor. Only this time I couldn’t remember anything. And I would have had to actually sit upright to get it off of me with the layers of sheets and blankets on top.
So as I fished around for my top in the darkness, I mumbled to Hubbie, “I took my top off,” and he was like “sleep, just sleep.” And then somehow he said to me that I’d been snoring, and he had to nudge me to make me stop. I was like “what? seriously?” Apparently he was. He even imitated the noise I was making. I was like “far out.” As much as he shit stirs he wouldn’t do so in the middle of our sleeping.
I don’t snore. I sleep-talk. However now it appears I’m waking him up from my night noises. And apparently now I’m also in the habit of dis-robing, and I find that funny considering I could have just taken the covers off.
Weird.
Monday, July 30, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
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.
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.
A conversation with Mum – Part 1
Ring Ring.
Ring Ring.
“Hello, (insert media dep’t here) Miss S. speaking.”
“Miss S., this is your mama.”
“Oh hi Mum.”
[Insert small chat about work, Hubbie, and just general randomness]
Slight pause.
“Oh, I finished my book. Printed it for Hubbie yesterday.”
“Good. Now you’re done. Leave it for now, you’ve done plenty.”
Trying to suppress my amusement.
“Mum, I kind of want to do this for a living. So I will write another book, and more, when I know what’s happening with this one.”
“Ok, ok.”
LOLOL.
Ring Ring.
“Hello, (insert media dep’t here) Miss S. speaking.”
“Miss S., this is your mama.”
“Oh hi Mum.”
[Insert small chat about work, Hubbie, and just general randomness]
Slight pause.
“Oh, I finished my book. Printed it for Hubbie yesterday.”
“Good. Now you’re done. Leave it for now, you’ve done plenty.”
Trying to suppress my amusement.
“Mum, I kind of want to do this for a living. So I will write another book, and more, when I know what’s happening with this one.”
“Ok, ok.”
LOLOL.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Half a ream, and a full ink and a half cartridge later…
… and 275 pages came out of my printer last night. Well actually 277, including the front cover and the… ‘other’ bit. No actually, it was definitely more, because when the ink started running out I had to cancel the print job, so I had a couple of scratchy looking pages that I had to re-print…
So let’s just say 280+.
It took a while let me tell you. I don’t have the newest printer, but those pages were coming out fast, and I was trying to make sure they dried (very slightly) whilst keeping them in order, which kept me constantly checking page after page. In total it took up 45 minutes of my time.
Stapling all the chapters together was like ‘wow.’ First seeing my work, my words on actual paper… it was weird. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different. I this weird sense of ‘this is it?’
When I finally handed the bundled papers to Hubbie, I was feeling ecstatic, nervous, happy and very emotional. Emotional evident from the fact that after I gave it to him I burst out into tears, turning into a crying, sobbing mess.
Even handing it over… it was so odd. I’ve been wanting to do it for so long, to finish the story and have someone I love tell me what they think. But I had this sense of not wanting to give it. Whether because it’s been MY story for so long, and now it becomes someone else’s… whether it’s because I feel it’s a part of me, and it’s like I’m giving away a part of myself… or maybe because I’m just bloody nervous about the critiques I’ll get.
I think it’s a combination of all these things.
Hubbie did lighten the mood though. When I gave it to him he was like “What? It’s ALL this? This is one book?”
LOLOL. I’m chuckling to myself now just remembering his reaction.
He thought all the different stapled parts which I’d sectioned to create the chapters was actually ONE COPY EACH, and that I’d made several copies to give to family and friends.
“No, this is one book. You think I’ve been working for over a year on just this?” I flipped through the pages of one chapter, roughly 20 pages worth.
“Far. It’s massive.”
“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to…” (as all good wives do I set the test, the challenge…)
“I want to.” (and he passed with flying colours).
I’m going to make a document where there is slightly smaller font though, because it ended up looking bigger than I expected on page. And there were so many bloody pages! I’ll use this doc to print further copies for my sister, Red, my Mum if she wants to read it…
I need to get me some more paper and ink.
So let’s just say 280+.
It took a while let me tell you. I don’t have the newest printer, but those pages were coming out fast, and I was trying to make sure they dried (very slightly) whilst keeping them in order, which kept me constantly checking page after page. In total it took up 45 minutes of my time.
Stapling all the chapters together was like ‘wow.’ First seeing my work, my words on actual paper… it was weird. I don’t know how to describe it. It was just different. I this weird sense of ‘this is it?’
When I finally handed the bundled papers to Hubbie, I was feeling ecstatic, nervous, happy and very emotional. Emotional evident from the fact that after I gave it to him I burst out into tears, turning into a crying, sobbing mess.
Even handing it over… it was so odd. I’ve been wanting to do it for so long, to finish the story and have someone I love tell me what they think. But I had this sense of not wanting to give it. Whether because it’s been MY story for so long, and now it becomes someone else’s… whether it’s because I feel it’s a part of me, and it’s like I’m giving away a part of myself… or maybe because I’m just bloody nervous about the critiques I’ll get.
I think it’s a combination of all these things.
Hubbie did lighten the mood though. When I gave it to him he was like “What? It’s ALL this? This is one book?”
LOLOL. I’m chuckling to myself now just remembering his reaction.
He thought all the different stapled parts which I’d sectioned to create the chapters was actually ONE COPY EACH, and that I’d made several copies to give to family and friends.
“No, this is one book. You think I’ve been working for over a year on just this?” I flipped through the pages of one chapter, roughly 20 pages worth.
“Far. It’s massive.”
“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to…” (as all good wives do I set the test, the challenge…)
“I want to.” (and he passed with flying colours).
I’m going to make a document where there is slightly smaller font though, because it ended up looking bigger than I expected on page. And there were so many bloody pages! I’ll use this doc to print further copies for my sister, Red, my Mum if she wants to read it…
I need to get me some more paper and ink.
Monday, July 9, 2012
I'm the missing Pointer sister…
Too right I am. I’m not sure if I’m the 3rd, or 4th, or even the 5th member (I believe they have had a number of various sisters part of their group at various times), but for popularities sake, let’s go with when they were at their peak. That would make me the 4th member then.
And I’m so excited.
It’s Monday, and I have a couple of hours ‘til I finish work. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to pack my bags here, I can’t wait to make the 15 minute walk to the car park. I can’t wait to drive home, singing and smiling to myself in the car. I can’t wait to prepare dinner, then eat it, and share catch-up conversation with Hubbie on his day today.
I can’t wait to give him a big huh, and a great big passionate kiss. I can’t wait for all of those things.
But one thing I can’t wait for most: I can’t wait to start print on my official finished copy of my book.
:-D :-D :-D
Last night I made the last minor additions. There are some things I had to very briefly research today, but it was so quick, that I don’t really have to add anything to the story, I just need to check one thing, and then press the P button.
:-D :-D :-D
I am soooo excited. I’m giddy, nervous, jumpy and happy. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the moment when I can say to myself “I’ve done the best I can” and hand over a copy of it to someone I love to be critiqued. That thought makes me sick, as it does happy. I’m ready for it, and I can’t believe the day has come, 1 year and 4 months after starting the book, almost 2 years since having the idea of actually writing a book pop into my mind.
It’s such an arduous, mentally-draining process, and I loved it all. It was inspiring, it was thrilling, and I was amazed at how at times the book seemed to write itself. It was a magical, suspenseful, invigorating experience, and I can’t wait to start it all again.
This is only the beginning.
The thought of handing over my work, my pain, my toil, my passion…
I think I might just start crying tonight from happiness…
:-D
And I’m so excited.
It’s Monday, and I have a couple of hours ‘til I finish work. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to pack my bags here, I can’t wait to make the 15 minute walk to the car park. I can’t wait to drive home, singing and smiling to myself in the car. I can’t wait to prepare dinner, then eat it, and share catch-up conversation with Hubbie on his day today.
I can’t wait to give him a big huh, and a great big passionate kiss. I can’t wait for all of those things.
But one thing I can’t wait for most: I can’t wait to start print on my official finished copy of my book.
:-D :-D :-D
Last night I made the last minor additions. There are some things I had to very briefly research today, but it was so quick, that I don’t really have to add anything to the story, I just need to check one thing, and then press the P button.
:-D :-D :-D
I am soooo excited. I’m giddy, nervous, jumpy and happy. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, the moment when I can say to myself “I’ve done the best I can” and hand over a copy of it to someone I love to be critiqued. That thought makes me sick, as it does happy. I’m ready for it, and I can’t believe the day has come, 1 year and 4 months after starting the book, almost 2 years since having the idea of actually writing a book pop into my mind.
It’s such an arduous, mentally-draining process, and I loved it all. It was inspiring, it was thrilling, and I was amazed at how at times the book seemed to write itself. It was a magical, suspenseful, invigorating experience, and I can’t wait to start it all again.
This is only the beginning.
The thought of handing over my work, my pain, my toil, my passion…
I think I might just start crying tonight from happiness…
:-D
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
My continual – no, my CONTINUOUS obsession with the man formerly known as Zack Morris
In writing my story, I’ve been very obsessed over the correct use of words of late, (of course, I AM a writer): using the correct tense, grammar… I do want it to be perfect when I send it to publishers. And one of my recent obsessions was over the use of the terms continual and continuous.
Continual suggests something ongoing with interruptions over a long period of time, whereas continuous means a long duration without interruption.
Now that I’ve given you my prologue, back to my main point. I don’t know if I’ve written about this before in my 140 + posts; as you can imagine it’s hard to keep track when you get to that number.
I don’t even know exactly how many posts I’ve done – just guessing from my work email over here (:))
But about a half hour ago I finished watching a TV movie, called The Princess and the Marine. And I was very pleasantly surprised to find Mark Paul Gosselaar, and his name, come up first in the opening credits.
My fascination and love for Zack (sigh) began in a galaxy, far, far away… hold on wrong story. My fascination with Zack began, let’s count… shit about 20 years ago. Does that show my age? No, I believe it was 18 years ago.
Running home from school and eating in front of the TV was an everyday ritual for me, and when I discovered a new after-school show at 4pm, called Saved by the Bell, I was well and truly SOLD. I loved it. I loved the characters, the storylines. I loved the friendships, the sometimes serious, yet eventually light-hearted way they solved their problems. I thought Jessie was funny. I thought it’d be great to have a wardrobe like Lisa’s. I thought A.C Slater was cute. I thought Screech was goofy and weird. I wanted to BE Kelly Kapowski – so gorgeous, friendly and loved by everyone. And I wanted to be with Zack Morris.
Sorry, again. I wanted to BE with Zack Morris.
Sigh. I’m getting all giddy just thinking about it.
And so started my fascination. It wasn’t just a cute, dote-on-him crush thing: it was something FAR more than that.
Up until that point I had liked a couple of guys at school (yes I started young) – not that anything actually happened. But I did notice the opposite sex IN THAT WAY, when I was the ripe young age of 5. So by about 10, when I started to obsess over SBTB (that’s how us old-school 80s kids speak, you know?) I wasn’t new to the whole crush thing. Even so, Zack Morris became, from that moment on, my staple, my benchmark, say it my dream, of THE perfect guy.
I swear. It wasn’t a really conscious thing, but I found myself being drawn to those kinds of characters in my life, for years to come. And I still am. Whether they were in the media (like Pacey from Dawson’s, I LOVE Pacey from Dawson’s) or guys from school, and eventually, ahem, like my HUSBAND (!) Zack Morris’ character made a huge impact on what I wanted in a mate.
Maybe it was the cheeky humour. The outrageous confidence. The prankster qualities that always got him into trouble. His boyish good looks (well that definitely helped, thank you Mark ). Maybe it was how he was a ladies man – we all know as women that we love a challenge, we want to tame that wild boy. Or maybe it was his undying loyalty to his one and only first love, Kelly.
***SPOILER ALERT!***
If you haven’t seen the very end of SBTB, and by end I mean AFTER they go off to Uni, you would be pleased to know that Zack and Kelly did FINALLY get married in a special TV movie. YAY! :-D
All is good in the world.
***SPOILER ALERT OVER – COMMENCE READING***
Over the years, as SBTB dropped off the screens, I fell into infatuation with other boys, both on-screen and in real life. I guess I kind of forgot about Zack as other guys just took centre stage.
For example, two men I have repeatedly (other than my hubbie) spoken about here is David Boreanaz, and then more recently Bryan Greenberg. Well they are just hot aren’t they. You can’t deny it. David is older now, yes, which means Bryan has taken centre stage in the number 1 spot, clearly going by the looks category. And over the years that I’ve seen MPG in TV movies and other series, I’ve thought to myself “eh, you looked better.”
Beat me up, I know. I’m being a bit cruel. But he was just so cute and adorable. And then he turned into a man. And sometimes the man, doesn’t live up to the boy. I still appreciated him, and I completely recognised that he was just older. Hey, we’re all gonna get older, so will I, and although I hope like hell I’m hot at 40, I’m sure I still won’t look the way I did when I was 16.
BUT!
But. The TV movie I just saw, the princess marine one? (Well he’s not a princess marine but you know what I mean)
I started off like “right, yep, Mark is pretty good looking here, yep.”
The movie was shot in 2001, so a while ago. Still, he looked good.
And then I let myself start watching it and get sucked in.
I swear, Mark was BORN for these kinds of roles. Maybe it’s because he is really like that. And if he is there is a serious problem here… it means he’s even more perfect than I previously thought. He’s a marine in the movie, on duty in Bahrain, a Muslim country, when he falls in love with a Muslim girl there, and she for him. But she’s not just a girl, you see, she’s a princess.
And there’s the catch:)
It was a great movie. Watching Mark (Jason Johnson) jump hurdles and get into all kinds of illegal behaviour just so he and his future bride could escape to the U.S (yes bride, he proposed in a shopping centre – it was actually very sweet and romantic!) made me tingle in nice ways all over. That devoted, loyal, loving “I’ll do anything for you” look in his eyes was there, and I found myself going back to that 10 year old girl I used to know… and I melted. And as I watched, he grew more, and more, and MORE attractive.
Sigh.
This movie was actually based on a true story. This story did happen in real life – unfortunately, the real life princess and the marine ended up divorcing in 2004, I think. (I almost wish I didn’t find that on IMDB – it’s slightly ruining my Mark-story images right now).
But I just couldn’t help thinking. I couldn’t help getting excited over Zack Morris all over again.
It made me realise. My love for him never stopped; it was never interrupted. It was always there in the background, waiting to be re-discovered, again and again, like an old friend you haven’t seen in years, or the house you grew up in, where you hold all your life-changing and cherished memories. It’ll always go back to Zack. No matter what his age, or whether he’s doing movies or not, it’ll always be him. Because it started with him, and it’s because of him, that I fell in love with the hilarious, gorgeous, friendly, very silly, and completely loyal and dedicated (and very cheeky) man that is my husband.
So for that Zack, I thank you. You are the constant in my life. YOU are continuous…
Continual suggests something ongoing with interruptions over a long period of time, whereas continuous means a long duration without interruption.
Now that I’ve given you my prologue, back to my main point. I don’t know if I’ve written about this before in my 140 + posts; as you can imagine it’s hard to keep track when you get to that number.
I don’t even know exactly how many posts I’ve done – just guessing from my work email over here (:))
But about a half hour ago I finished watching a TV movie, called The Princess and the Marine. And I was very pleasantly surprised to find Mark Paul Gosselaar, and his name, come up first in the opening credits.
My fascination and love for Zack (sigh) began in a galaxy, far, far away… hold on wrong story. My fascination with Zack began, let’s count… shit about 20 years ago. Does that show my age? No, I believe it was 18 years ago.
Running home from school and eating in front of the TV was an everyday ritual for me, and when I discovered a new after-school show at 4pm, called Saved by the Bell, I was well and truly SOLD. I loved it. I loved the characters, the storylines. I loved the friendships, the sometimes serious, yet eventually light-hearted way they solved their problems. I thought Jessie was funny. I thought it’d be great to have a wardrobe like Lisa’s. I thought A.C Slater was cute. I thought Screech was goofy and weird. I wanted to BE Kelly Kapowski – so gorgeous, friendly and loved by everyone. And I wanted to be with Zack Morris.
Sorry, again. I wanted to BE with Zack Morris.
Sigh. I’m getting all giddy just thinking about it.
And so started my fascination. It wasn’t just a cute, dote-on-him crush thing: it was something FAR more than that.
Up until that point I had liked a couple of guys at school (yes I started young) – not that anything actually happened. But I did notice the opposite sex IN THAT WAY, when I was the ripe young age of 5. So by about 10, when I started to obsess over SBTB (that’s how us old-school 80s kids speak, you know?) I wasn’t new to the whole crush thing. Even so, Zack Morris became, from that moment on, my staple, my benchmark, say it my dream, of THE perfect guy.
I swear. It wasn’t a really conscious thing, but I found myself being drawn to those kinds of characters in my life, for years to come. And I still am. Whether they were in the media (like Pacey from Dawson’s, I LOVE Pacey from Dawson’s) or guys from school, and eventually, ahem, like my HUSBAND (!) Zack Morris’ character made a huge impact on what I wanted in a mate.
Maybe it was the cheeky humour. The outrageous confidence. The prankster qualities that always got him into trouble. His boyish good looks (well that definitely helped, thank you Mark ). Maybe it was how he was a ladies man – we all know as women that we love a challenge, we want to tame that wild boy. Or maybe it was his undying loyalty to his one and only first love, Kelly.
***SPOILER ALERT!***
If you haven’t seen the very end of SBTB, and by end I mean AFTER they go off to Uni, you would be pleased to know that Zack and Kelly did FINALLY get married in a special TV movie. YAY! :-D
All is good in the world.
***SPOILER ALERT OVER – COMMENCE READING***
Over the years, as SBTB dropped off the screens, I fell into infatuation with other boys, both on-screen and in real life. I guess I kind of forgot about Zack as other guys just took centre stage.
For example, two men I have repeatedly (other than my hubbie) spoken about here is David Boreanaz, and then more recently Bryan Greenberg. Well they are just hot aren’t they. You can’t deny it. David is older now, yes, which means Bryan has taken centre stage in the number 1 spot, clearly going by the looks category. And over the years that I’ve seen MPG in TV movies and other series, I’ve thought to myself “eh, you looked better.”
Beat me up, I know. I’m being a bit cruel. But he was just so cute and adorable. And then he turned into a man. And sometimes the man, doesn’t live up to the boy. I still appreciated him, and I completely recognised that he was just older. Hey, we’re all gonna get older, so will I, and although I hope like hell I’m hot at 40, I’m sure I still won’t look the way I did when I was 16.
BUT!
But. The TV movie I just saw, the princess marine one? (Well he’s not a princess marine but you know what I mean)
I started off like “right, yep, Mark is pretty good looking here, yep.”
The movie was shot in 2001, so a while ago. Still, he looked good.
And then I let myself start watching it and get sucked in.
I swear, Mark was BORN for these kinds of roles. Maybe it’s because he is really like that. And if he is there is a serious problem here… it means he’s even more perfect than I previously thought. He’s a marine in the movie, on duty in Bahrain, a Muslim country, when he falls in love with a Muslim girl there, and she for him. But she’s not just a girl, you see, she’s a princess.
And there’s the catch:)
It was a great movie. Watching Mark (Jason Johnson) jump hurdles and get into all kinds of illegal behaviour just so he and his future bride could escape to the U.S (yes bride, he proposed in a shopping centre – it was actually very sweet and romantic!) made me tingle in nice ways all over. That devoted, loyal, loving “I’ll do anything for you” look in his eyes was there, and I found myself going back to that 10 year old girl I used to know… and I melted. And as I watched, he grew more, and more, and MORE attractive.
Sigh.
This movie was actually based on a true story. This story did happen in real life – unfortunately, the real life princess and the marine ended up divorcing in 2004, I think. (I almost wish I didn’t find that on IMDB – it’s slightly ruining my Mark-story images right now).
But I just couldn’t help thinking. I couldn’t help getting excited over Zack Morris all over again.
It made me realise. My love for him never stopped; it was never interrupted. It was always there in the background, waiting to be re-discovered, again and again, like an old friend you haven’t seen in years, or the house you grew up in, where you hold all your life-changing and cherished memories. It’ll always go back to Zack. No matter what his age, or whether he’s doing movies or not, it’ll always be him. Because it started with him, and it’s because of him, that I fell in love with the hilarious, gorgeous, friendly, very silly, and completely loyal and dedicated (and very cheeky) man that is my husband.
So for that Zack, I thank you. You are the constant in my life. YOU are continuous…
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Speculating about the Ordinary
I haven’t been blogging so much as of late. There’s so much going on in my life, and so you might say ‘oh yeah you’re busy.’ It happens in blog world. There are times where you get all hyped up and blog like crazy, constantly looking around you for blog inspiration, to the point where you’re at work, doing the best blogging you’ve ever done in your life, completely forgetting to do any actual work.
With all the busy-ness, you’d think that when I actually do get time, that I’d have something to write about. No, nothing.
I was thinking about it yesterday. There is so much going on in my life, and I finally made the effort to link the two together after a convo I was having with Hubbie yesterday. I was telling him how after seeing my relos on the weekend, I was hanging for the day when I could say “BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!”
Well, not as such those words. But whenever they ask me “so, what’s new?” All I want to say is EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING has been going on. Instead I go “ahh, not much.”
All the life-changing things that are going on, the things that Hubbie and I plan for, and talk about, my deepest secrets and plans, all of it, are things that I’m not telling anyone. Actually no I lie. The one thing that a small circle of people know about is my book. And whoever has read about it in the blogger-verse, but that I don’t really count that because no one knows who I actually am, and I want to keep it that way. :)
My book. I can’t wait to start this new chapter of my life, (pardon the pun) and move on from this job. I’m so over it. Ok, I’m putting it out there: I’M SO OVER IT. I want to be my own boss, do my own thing, and make my passion, my work, my job. Wouldn’t that be the most glorious thing? Going to work in the morning (down the stairs at home or to the local café which our friends own with my laptop) and doing what I love - writing -all day every day? Having that freedom, to live life as I want – that’s what I aspire to. That’s the dream.
And I just want it to be out there! I’ve finished the second draft, I’m doing fixes, but I feel like I have no time, I need solid blocks of free time to do all my read-throughs and make sure everything connects. I can’t wait to send it out, I seriously can’t wait.
And I can’t wait to scream out to the world: I am an author! But until things are settled, and until it’s actually happening, I need to be patient, and take my time – do things properly.
So in the meantime I say to people “hmm, not much.”
And on top of that, I feel like I have even less reason to blog, because I’ve started a kind of a diary – I did consider making it into another blog, but due to the contents and my hopeful plans for it, I’m keeping it on the low, for now.
Writing book + writing secret journal = not too much time for random blog.
And so you can see why the hell I can’t say anything. It’s so annoying!
“So yeah, I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Ahh, can’t say. Oh there’s – nope can’t tell you that either. Oh and - nope sorry.”
That’s the bullshit conversation I want to avoid.
I feel so boring around other people, yet my insides want to burst with excitement. It’s hard. Hubbie and I have things we’re hoping for, and we have things we’re kind of guessing on, but until certain things actually develop and certain circumstances come into fruition, we’ve been standing around, kind of in a state of nothingness, smiling and nodding, saying “Oh, good!”
But our day will come. Too right it will.
With all the busy-ness, you’d think that when I actually do get time, that I’d have something to write about. No, nothing.
I was thinking about it yesterday. There is so much going on in my life, and I finally made the effort to link the two together after a convo I was having with Hubbie yesterday. I was telling him how after seeing my relos on the weekend, I was hanging for the day when I could say “BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!”
Well, not as such those words. But whenever they ask me “so, what’s new?” All I want to say is EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING has been going on. Instead I go “ahh, not much.”
All the life-changing things that are going on, the things that Hubbie and I plan for, and talk about, my deepest secrets and plans, all of it, are things that I’m not telling anyone. Actually no I lie. The one thing that a small circle of people know about is my book. And whoever has read about it in the blogger-verse, but that I don’t really count that because no one knows who I actually am, and I want to keep it that way. :)
My book. I can’t wait to start this new chapter of my life, (pardon the pun) and move on from this job. I’m so over it. Ok, I’m putting it out there: I’M SO OVER IT. I want to be my own boss, do my own thing, and make my passion, my work, my job. Wouldn’t that be the most glorious thing? Going to work in the morning (down the stairs at home or to the local café which our friends own with my laptop) and doing what I love - writing -all day every day? Having that freedom, to live life as I want – that’s what I aspire to. That’s the dream.
And I just want it to be out there! I’ve finished the second draft, I’m doing fixes, but I feel like I have no time, I need solid blocks of free time to do all my read-throughs and make sure everything connects. I can’t wait to send it out, I seriously can’t wait.
And I can’t wait to scream out to the world: I am an author! But until things are settled, and until it’s actually happening, I need to be patient, and take my time – do things properly.
So in the meantime I say to people “hmm, not much.”
And on top of that, I feel like I have even less reason to blog, because I’ve started a kind of a diary – I did consider making it into another blog, but due to the contents and my hopeful plans for it, I’m keeping it on the low, for now.
Writing book + writing secret journal = not too much time for random blog.
And so you can see why the hell I can’t say anything. It’s so annoying!
“So yeah, I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Ahh, can’t say. Oh there’s – nope can’t tell you that either. Oh and - nope sorry.”
That’s the bullshit conversation I want to avoid.
I feel so boring around other people, yet my insides want to burst with excitement. It’s hard. Hubbie and I have things we’re hoping for, and we have things we’re kind of guessing on, but until certain things actually develop and certain circumstances come into fruition, we’ve been standing around, kind of in a state of nothingness, smiling and nodding, saying “Oh, good!”
But our day will come. Too right it will.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Glass half-full Gal
All I remember is that my last post was about something where I was trying to be funny and light-hearted despite the world-turning that’s been going on since the beginning of the year.
I know this because I remember writing it and thinking “liar Miss S., liar.”
I was trying to put up a bit of a front, in the midst of not knowing what to write, and how the hell to write it.
And the reason I don’t know what I last posted, isn’t just because there’s been so much time between then and now, but also because I write almost all of my posts in emails and word docs before actually posting. I’m actually not on blogger as I write this. I have this fear that the day I do write a post from the ‘New Post’ page that it will be some meaningful, monumental essay that will delete when the computer I’m on randomly crashes.
Random things. I both love them and hate them.
Random is the case in point as I think of how this all started.
I had holidays planned for Feb, and before resuming them I had such wonderful visions of what they would entail. Coffee, shopping, catch-ups with friends, and just general all-round happiness.
The first shock was in finding out about the deaths of the two guys I went to high school with. As much as it rocked my world, within days of writing the post about it and learning to come to terms with it, I was feeling better, and vowing to make my life and my existence an important one in light of how quickly things can change.
THEN.
We were all rocked when quite suddenly a very close member of Hubbie’s family discovered something horrible concerning his health. And my visions of holiday bliss, were quickly changed into accompanying Hubbie to the hospital on more than half the days I was away from work. In trying to remain discreet, let’s just say this is the fight of his life.
I hope I don’t come across as selfish or inconsiderate as I write this. I feel deeply, deeply sorry for the wellbeing of this member, and wish them full health as they struggle to regain balance and return to some sense of normalcy in their life. It will be a long battle, but we all remain positive that he will come out in the end a positive story, an inspiration to others.
It’s just that, there was a moment of… well it’s hard to say. I was annoyed. Not at him, not at the situation, but, in life.
I consider myself a highly organised, highly structured person. I know where all my shoes sit, exactly where all the plates and glasses go in the kitchen drawers, and if I see a book adjusted slightly on the bookshelf, I’ll ask Hubbie “did you read my Shakespeare book?”
I don’t try to be overly obsessive about these things, I’m just naturally an ordered person, and I like it when everything has its place, because I have a lot of stuff. I get it from my Dad, I’m sure. He did the whole army thing, so he knows all about discipline and order.
I was feeling highly frustrated. Not only were my holidays not how they were meant to be, all with getting up early, spending all day in the hospital and then returning home late at night, but there were other pressing matters getting to me. I wanted to finish my book, and had given myself ‘til the end of my holidays to do it. I said to myself, “I know this is bad, but I just have to keep going. Life will throw things at me. But I need to keep writing.”
And there were MORE pressing issues at hand, hopefully some of which I’ll be able to post about in months to come. I was being supportive to Hubbie, but I just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment in thinking of all the things this year was meant to be, and suddenly realising that EVERYTHING had changed. It was extremely upsetting.
I know, I’m a bitch. The problem with being as self-aware as I am is that I step out of my body all the time and preview the things I’m doing in my life. And in this instance, I was stepping back and saying “you selfish, selfish person.”
And the problem was, not even the awareness of feeling the way I was helped me to get over it. It just made me more desperate, sad, annoyed and frustrated. The frustrated-ness was feeding the selfishness, and the selfishness was feeding the frustrated-ness. It was an ongoing cycle that I couldn’t seem to break.
Today, months later, the situation hasn’t changed much. Only time, facts, learning to cope with it and continuing to live life are the things that have helped make the situation… better? I wouldn’t say better, but we have the upmost positive attitude towards this life changing event, and truly believe things will get better and eventually get back to normal.
What do you do? You have to eventually go back to living life. Because life doesn’t wait for you.
I have learnt to cope with it. I think I needed a bit of time to just stew, whinge that “things weren’t meant to be like this” and go into a depression, in my path to accepting that this was now our reality. I’m totally used to it now, am aware that in life things aren’t always going to be perfect, and I’m just learning to move on and work around this thing without compromising the things I’ve always wanted to do.
I hope I don’t sound too horrible a person. I’m coupled with an infinite amount of empathy, but with it comes an unexpected dose of selfishness. It’s just me. I try to be better, but some leopard spots just don’t change.
As I got to terms with all that was going on, I kept going on with my life. As planned, I finished my book on the last day of my holidays, YAY! It was very exciting for me, and if I do say so myself, I had a couple of tears trickling down my cheeks from happiness. Writing and the entire creation process is an extremely emotional one. You put so much of yourself, your heart, soul and passions into it, that at the end you end up feeling completely overwhelmed by it all.
I’m currently in the process of doing my second draft, and I have two chapters left to go over. Then I will go and research those little bits and pieces that I have to add to the book, go over it a third time (more thoroughly than the second time but hopefully a bit faster!) and then I’ll consider myself kind of done :)
Towards the end of my holidays in Feb I did end up doing a bit of what I’d been craving for at the beginning: coffee, shopping and catch-ups. In fact, I had the best day out with my sister. I just love her so much. I’m not being biased either. She is, THE BOMB.
Later on as well, Red and I ended up going to the cemetery where our friends were buried. We found Wavy first, then after a bit more searching up and down the rows, we came across Seven. Because the burials were relatively fresh, the headstones hadn’t yet been put up, and standing where we were in front of Seven’s site, we could look in front of us about a row or two up, to see Wavy’s. They’d been friends, been in the same classes, the same school, and had died within months of each other. And were now buried within metres of each other too.
Red and I had a few moments just standing there in front of them. Just thinking. I said a quiet goodbye.
On top of that, there were two sudden deaths in amongst all of this, (well maybe one was not so sudden) on Hubbie’s side of the family. It’s just been one thing after another.
Despite the general gloom of this post, I feel things have been much better in the last few months than how I’ve expressed them to be here. Yes, all these things did happen, and yes, some were really bad, and some were really good. (We bought a new car too!)
It’s just the way you see things I guess. Despite how shit I felt earlier in the year, I’m a glass half-full type of gal. I look back at all that and go “well, you learn. Things change.”
And within weeks of all of it first going down, I turned and said to Hubbie “you know what? We’re going to be the ones to bring the sunshine back into their life. We’re going to bring to them the good news that’s been a long time coming. That’s our role in all of this.”
And I truly believe it is.
I know this because I remember writing it and thinking “liar Miss S., liar.”
I was trying to put up a bit of a front, in the midst of not knowing what to write, and how the hell to write it.
And the reason I don’t know what I last posted, isn’t just because there’s been so much time between then and now, but also because I write almost all of my posts in emails and word docs before actually posting. I’m actually not on blogger as I write this. I have this fear that the day I do write a post from the ‘New Post’ page that it will be some meaningful, monumental essay that will delete when the computer I’m on randomly crashes.
Random things. I both love them and hate them.
Random is the case in point as I think of how this all started.
I had holidays planned for Feb, and before resuming them I had such wonderful visions of what they would entail. Coffee, shopping, catch-ups with friends, and just general all-round happiness.
The first shock was in finding out about the deaths of the two guys I went to high school with. As much as it rocked my world, within days of writing the post about it and learning to come to terms with it, I was feeling better, and vowing to make my life and my existence an important one in light of how quickly things can change.
THEN.
We were all rocked when quite suddenly a very close member of Hubbie’s family discovered something horrible concerning his health. And my visions of holiday bliss, were quickly changed into accompanying Hubbie to the hospital on more than half the days I was away from work. In trying to remain discreet, let’s just say this is the fight of his life.
I hope I don’t come across as selfish or inconsiderate as I write this. I feel deeply, deeply sorry for the wellbeing of this member, and wish them full health as they struggle to regain balance and return to some sense of normalcy in their life. It will be a long battle, but we all remain positive that he will come out in the end a positive story, an inspiration to others.
It’s just that, there was a moment of… well it’s hard to say. I was annoyed. Not at him, not at the situation, but, in life.
I consider myself a highly organised, highly structured person. I know where all my shoes sit, exactly where all the plates and glasses go in the kitchen drawers, and if I see a book adjusted slightly on the bookshelf, I’ll ask Hubbie “did you read my Shakespeare book?”
I don’t try to be overly obsessive about these things, I’m just naturally an ordered person, and I like it when everything has its place, because I have a lot of stuff. I get it from my Dad, I’m sure. He did the whole army thing, so he knows all about discipline and order.
I was feeling highly frustrated. Not only were my holidays not how they were meant to be, all with getting up early, spending all day in the hospital and then returning home late at night, but there were other pressing matters getting to me. I wanted to finish my book, and had given myself ‘til the end of my holidays to do it. I said to myself, “I know this is bad, but I just have to keep going. Life will throw things at me. But I need to keep writing.”
And there were MORE pressing issues at hand, hopefully some of which I’ll be able to post about in months to come. I was being supportive to Hubbie, but I just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and disappointment in thinking of all the things this year was meant to be, and suddenly realising that EVERYTHING had changed. It was extremely upsetting.
I know, I’m a bitch. The problem with being as self-aware as I am is that I step out of my body all the time and preview the things I’m doing in my life. And in this instance, I was stepping back and saying “you selfish, selfish person.”
And the problem was, not even the awareness of feeling the way I was helped me to get over it. It just made me more desperate, sad, annoyed and frustrated. The frustrated-ness was feeding the selfishness, and the selfishness was feeding the frustrated-ness. It was an ongoing cycle that I couldn’t seem to break.
Today, months later, the situation hasn’t changed much. Only time, facts, learning to cope with it and continuing to live life are the things that have helped make the situation… better? I wouldn’t say better, but we have the upmost positive attitude towards this life changing event, and truly believe things will get better and eventually get back to normal.
What do you do? You have to eventually go back to living life. Because life doesn’t wait for you.
I have learnt to cope with it. I think I needed a bit of time to just stew, whinge that “things weren’t meant to be like this” and go into a depression, in my path to accepting that this was now our reality. I’m totally used to it now, am aware that in life things aren’t always going to be perfect, and I’m just learning to move on and work around this thing without compromising the things I’ve always wanted to do.
I hope I don’t sound too horrible a person. I’m coupled with an infinite amount of empathy, but with it comes an unexpected dose of selfishness. It’s just me. I try to be better, but some leopard spots just don’t change.
As I got to terms with all that was going on, I kept going on with my life. As planned, I finished my book on the last day of my holidays, YAY! It was very exciting for me, and if I do say so myself, I had a couple of tears trickling down my cheeks from happiness. Writing and the entire creation process is an extremely emotional one. You put so much of yourself, your heart, soul and passions into it, that at the end you end up feeling completely overwhelmed by it all.
I’m currently in the process of doing my second draft, and I have two chapters left to go over. Then I will go and research those little bits and pieces that I have to add to the book, go over it a third time (more thoroughly than the second time but hopefully a bit faster!) and then I’ll consider myself kind of done :)
Towards the end of my holidays in Feb I did end up doing a bit of what I’d been craving for at the beginning: coffee, shopping and catch-ups. In fact, I had the best day out with my sister. I just love her so much. I’m not being biased either. She is, THE BOMB.
Later on as well, Red and I ended up going to the cemetery where our friends were buried. We found Wavy first, then after a bit more searching up and down the rows, we came across Seven. Because the burials were relatively fresh, the headstones hadn’t yet been put up, and standing where we were in front of Seven’s site, we could look in front of us about a row or two up, to see Wavy’s. They’d been friends, been in the same classes, the same school, and had died within months of each other. And were now buried within metres of each other too.
Red and I had a few moments just standing there in front of them. Just thinking. I said a quiet goodbye.
On top of that, there were two sudden deaths in amongst all of this, (well maybe one was not so sudden) on Hubbie’s side of the family. It’s just been one thing after another.
Despite the general gloom of this post, I feel things have been much better in the last few months than how I’ve expressed them to be here. Yes, all these things did happen, and yes, some were really bad, and some were really good. (We bought a new car too!)
It’s just the way you see things I guess. Despite how shit I felt earlier in the year, I’m a glass half-full type of gal. I look back at all that and go “well, you learn. Things change.”
And within weeks of all of it first going down, I turned and said to Hubbie “you know what? We’re going to be the ones to bring the sunshine back into their life. We’re going to bring to them the good news that’s been a long time coming. That’s our role in all of this.”
And I truly believe it is.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Symmetry is screwed.... (The Peculiarity of Symmetry Part 2)
So last night we got a phone call from Hubbie's best mate. He'd heard the bad news that a guy I went to high school with, or rather we all went to high school with but he was closer in age to me and my friends, well he died on the weekend from a motorbike accident.
We were really shocked, myself probably more so. We were in several classes together, we spoke often, and I have vivid memories of him. He wasn't like a friend friend, but you know when the whole class sort of knows everyone, and everyone interacts? Well he was that person to me and my friends. At one point he was something more to one of my friends, but we'll get to that later.
He meant well, but for some reason as he got older, he deliberately pursued getting involved with the bad crowd. He deliberately made trouble in and out of class so as to gain attention, and be recognised as a bad boy. We could really see through it. Maybe that was due to the fact that he was a year younger than us, and we weren't as easily impressed by those tactics than if they had been performed by someone older than us who we feared/looked up to. That goes hand in hand in high school.
So when I heard the news about (we'll call him Seven) him yesterday, I couldn't help but think about him and be shocked by the whole events. I hadn't really heard of him since those high school days, and every so often if someone from that year was mentioned, my mind couldn't help but wander and think of where he had ended up.
So Red was my friend who he was more than just a school friend to at one stage. He was the first guy she kissed, however it didn't go any further than that, and all of us, with he and his friends, remained good friends throughout those early years of high school.
I called Red yesterday to see if she had heard. I already suspected she may have, just with the fact that everyone knows everyone: and she had. She was shocked too by it all. And then she told me something else.
"Miss S, did you hear about - (we'll call him Wavy)?"
"Which wavy?" (there are a lot of people with this common name Wavy.)
"Wavy, the one you kissed?"
"What?"
"He had c------."
I couldn't hear her. "What?"
"He had cancer. He died months ago."
I was floored. This was a guy I hadn't seen since my high school days either. I'd often wondered where he had ended up, as usually I saw some people from high school around and about, shopping, clubs, whatever. But he and his friends, (and he was sort of in the same group as Seven) I never heard anything of, and I always wondered if they were all in some bad crowd and that's why we never saw them.
Both Seven and Wavy were in similar groups. They were both a year younger than Red and I. They had died within months of each other. And they were both our first kiss'.
....
....
....
They say bad luck comes in threes, but for something like this, so horrible to happen, and then to start to see the likeness behind it all, the weird 'coincidences', is scary. I was more in shock yesterday, keen to get home and check facebook because Red told me she'd seen a memorial page for him there. She'd kept forgetting to tell me about it.
It was so hard to find it. I didnt know his last name, and I was trying all kinds of searches. And then the net kept playing up on me. Finally, after midnight last night (or should I say this morning) I found the R.I.P page dedicated to him. It was a combination of sickness, shock and dark acceptance that ran through me as I looked at the photo they had put up of him. Wavy's photo looked like him, just a but more manly, you know how guys bulk up a bit over time. Then I went to look at more photos of him that had been put up, and I almost turned away saying "no that's not him."
That horrible horrible disease. He didn't look like him. I feel so upset just thinking of it now. It's so unfair. I actually convinced myself for a moment that I had the wrong Wavy, until I looked closer at the photos. His face looked different, and his hair was closely shaved due to the treatment I'm guesing. He was such a good looking guy. He was really sweet, and really nice.
He never treated me bad. There was in fact nothing he ever did wrong. It was all me, and never was the statement "it's not you, it's me" more truer than in this case. Honestly, I liked him, and I had him for a short while until I realised I wanted something different. I was honest with him when I broke it off, and although he took it well, I have so much guilt now, wondering if I hurt his feelings or made him feel horrible.
It's amazing you know. You don't think someone has affected you, until they're gone. It's weird because I've thought of him at odd times during the years, and at one point said to myself "it's like he's fallen off the face of the earth." I actually thought that. And a couple of months ago, I thought I saw him on a train. But thinking of those photos I saw, that wasn't him on the train. Definitely not.
It may sound overly self-indulgent, and I don't mean it to sound that way, but I just hope that none of my actions affected him and made his life different. I may not have had that kind of impact on his life, just from one moment in time: and hey, I really hope I didn't. I just pray and hope that he had lots of love and happiness surrounding him at all times. And that he wasn't alone. Even though ultimately, we all die alone.
It's breaking me up inside.
I've already kind of said my goodbye, but it still feels weird, unfinished. I wish I'd known. I don't know what I could have done, what I would have done, but I almost feel like asking Red if she wants to visit their gravesites, even though I have no idea where they are. She's as blown away by all this as I am, and she is also freaking out about the symmetry of it all.
I've had a cousin murdered, another cousin commit suicide, an aunty die suddenly of cancer; and as devastating as all those things were, I'm really shook by this. They were both so young, younger than myself. For Wavy, especially, I know it's cliche to say but he didn't deserve it. He was really a greay guy. As someone on his memory page said, he hadn't even had a chance to be a husband, a father. That is so unfair.
Because he played such a monumental role in my life, as short as the time was, that's why I think I'm so blown away by it all. He died such a short time ago, and his family and friends are still writing things on his page and posting photos. It was devastating to read, but I guess good knowing he was so loved, is so loved.
I hadn't seen him for such a long time. Never would I imagine this would happen, and that he would mark such strong emotions in me after his death. I'm still in shock. I don't know what to think. I pray and hope he is safe, well and in peace where he is right now.
When it comes to death, I have no answers. I try to live my life on a positive scale every day, and look at the good, and the secret messages in everything, even the bad. I struggle when it comes to death though. As I wrote to Red "The only thing we can do is take this experience and use it to keep pursuing our dreams, keep moving forward. We can only try."
We are the lucky ones. We are still breathing, still living. Every day is a blessing. Be happy (although I'm almost crying). Live life to the fullest. Do what your heart says. Because for some, life is too short, and for others, it is too painful. So enjoy the moments you have, and always be grateful that at the very least you have your breath.
R.I.P Seven.
R.I.P Wavy. I will always remember you.
We were really shocked, myself probably more so. We were in several classes together, we spoke often, and I have vivid memories of him. He wasn't like a friend friend, but you know when the whole class sort of knows everyone, and everyone interacts? Well he was that person to me and my friends. At one point he was something more to one of my friends, but we'll get to that later.
He meant well, but for some reason as he got older, he deliberately pursued getting involved with the bad crowd. He deliberately made trouble in and out of class so as to gain attention, and be recognised as a bad boy. We could really see through it. Maybe that was due to the fact that he was a year younger than us, and we weren't as easily impressed by those tactics than if they had been performed by someone older than us who we feared/looked up to. That goes hand in hand in high school.
So when I heard the news about (we'll call him Seven) him yesterday, I couldn't help but think about him and be shocked by the whole events. I hadn't really heard of him since those high school days, and every so often if someone from that year was mentioned, my mind couldn't help but wander and think of where he had ended up.
So Red was my friend who he was more than just a school friend to at one stage. He was the first guy she kissed, however it didn't go any further than that, and all of us, with he and his friends, remained good friends throughout those early years of high school.
I called Red yesterday to see if she had heard. I already suspected she may have, just with the fact that everyone knows everyone: and she had. She was shocked too by it all. And then she told me something else.
"Miss S, did you hear about - (we'll call him Wavy)?"
"Which wavy?" (there are a lot of people with this common name Wavy.)
"Wavy, the one you kissed?"
"What?"
"He had c------."
I couldn't hear her. "What?"
"He had cancer. He died months ago."
I was floored. This was a guy I hadn't seen since my high school days either. I'd often wondered where he had ended up, as usually I saw some people from high school around and about, shopping, clubs, whatever. But he and his friends, (and he was sort of in the same group as Seven) I never heard anything of, and I always wondered if they were all in some bad crowd and that's why we never saw them.
Both Seven and Wavy were in similar groups. They were both a year younger than Red and I. They had died within months of each other. And they were both our first kiss'.
....
....
....
They say bad luck comes in threes, but for something like this, so horrible to happen, and then to start to see the likeness behind it all, the weird 'coincidences', is scary. I was more in shock yesterday, keen to get home and check facebook because Red told me she'd seen a memorial page for him there. She'd kept forgetting to tell me about it.
It was so hard to find it. I didnt know his last name, and I was trying all kinds of searches. And then the net kept playing up on me. Finally, after midnight last night (or should I say this morning) I found the R.I.P page dedicated to him. It was a combination of sickness, shock and dark acceptance that ran through me as I looked at the photo they had put up of him. Wavy's photo looked like him, just a but more manly, you know how guys bulk up a bit over time. Then I went to look at more photos of him that had been put up, and I almost turned away saying "no that's not him."
That horrible horrible disease. He didn't look like him. I feel so upset just thinking of it now. It's so unfair. I actually convinced myself for a moment that I had the wrong Wavy, until I looked closer at the photos. His face looked different, and his hair was closely shaved due to the treatment I'm guesing. He was such a good looking guy. He was really sweet, and really nice.
He never treated me bad. There was in fact nothing he ever did wrong. It was all me, and never was the statement "it's not you, it's me" more truer than in this case. Honestly, I liked him, and I had him for a short while until I realised I wanted something different. I was honest with him when I broke it off, and although he took it well, I have so much guilt now, wondering if I hurt his feelings or made him feel horrible.
It's amazing you know. You don't think someone has affected you, until they're gone. It's weird because I've thought of him at odd times during the years, and at one point said to myself "it's like he's fallen off the face of the earth." I actually thought that. And a couple of months ago, I thought I saw him on a train. But thinking of those photos I saw, that wasn't him on the train. Definitely not.
It may sound overly self-indulgent, and I don't mean it to sound that way, but I just hope that none of my actions affected him and made his life different. I may not have had that kind of impact on his life, just from one moment in time: and hey, I really hope I didn't. I just pray and hope that he had lots of love and happiness surrounding him at all times. And that he wasn't alone. Even though ultimately, we all die alone.
It's breaking me up inside.
I've already kind of said my goodbye, but it still feels weird, unfinished. I wish I'd known. I don't know what I could have done, what I would have done, but I almost feel like asking Red if she wants to visit their gravesites, even though I have no idea where they are. She's as blown away by all this as I am, and she is also freaking out about the symmetry of it all.
I've had a cousin murdered, another cousin commit suicide, an aunty die suddenly of cancer; and as devastating as all those things were, I'm really shook by this. They were both so young, younger than myself. For Wavy, especially, I know it's cliche to say but he didn't deserve it. He was really a greay guy. As someone on his memory page said, he hadn't even had a chance to be a husband, a father. That is so unfair.
Because he played such a monumental role in my life, as short as the time was, that's why I think I'm so blown away by it all. He died such a short time ago, and his family and friends are still writing things on his page and posting photos. It was devastating to read, but I guess good knowing he was so loved, is so loved.
I hadn't seen him for such a long time. Never would I imagine this would happen, and that he would mark such strong emotions in me after his death. I'm still in shock. I don't know what to think. I pray and hope he is safe, well and in peace where he is right now.
When it comes to death, I have no answers. I try to live my life on a positive scale every day, and look at the good, and the secret messages in everything, even the bad. I struggle when it comes to death though. As I wrote to Red "The only thing we can do is take this experience and use it to keep pursuing our dreams, keep moving forward. We can only try."
We are the lucky ones. We are still breathing, still living. Every day is a blessing. Be happy (although I'm almost crying). Live life to the fullest. Do what your heart says. Because for some, life is too short, and for others, it is too painful. So enjoy the moments you have, and always be grateful that at the very least you have your breath.
R.I.P Seven.
R.I.P Wavy. I will always remember you.
Monday, January 23, 2012
13
Often the number 13 evokes a sense of intense fear and danger by those who come across it in their everyday lives. The number brings forth images of black cats, women pinned to stakes, ladders, breaking mirrors and just a general feel of ominous doom. Whether you come across it in calculating finances, planning a party, or choosing a house or car, if something is suggestive towards this lowly-regarded number being the sum of whatever it is you're doing, chances are that at first sight of it you'll be running for the hills, far far away, along with the rest of herd.
I, usually, am part of this herd.
If we're looking at houses, I won't want one that has 13 in the address. With cars, I add up the numbers on the reg: if the total comes to 13, again, I consider it a bad sign. (Don't get me started on cars with three of the same number, the number that comes after 5 but before 7 - shudder).
I don't know why I tend to diverge from this number. I think over time I've just gone along with the flow and joined in with the rest of the hype about the number: I've actually heard that Italians consider it a lucky number. Growing up, Red had a bit of a fear about it, and she kept seeing signs of it everywhere: dates, the time, even the number of letters in her first and last name added up to 13. (Teenage girls have a lot of time on their hands).
Another friend I grew up with, got her first period on Friday the 13th. Faaaarrrrrrr. She was secretly rapt, I know, being a bit of a late bloomer and all, but I was just like "What? Friday the 13th? Of all days?!"
I've ended up having my birthday on the 13th a couple of times, just the way the dates worked out that year, and I can't say anything really horrible happened. But if given the option, I would always go for the other option, rather than outright choose something with 13 associated with it.
(I think the stories of my parents upbringing got me really superstitious and stuff too.)
However, I'm starting to see things differently. Today is a 13 number for me, and a great number at that.
Including today, I only have 13 more working days until I go on leave next month.
:-D! :-D! :-D!
YIPPEE for me! I am so excited. When I start preparing my to-do list of holiday stuff, I think I might spontaneously explode with the amount of items I will be potentially ticking off.
And because Hubbie isn't able to take holidays with me, as he has only recently started a new job, I will be on my own, getting lots of little bullshit jobs done. I'll be organising photos, cleaning windows, sorting through recipes and indexing them, throwing out old bills, EVERYTHING!
You think I'm crazy now don't you? You think I'm going to devote my time off to just cleaning the house? No siree!
I'm gonna be catching up with my parents, my sister, my cousins, my extended family, my friends, the works! On Hubbie's days off, we're going to go out and not come home until it's dark! I'm going to be watching my fave tv shows and movies 'til REALLY late at night, because I won't have work the next day! I'll be shopping, trying on dresses with Red for her wedding, going to parks, to the beach, eating out and most important drinking coffee and eating cake and ice cream!
!!!!!
I am going to do it all, whenever, however and wherever I like! :-D
Oh, and I almost forget. I'll be finishing off my book then too, you know that story I keep mentioning. Yeah......
:-D
Which brings me to another 13. I finished chapter 12 last night.
:-D :-D :-D
I, usually, am part of this herd.
If we're looking at houses, I won't want one that has 13 in the address. With cars, I add up the numbers on the reg: if the total comes to 13, again, I consider it a bad sign. (Don't get me started on cars with three of the same number, the number that comes after 5 but before 7 - shudder).
I don't know why I tend to diverge from this number. I think over time I've just gone along with the flow and joined in with the rest of the hype about the number: I've actually heard that Italians consider it a lucky number. Growing up, Red had a bit of a fear about it, and she kept seeing signs of it everywhere: dates, the time, even the number of letters in her first and last name added up to 13. (Teenage girls have a lot of time on their hands).
Another friend I grew up with, got her first period on Friday the 13th. Faaaarrrrrrr. She was secretly rapt, I know, being a bit of a late bloomer and all, but I was just like "What? Friday the 13th? Of all days?!"
I've ended up having my birthday on the 13th a couple of times, just the way the dates worked out that year, and I can't say anything really horrible happened. But if given the option, I would always go for the other option, rather than outright choose something with 13 associated with it.
(I think the stories of my parents upbringing got me really superstitious and stuff too.)
However, I'm starting to see things differently. Today is a 13 number for me, and a great number at that.
Including today, I only have 13 more working days until I go on leave next month.
:-D! :-D! :-D!
YIPPEE for me! I am so excited. When I start preparing my to-do list of holiday stuff, I think I might spontaneously explode with the amount of items I will be potentially ticking off.
And because Hubbie isn't able to take holidays with me, as he has only recently started a new job, I will be on my own, getting lots of little bullshit jobs done. I'll be organising photos, cleaning windows, sorting through recipes and indexing them, throwing out old bills, EVERYTHING!
You think I'm crazy now don't you? You think I'm going to devote my time off to just cleaning the house? No siree!
I'm gonna be catching up with my parents, my sister, my cousins, my extended family, my friends, the works! On Hubbie's days off, we're going to go out and not come home until it's dark! I'm going to be watching my fave tv shows and movies 'til REALLY late at night, because I won't have work the next day! I'll be shopping, trying on dresses with Red for her wedding, going to parks, to the beach, eating out and most important drinking coffee and eating cake and ice cream!
!!!!!
I am going to do it all, whenever, however and wherever I like! :-D
Oh, and I almost forget. I'll be finishing off my book then too, you know that story I keep mentioning. Yeah......
:-D
Which brings me to another 13. I finished chapter 12 last night.
:-D :-D :-D
Friday, January 20, 2012
WOW.
So yesterday I was all pathetic and shit, but today I've turned over a new leaf. It does not fail my notice that although I try to live my life in the highest regard and in line with the law of attraction, that I still have monumental DOWN days. I think the fact that I do try so hard to better my life, that it indeed causes these seriously depressing moments. When I'm high, I'm flying, and when I'm down, well.... I won't finish that.
Also, the fact that I get up so early during the week, leaves me feeling drained: even though I feel it physically, the emotinal side takes it toll. Does it ever. By the end of the week I can be crabby, over-sensitive, and finding fault in the smallest of things. Like the last couple of days.
When a few things don't go to plan, or when a few things get to me, they combine into a rolling ball of moss, accelerating down the steep hill of my brain, until finally, when it hits the bottom with a large bang, I end up broken. Completely broken, shattered, and in a deep ditch of dirt.
But, aided today by my true and trusted friend 'proper coffee' I am definitely looking up.
:)
Just send Hubbie this message: "Hi, I'm Miss S (group says 'Hi Miss S') and I have a coffee addiction."
I'm a bit whacked out today, being a Friday and all. As you can probably tell.
So I'm here to talk positive, and to put a bit of perspective on something I mentioned yesterday.
So yes. I didn't ask for a pay rise. I didn't prepare myself, the night before it I had other heavy things on my mind, and it led to me feeling completely unprepared for the work review I had. I'm not usually like that, I'm super-organised, and like Hubbie coached to me last night, I have to learn from the experience.
Yes I will learn. I guess it's just hard because I'm not even sure what was the right thing to do: to ask or not to ask? That IS the question. However I have to believe that I did the right thing, and if not, that I will get another opportunity at monetary rewards, if not through this work, then through another (hint, hint, clears throat loudly 'ahem, book *cough* my story *cough*).
:)
And one more thing. What I was supposed to talk about yesterday.
I get cranky at times, when I notice people staring at me. It just really annoys me. Sure, look, glance around. But don't continue to ogle me, or to totally stare me down into a hole as I walk on by. I don't care what the reasons are, I find it rude and slightly intimidating to know someone is totally giving me the once over.
Though a couple of mornings ago, walking to work 6:30 in the morning, I saw two tradies approaching me from the other side. I knew how I was dressed, and knew that it may get some notice. I wasn't dressed inappropriately or anything, but you know when the clothes you wear portray a certain look? Anyway, I kepy my eyes straight ahead as I walked on by, being careful not to make any eye contact, because hey, you can't encourage them in anyway. Who knows what might happen then.
Even though my eyes were forward, I could see them looking at me as they walked past. And I heard from one of them, lowly, "Wow."
Wow. I thought about it some more as I kept walking, wondering whether I was upset at being ogled at again. But you know what? I took it for what it was, as a freaking damn fantastic compliment. WOW. I think that's one of the best compliments ever. One word, so simple. Wow.
As I said to Hubbie, when I'm pregnant one day, I'm sure I won't have guys whistling, tooting their car horns or making remarks about me when I walk by, so I'll take all the Wow's I can right now.
I'm going to take it in, and appreciate it as much as possible.
What a wonderful, brilliant, spectacular, mood-lifting, heart-warming post to get me into the weekend :-D
WOW!
Also, the fact that I get up so early during the week, leaves me feeling drained: even though I feel it physically, the emotinal side takes it toll. Does it ever. By the end of the week I can be crabby, over-sensitive, and finding fault in the smallest of things. Like the last couple of days.
When a few things don't go to plan, or when a few things get to me, they combine into a rolling ball of moss, accelerating down the steep hill of my brain, until finally, when it hits the bottom with a large bang, I end up broken. Completely broken, shattered, and in a deep ditch of dirt.
But, aided today by my true and trusted friend 'proper coffee' I am definitely looking up.
:)
Just send Hubbie this message: "Hi, I'm Miss S (group says 'Hi Miss S') and I have a coffee addiction."
I'm a bit whacked out today, being a Friday and all. As you can probably tell.
So I'm here to talk positive, and to put a bit of perspective on something I mentioned yesterday.
So yes. I didn't ask for a pay rise. I didn't prepare myself, the night before it I had other heavy things on my mind, and it led to me feeling completely unprepared for the work review I had. I'm not usually like that, I'm super-organised, and like Hubbie coached to me last night, I have to learn from the experience.
Yes I will learn. I guess it's just hard because I'm not even sure what was the right thing to do: to ask or not to ask? That IS the question. However I have to believe that I did the right thing, and if not, that I will get another opportunity at monetary rewards, if not through this work, then through another (hint, hint, clears throat loudly 'ahem, book *cough* my story *cough*).
:)
And one more thing. What I was supposed to talk about yesterday.
I get cranky at times, when I notice people staring at me. It just really annoys me. Sure, look, glance around. But don't continue to ogle me, or to totally stare me down into a hole as I walk on by. I don't care what the reasons are, I find it rude and slightly intimidating to know someone is totally giving me the once over.
Though a couple of mornings ago, walking to work 6:30 in the morning, I saw two tradies approaching me from the other side. I knew how I was dressed, and knew that it may get some notice. I wasn't dressed inappropriately or anything, but you know when the clothes you wear portray a certain look? Anyway, I kepy my eyes straight ahead as I walked on by, being careful not to make any eye contact, because hey, you can't encourage them in anyway. Who knows what might happen then.
Even though my eyes were forward, I could see them looking at me as they walked past. And I heard from one of them, lowly, "Wow."
Wow. I thought about it some more as I kept walking, wondering whether I was upset at being ogled at again. But you know what? I took it for what it was, as a freaking damn fantastic compliment. WOW. I think that's one of the best compliments ever. One word, so simple. Wow.
As I said to Hubbie, when I'm pregnant one day, I'm sure I won't have guys whistling, tooting their car horns or making remarks about me when I walk by, so I'll take all the Wow's I can right now.
I'm going to take it in, and appreciate it as much as possible.
What a wonderful, brilliant, spectacular, mood-lifting, heart-warming post to get me into the weekend :-D
WOW!
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Writing Realisations
I've come across a couple of insights into the way Miss S operates and what drives her (yes I am fully aware of having just switched from 1st person P.O.V to a third person P.O.V).
I was feeling a bit sad and sorry for myself on Sunday afternoon, once again thinking of how quickly the weekend had passed, and how I had to get myself ready for work the next day: lunches, bags, crap and stuff.
A glimmer of happiness went through me when I thought of the early time Hubbie would be going to bed; because when he goes to bed early, me and my laptop join him.
I spend most of my writing time typing furiously on my laptop as Hubbie sleeps beside me. I don't like to write when he is awake and we can talk about something or do something. Even when we're just sitting on the couch, I have to sit on the couch with him, instead of do anything else. Aww. Also, I think I wouldn't be able to concentrate either, even if I tried. I'm much better thinking and planning in quiet and peace, with no distractions. That thought worries me, as I know the day will come where I have distractions abound.
Also, in complete contradiction to what I just said, when I look at my computer screen, and start reading the last few pages I wrote, I completely switch off and just tune into another world. That's what I noticed last night in bed, having started the writing process in complete sadness and frustration. I knew I had to write, I have a deadline I'm trying to stick to so I don't slack off, and I said to myself "right, there are times that you're going to write happy, some sad. You gotta write through it all."
And amazingly I did. It was only after I finished for the night that I realised how deep in my other world I had been. I don't know if that's what happens to all writers as they're creating their own unique worlds, or if it's a sign of something else (like my story is good, fingers crossed!)
So that I liked:)
AND, I find myself really looking forward to and enjoying writing of late. It may be a combination of things: being towards the end of the book; seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for the book's completion; writing about things that I've been leading up to for a year! I feel good about it, and not that I don't usually like to write, but a lot of the past year I've felt confused about the characters, storyline and my ability to write well. I'm feeling better, for everything, and I like it.
So I'm liking a lot, but my heart is still heavy. Maybe I need one more post to lift my spirits....
I was feeling a bit sad and sorry for myself on Sunday afternoon, once again thinking of how quickly the weekend had passed, and how I had to get myself ready for work the next day: lunches, bags, crap and stuff.
A glimmer of happiness went through me when I thought of the early time Hubbie would be going to bed; because when he goes to bed early, me and my laptop join him.
I spend most of my writing time typing furiously on my laptop as Hubbie sleeps beside me. I don't like to write when he is awake and we can talk about something or do something. Even when we're just sitting on the couch, I have to sit on the couch with him, instead of do anything else. Aww. Also, I think I wouldn't be able to concentrate either, even if I tried. I'm much better thinking and planning in quiet and peace, with no distractions. That thought worries me, as I know the day will come where I have distractions abound.
Also, in complete contradiction to what I just said, when I look at my computer screen, and start reading the last few pages I wrote, I completely switch off and just tune into another world. That's what I noticed last night in bed, having started the writing process in complete sadness and frustration. I knew I had to write, I have a deadline I'm trying to stick to so I don't slack off, and I said to myself "right, there are times that you're going to write happy, some sad. You gotta write through it all."
And amazingly I did. It was only after I finished for the night that I realised how deep in my other world I had been. I don't know if that's what happens to all writers as they're creating their own unique worlds, or if it's a sign of something else (like my story is good, fingers crossed!)
So that I liked:)
AND, I find myself really looking forward to and enjoying writing of late. It may be a combination of things: being towards the end of the book; seeing the light at the end of the tunnel for the book's completion; writing about things that I've been leading up to for a year! I feel good about it, and not that I don't usually like to write, but a lot of the past year I've felt confused about the characters, storyline and my ability to write well. I'm feeling better, for everything, and I like it.
So I'm liking a lot, but my heart is still heavy. Maybe I need one more post to lift my spirits....
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Imitation is the sincerest form of Insult
I need to get this out so that I can try to move on. In true OCD form I've been completely obsessing over it, and I can't take it anymore.
Let's play the hypothetical game again, with not so hypothetical people, and a not at all hypothetical situation.
Let's say, I have some really nice kitchen items. To make this game easier, I'll say I have a beautiful fruit bowl, with matching salt and pepper shakers that sit beside it. It took me ages to find something this beautiful, unique and original in the modern style Hubbie and I were going for in the kitchen (remember, hypothetical!) So when we got it and put it in there a couple of months ago, we were like "Ahhhh." Looks good.
Now, about a month ago we had Mouth over with another couple. During the course of the visit, after she had been to my kitchen, she commented to me "oh, I like your fruit bowl, and the salt and pepper shakers. Really nice. Where did you get it?"
I was probably slightly thrown by the fact that she never really notices anything or anyone but herself, and it seemed she was giving me a genuine compliment for my kitchen things. I said quite casually "oh, from blah and blah."
I didn't think much of it. I later heard from Hubbie that the other couple who were over, well the woman expressed how much she really liked my kitchen things, and added "they're from blah and blah, yeah?"
When Hubbie told me this I was like "no! She can't get the same things as us!" But the knowledge that the shopping centre we got it from wasn't exactly local, kept me secure in the fact that she wouldn't go there by herself and get them. She could just safely admire them from a dsitance whenever she was at our house.
So I forgot about it.
Just recently, we found ourselves at this woman's house. Mouth was there also, and some other people. A couple of hours into it, Hubbie whispers to me "have you been to the kitchen?"
He has a weird look on his face. "What?" I ask, confused.
"She bought the things." He's smiling but I can see his expression is really wary, judging me and how I'm going to react. My mouth drops open as I realise what he's talking about. I'm gaping.
"Don't overreact. Don't make a scene."
I get up immediately and march to the kitchen. My heart drops when I get there, when I see MY fruit browl and matching salt and pepper shakers.
I am in absolute shock. She bloody went there. She went to the shopping centre, to the exact same shop and bought the same bloody things as me. And now her kitchen looks like mine.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I am completely deflated. Dismayed, upset, devastated, shocked. Hubbie reads my face as I come and sit back down. "Don't jump, you don't know the full story. Don't be upset, ok?" I'm wondering at his words, wondering what the hell extra there is to know that would make this situation better for me, but I try to push it out of my mind, not wanting to appear obvious.
Not too long after that, I'm talking to Mouth. And somehow, in conversation, she says "so last weekend I went to blah shopping centre with woman, to get those things at blah shop, you know your kitchen things?"
All the pieces are falling into place. But it's actually getting worse for me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, we went and bought them."
The word we I'm having an especially hard time with. It's sticking out like a sore thumb in a sentence of fingers.
"You went and bought the exact same things?" My tone is dead, expressionless. I'm numb with shock.
"Yeah." Her response is almost questioning. As if she's trying to work out what my take is on all of it.
She goes on and on as my heart sinks deeper.
"They have good priced forks there, you know," she waffles on. (hypothetical forks!)
"Yeah," I say flatly. "That's why I like it there. I like to get good, different things that arent the same as everyone else."
There's a distinct pause. I can hear her thinking. Then, because she's a fucking tool, she continues unaffected.
Phew. I need to calm down.
Perhaps I need to give you a little back story, so you can understand my strong aversion to copying.
Growing up, I had a friend, let's simply call her copy-cat. Enough said, right? In primary school she would read off my work, and when I'd catch her I'd yell out "stop copying!" She would say back angrily "I'm not copying!" And yet she would still do it, peering over my arm which I tried to protectively cover my work with.
All my friends knew. When she was near them she would try to copy their work too. But because my regular seat was next to her, I got the brunt of it.
Copy-cat and I went to the same high school. Here, I didn't have as many classes with her, but the rest of my friends there soon found out how she was, and again she was accused of copying. The annyoing thing with her was that she would copy you, and then make her work better. That was the aggravating thing. That and obviously denying that she was even plagiarising our work.
It was easier for me in high school, knowing my friends there could see what I could see. But then as I thought I lost her annoying habit, I gained the same habit in someone else. My cousins Legs and Hair.
Now I absolutely love them to pieces, I really do. But there was a time when I was growing up, and them being younger than me and looking up to me of course, that they would imitate me. They liked the things I liked. They dressed like me. And on and on. At one stage one of them confided to me that their own grandmother said to them "You should be more like Miss S." Although I was only 14 at the time, I lost it when I heard this. "Screw her! Don't be like me, or anybody else, be your own person!"
And they did, and I'm so proud of my adopted sisters for what they have grown into.
But what I'm trying to show here is that I had a lot of copying of me over the years, copying that scarred me, and that has made me want to be completely original, different and unlike anybody else. The more people copied me, the more I shied away and tried to be even more original and unique.
So that, on top of the fact that I have to mentally imagine kicking Mouth like a football far off into the distance just to get her annoyingness out of my head, has got me so unbelievably pissed off that you can't imagine.
I can't believe, that she went and bought the exact same things as me. She not only went into the same shop (which is fine) but she bought the exact same things! Has she no shame? Is she not embarrassed, does she not feel pathetic? I would be completely ashamed of buying the exact same thing as someone else, and then have them come into my house and see that I've copied them. How shameful! Shame, shame, shame.
The reason I'm not having a go at the other woman - though I am still upset! - is because Hubbie said to me not to be. She's older, and she looks at other people for home ideas. She doesn't know. I exhaled loudly when I heard this. I'm still exhaling. I wanna do it for him, but it's not easy. I would do anything for him though.
But Mouth. Mouth is younger than the woman. She's older than us. (Another shameful thing, copying people younger than you) She should know better. When the woman called Mouth and said "I want to get the same things as Miss S," Mouth should have said "No, that's embarrassing, we'll go and get something different."
Mouth, the same Mouth who would have a go at someone for copying her. The same mouth who only ever praises or talks about herself. The same mouth who never gives anyone recognition. Do you think when guests comment on her kitchen things that she's going to be honest and say "I copied Miss S' style"? No! No she won't because she is a narcissist!
Argh! I'm so furious. I can't take it. The saying about imitation being flattery, is a load of bullshit. It's not flattery for someone whose suffered the effects of people trying to steal her style for only HER ENTIRE LIFE.
It absolutely boils me to my core. Do not copy me! Especially you, Mouth! I can't stand it, I'm absolutely fuming with anger.
Hubbie and I don't have the biggest house. But with what we have, we try to make the best of it, and put really fine touches to our house to make it unique. We buy quality items, interesting pieces, and all the furnishings show attention to detail and careful planning. Both Mouth and woman have big, new houses. Do they have to take the one thing I have, my style? Do they want that too? What else do they want from me, my life?
Leave me with the one thing I have, please. Leave me that. But no, they had to take it. SHE had to take it.
These obsessive fiery thoughts would not stop going around and around in my head yesterday. I had to talk to Sis. She is awesome, she is so awesome that my next post will be about her, to counteract the angst that is Mouth and everything about her that I despise.
Sis helped me. She tried to get me to see it in a different light. She suggested the conclusions that Hubbie and I had already come to: that we don't tell them where we buy our things in the future - we be vague if ever asked; and that this whole situation was a lesson learnt for the future. She didn't see it in the way I did, because she says she's had a friend copy her thing, and she's even copied another friend for something. But see, it's the way you go about it. My sister is very honest, and would admit to the person how much she loved it and that she was intending to buy one for herself. Mouth however is sneaky. She gives me praise - just enough - but not so much that I thought she really liked it. Then she organised a shopping day with woman, they went off and bought it without a mention of it to Hubbie and I. When it was too late, it was all bought and done.
Hubbie agrees. He's not so hung up on it as I am, but when I asked him, he admitted "I'm spewing." He didn't have to have someone copy him his whole life to make him want to be original and have different things. It's so annoying.
You know what else? We have this other 'kitchen item' a 'coffee machine' (not really, still hypothetical!) that she's asked us about, and I've said that we've bought it in a far-off region. She also knows that some of our other home furnishings are from that 'far-off region.' Guess where Mouth and her family went a couple of weeks ago? To the far-off region! What, you need another coffee machine? Get your own fucking style you leeches!
Geez, do they want to copy our whole house? The thing that peeves me off, is as I said in reference to my Sis, they're not honest. Admit you like it. Say it out loud and MEAN IT. Unlike them, who often snub their noses at things we've seen, things we've bought, and things we've done (like going to the far-off region) and then they explode with fireworks and expect you to shower them with attention when THEY GO!
I know, I know. Narcissists, in every sense of the word.
We're actually going to find a whole new, different, unique and original fruit bowl with matching salt and pepper shakers. In a couple of months we're going to a similar far-off region, and I'm going to go into as many shops there as I can, and find something bigger and better. (See how we have to buy something different because of other, annoying people?)
And THEN when they say "oh, you have different ones?!"
I'M going to say "yes, I like to have truly original pieces unlike anything anyone else has."
And I hope that that boils her and makes her feel PATHETIC. Copy cat.
What I hope for most? That after this realisation I make her come to (and I will) that she will always see my face in her fruit bowl and salt and pepper shakers. Forever.
And I hope she can live with herself for that. Because denial doesn't ever change the fact.
Let's play the hypothetical game again, with not so hypothetical people, and a not at all hypothetical situation.
Let's say, I have some really nice kitchen items. To make this game easier, I'll say I have a beautiful fruit bowl, with matching salt and pepper shakers that sit beside it. It took me ages to find something this beautiful, unique and original in the modern style Hubbie and I were going for in the kitchen (remember, hypothetical!) So when we got it and put it in there a couple of months ago, we were like "Ahhhh." Looks good.
Now, about a month ago we had Mouth over with another couple. During the course of the visit, after she had been to my kitchen, she commented to me "oh, I like your fruit bowl, and the salt and pepper shakers. Really nice. Where did you get it?"
I was probably slightly thrown by the fact that she never really notices anything or anyone but herself, and it seemed she was giving me a genuine compliment for my kitchen things. I said quite casually "oh, from blah and blah."
I didn't think much of it. I later heard from Hubbie that the other couple who were over, well the woman expressed how much she really liked my kitchen things, and added "they're from blah and blah, yeah?"
When Hubbie told me this I was like "no! She can't get the same things as us!" But the knowledge that the shopping centre we got it from wasn't exactly local, kept me secure in the fact that she wouldn't go there by herself and get them. She could just safely admire them from a dsitance whenever she was at our house.
So I forgot about it.
Just recently, we found ourselves at this woman's house. Mouth was there also, and some other people. A couple of hours into it, Hubbie whispers to me "have you been to the kitchen?"
He has a weird look on his face. "What?" I ask, confused.
"She bought the things." He's smiling but I can see his expression is really wary, judging me and how I'm going to react. My mouth drops open as I realise what he's talking about. I'm gaping.
"Don't overreact. Don't make a scene."
I get up immediately and march to the kitchen. My heart drops when I get there, when I see MY fruit browl and matching salt and pepper shakers.
I am in absolute shock. She bloody went there. She went to the shopping centre, to the exact same shop and bought the same bloody things as me. And now her kitchen looks like mine.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
I am completely deflated. Dismayed, upset, devastated, shocked. Hubbie reads my face as I come and sit back down. "Don't jump, you don't know the full story. Don't be upset, ok?" I'm wondering at his words, wondering what the hell extra there is to know that would make this situation better for me, but I try to push it out of my mind, not wanting to appear obvious.
Not too long after that, I'm talking to Mouth. And somehow, in conversation, she says "so last weekend I went to blah shopping centre with woman, to get those things at blah shop, you know your kitchen things?"
All the pieces are falling into place. But it's actually getting worse for me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, we went and bought them."
The word we I'm having an especially hard time with. It's sticking out like a sore thumb in a sentence of fingers.
"You went and bought the exact same things?" My tone is dead, expressionless. I'm numb with shock.
"Yeah." Her response is almost questioning. As if she's trying to work out what my take is on all of it.
She goes on and on as my heart sinks deeper.
"They have good priced forks there, you know," she waffles on. (hypothetical forks!)
"Yeah," I say flatly. "That's why I like it there. I like to get good, different things that arent the same as everyone else."
There's a distinct pause. I can hear her thinking. Then, because she's a fucking tool, she continues unaffected.
Phew. I need to calm down.
Perhaps I need to give you a little back story, so you can understand my strong aversion to copying.
Growing up, I had a friend, let's simply call her copy-cat. Enough said, right? In primary school she would read off my work, and when I'd catch her I'd yell out "stop copying!" She would say back angrily "I'm not copying!" And yet she would still do it, peering over my arm which I tried to protectively cover my work with.
All my friends knew. When she was near them she would try to copy their work too. But because my regular seat was next to her, I got the brunt of it.
Copy-cat and I went to the same high school. Here, I didn't have as many classes with her, but the rest of my friends there soon found out how she was, and again she was accused of copying. The annyoing thing with her was that she would copy you, and then make her work better. That was the aggravating thing. That and obviously denying that she was even plagiarising our work.
It was easier for me in high school, knowing my friends there could see what I could see. But then as I thought I lost her annoying habit, I gained the same habit in someone else. My cousins Legs and Hair.
Now I absolutely love them to pieces, I really do. But there was a time when I was growing up, and them being younger than me and looking up to me of course, that they would imitate me. They liked the things I liked. They dressed like me. And on and on. At one stage one of them confided to me that their own grandmother said to them "You should be more like Miss S." Although I was only 14 at the time, I lost it when I heard this. "Screw her! Don't be like me, or anybody else, be your own person!"
And they did, and I'm so proud of my adopted sisters for what they have grown into.
But what I'm trying to show here is that I had a lot of copying of me over the years, copying that scarred me, and that has made me want to be completely original, different and unlike anybody else. The more people copied me, the more I shied away and tried to be even more original and unique.
So that, on top of the fact that I have to mentally imagine kicking Mouth like a football far off into the distance just to get her annoyingness out of my head, has got me so unbelievably pissed off that you can't imagine.
I can't believe, that she went and bought the exact same things as me. She not only went into the same shop (which is fine) but she bought the exact same things! Has she no shame? Is she not embarrassed, does she not feel pathetic? I would be completely ashamed of buying the exact same thing as someone else, and then have them come into my house and see that I've copied them. How shameful! Shame, shame, shame.
The reason I'm not having a go at the other woman - though I am still upset! - is because Hubbie said to me not to be. She's older, and she looks at other people for home ideas. She doesn't know. I exhaled loudly when I heard this. I'm still exhaling. I wanna do it for him, but it's not easy. I would do anything for him though.
But Mouth. Mouth is younger than the woman. She's older than us. (Another shameful thing, copying people younger than you) She should know better. When the woman called Mouth and said "I want to get the same things as Miss S," Mouth should have said "No, that's embarrassing, we'll go and get something different."
Mouth, the same Mouth who would have a go at someone for copying her. The same mouth who only ever praises or talks about herself. The same mouth who never gives anyone recognition. Do you think when guests comment on her kitchen things that she's going to be honest and say "I copied Miss S' style"? No! No she won't because she is a narcissist!
Argh! I'm so furious. I can't take it. The saying about imitation being flattery, is a load of bullshit. It's not flattery for someone whose suffered the effects of people trying to steal her style for only HER ENTIRE LIFE.
It absolutely boils me to my core. Do not copy me! Especially you, Mouth! I can't stand it, I'm absolutely fuming with anger.
Hubbie and I don't have the biggest house. But with what we have, we try to make the best of it, and put really fine touches to our house to make it unique. We buy quality items, interesting pieces, and all the furnishings show attention to detail and careful planning. Both Mouth and woman have big, new houses. Do they have to take the one thing I have, my style? Do they want that too? What else do they want from me, my life?
Leave me with the one thing I have, please. Leave me that. But no, they had to take it. SHE had to take it.
These obsessive fiery thoughts would not stop going around and around in my head yesterday. I had to talk to Sis. She is awesome, she is so awesome that my next post will be about her, to counteract the angst that is Mouth and everything about her that I despise.
Sis helped me. She tried to get me to see it in a different light. She suggested the conclusions that Hubbie and I had already come to: that we don't tell them where we buy our things in the future - we be vague if ever asked; and that this whole situation was a lesson learnt for the future. She didn't see it in the way I did, because she says she's had a friend copy her thing, and she's even copied another friend for something. But see, it's the way you go about it. My sister is very honest, and would admit to the person how much she loved it and that she was intending to buy one for herself. Mouth however is sneaky. She gives me praise - just enough - but not so much that I thought she really liked it. Then she organised a shopping day with woman, they went off and bought it without a mention of it to Hubbie and I. When it was too late, it was all bought and done.
Hubbie agrees. He's not so hung up on it as I am, but when I asked him, he admitted "I'm spewing." He didn't have to have someone copy him his whole life to make him want to be original and have different things. It's so annoying.
You know what else? We have this other 'kitchen item' a 'coffee machine' (not really, still hypothetical!) that she's asked us about, and I've said that we've bought it in a far-off region. She also knows that some of our other home furnishings are from that 'far-off region.' Guess where Mouth and her family went a couple of weeks ago? To the far-off region! What, you need another coffee machine? Get your own fucking style you leeches!
Geez, do they want to copy our whole house? The thing that peeves me off, is as I said in reference to my Sis, they're not honest. Admit you like it. Say it out loud and MEAN IT. Unlike them, who often snub their noses at things we've seen, things we've bought, and things we've done (like going to the far-off region) and then they explode with fireworks and expect you to shower them with attention when THEY GO!
I know, I know. Narcissists, in every sense of the word.
We're actually going to find a whole new, different, unique and original fruit bowl with matching salt and pepper shakers. In a couple of months we're going to a similar far-off region, and I'm going to go into as many shops there as I can, and find something bigger and better. (See how we have to buy something different because of other, annoying people?)
And THEN when they say "oh, you have different ones?!"
I'M going to say "yes, I like to have truly original pieces unlike anything anyone else has."
And I hope that that boils her and makes her feel PATHETIC. Copy cat.
What I hope for most? That after this realisation I make her come to (and I will) that she will always see my face in her fruit bowl and salt and pepper shakers. Forever.
And I hope she can live with herself for that. Because denial doesn't ever change the fact.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
2011: The Year In Review
This past year has been interesting. It has been unexpected at times, trying at others, and above all else a great learning experience. In retrospect, with all the new things that came into my life, whether I initially embraced them or tried to shut them out, I now believe it was all for the best.
Yesterday when I was trying to remember what my resolutions for this year had been, there was only one major one that stood out to me: And which I proudly with the widest smile can say I have given my all. That I will get to later:) However I find it hilarious that I had to think of my resolutions and could only remember one of them, having kind of forgotten the rest. Or had I? As I look through the list to see what I had achieved, although some were far from mind, the opportunites to take these things on board were definitely there, lingering.....
To read, HEAPS more.
Yes, yes and yes. Hold on there was only one point. I guess my point is to emphasise that I did take this on board whole-heartedly. I finished reading several self-help and law of attraction books, have started on "The Celestine Prophecy," started and finished "Persuasion," half-way through that got half-addicted to Jane Austen, am now almost finished reading "Pride and Prejudice" and am definitely addicted to Jane Austen. It may not seem like much (and I do feel I am missing a book somewhere) but compared to the NO BOOKS I was previously reading (or not reading if that makes sense, though I don't think it does) it is a lot, as all I used to previously read was mags and catalogues, which is really quite pathetic if you have to count that as literature. So I, am no longer, pathetic!
Ha ha.
Oh, and although I didn't work out the blogger, listing books, ticking them off thing, I've still succeeded with my main point, so there :P
To complete my first book by the end of the year.
Well, although I am not finished with this huge task, I am so proud to say that I am up to writing chapter 12 of my planned 14 chapter book. Last night I was writing and had to go back and check some stuff I'd written (I've written so much I forget what I've created!) and once again, as has happened on several other occassions, I was really pleased on reading back certain passages. I will need to revise and re-word quite a bit once I've finished my first draft, but considering I've had no formal training (other than my informal blogging of course :) ) I think I've done quite well.
AND, considering that I didn't actually start writing my book 'til the very end of Feb, I figure my resolution should be modified to extend to the end of Feb' 12: which is in fact when I plan to have the draft of my first book completed by. All is on track.
:):):)
To get fit.
Fail. Ok, well at first I went "fail, massive fail." But then I realised something. Yes I may have started the year off playing basketball with Hubbie a lot, running up and down basketball courts and what-not, with the attempts slowly dwindling to doing NOTHING of the sort. I could use genuine excuses to explain myself. Hubbie's busier schedule and starting a new job; me getting sick at one stage which removed me from all outdoor activities all together with no planned return to them - yes I could use these as an excuse, but I won't (even though I just did). If I had really wanted to do exercise, I would have found a way, no buts about it.
But then I remembered. Due to Hubbie's new job in the last couple of months this year, and the fact that he needs my car to get to and from work, I've been using the train pretty much every single day.
In the morning I walk 10 mins to work from the station. When I finish I walk 10 mins to the station. Then when I get to the station at home, I walk home for 25-30 mins, depending on what shoes I'm wearing.
That's every day of the week I work. Now that's a good effort.
So, I have half-committed to that resolution too, though unintentionally:) I could be lazy and wait 15 mins for the bus to take me home, but I start walking. Procrastination eat your heart out.
To improve all my relationships, full-stop.
This is a tricky one. Grey in some areas, as most relationships are. People who I've in the past been distant with, or who I've been angry with, I've now grown closer to, or have a new-found respect for. Others, who I have struggled with in the past, I still continue to struggle with even now.
Over Christmas I tried to put my extreme dislike of one person behind me, just for the day. It worked, and I managed to see them in a somewhat positive light. But then like today, when I remember the shit petty-ness, insecure mind games and arrogance I've received from them in the past, my anger fuels up again and I feel really mad. It's not black and white. Nothing in life ever really is. But the fact that I'm trying to learn, trying to move on, and trying to accept the fact that in order to solve your relationship problems you need to change yourself, tells me that I've made some progress.
Grrr. Changing myself at the ignorance of others just shits me. I'm not the problem. But often in life you've got to swallow your pride (and let Karma take care of the rest....)
To continue on my path of spiritual growth and self-development.
Yes. Simply put, yes. Through all my reading and thinking and my daily work calendar full of quotes like "First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do." - Epictetus.
To enjoy life.
This one I completely forgot I wrote down, yet this is the one that must have stayed subconciously in my mind, because this one I, we, have definitely achieved.
We have stepped it up a gear. One of our motto's is "work hard, play hard." We don't always get a chance to do what we want, what with work, family commitments, and other occasions that take up our weekends. So when we do get spare time, we go all out. It may not be big to some, but to us we take extreme pleasure in it: buying coffee whenever we go shopping; eating big and well at very decent restaurants; spoiling ourselves on quality clothes; buying unique and different furniture to furnish our home. We spend a bit more, because that's the kind of life we want: one consisting of quality. Not in the future, but from NOW. Starting from right now.
And we have been doing it, for about 6 months now. Going out, splurging, exploring the town and just smiling. Life is now. You don't wait for tomorrow to enjoy it. That's what we've been doing. Any spare moment we get we enjoy it to the fullest potential, so that when we return to work the next day we don't feel pity for ourselves in seeing someone sitting and relaxing in the sun, and enjoying a coffee at an exclusive cafe.
(Yesterday we had chocolate drizzled cappuccinos and shared a huge waffle for two, drizzled also with chocolate, with side accompaniments of ice cream, strawberries and banana - and today I'm ok with being back at work :) )
Ok, enough reflecting, now for my 2012 Resolutions!
1. To finish the first draft of my first book by late Feb, and by the end of the year have it published with a reputable publisher, with the intention of writing more books in the series for that publisher. This is my first and foremost resolution, it is direct because I know exactly what I want. I'm more than half way there. It WILL happen!
2. To continue to read more, especially in ways that will help along with my writing, and also to read books that will continue to help me better myself spiritually. This is a two-fold resolution. So we'll go to 4.
4. To do some form of exercise ( I have to sigh at this resolution ) however in particular I want to zone in on my arms and make them more toned. I have a goal in mind, as Red has some arm exercises she has to give me in paper form. As soon as she gives them to me, (hopefully soon!) I start! As for the other general exercise, hopefully I will do Zumba with my at-home DVDs, if I can't make myself apply to yoga classes. Yes, as far as resolutions go, my tone in this one sucks, but hey, I have to try, true?
5. To continue living life with Hubbie to the full in every way, shape and form.
6. To continue thinking, believing and LIVING the law of attraction, both for myself and in unison with Hubbie. Although he says I inspired him, some things he has achieved of late have inspired me so much that I want us to continue on this enlightened path, aware that all that we want and aim for in life, we will have.
These, my friends, are my wishes and hopes for myself, and I wish you, all the same happiness, love, health and success that you so rightly deserve.
"Look, I don't have all the answers. To be honest, in life, I failed as often as I succeeded. But I love my wife. I love my life. And I wish you, my kind of success."
- (Best ever end-of-movie quote! 'Jerry Maguire.')
Yesterday when I was trying to remember what my resolutions for this year had been, there was only one major one that stood out to me: And which I proudly with the widest smile can say I have given my all. That I will get to later:) However I find it hilarious that I had to think of my resolutions and could only remember one of them, having kind of forgotten the rest. Or had I? As I look through the list to see what I had achieved, although some were far from mind, the opportunites to take these things on board were definitely there, lingering.....
To read, HEAPS more.
Yes, yes and yes. Hold on there was only one point. I guess my point is to emphasise that I did take this on board whole-heartedly. I finished reading several self-help and law of attraction books, have started on "The Celestine Prophecy," started and finished "Persuasion," half-way through that got half-addicted to Jane Austen, am now almost finished reading "Pride and Prejudice" and am definitely addicted to Jane Austen. It may not seem like much (and I do feel I am missing a book somewhere) but compared to the NO BOOKS I was previously reading (or not reading if that makes sense, though I don't think it does) it is a lot, as all I used to previously read was mags and catalogues, which is really quite pathetic if you have to count that as literature. So I, am no longer, pathetic!
Ha ha.
Oh, and although I didn't work out the blogger, listing books, ticking them off thing, I've still succeeded with my main point, so there :P
To complete my first book by the end of the year.
Well, although I am not finished with this huge task, I am so proud to say that I am up to writing chapter 12 of my planned 14 chapter book. Last night I was writing and had to go back and check some stuff I'd written (I've written so much I forget what I've created!) and once again, as has happened on several other occassions, I was really pleased on reading back certain passages. I will need to revise and re-word quite a bit once I've finished my first draft, but considering I've had no formal training (other than my informal blogging of course :) ) I think I've done quite well.
AND, considering that I didn't actually start writing my book 'til the very end of Feb, I figure my resolution should be modified to extend to the end of Feb' 12: which is in fact when I plan to have the draft of my first book completed by. All is on track.
:):):)
To get fit.
Fail. Ok, well at first I went "fail, massive fail." But then I realised something. Yes I may have started the year off playing basketball with Hubbie a lot, running up and down basketball courts and what-not, with the attempts slowly dwindling to doing NOTHING of the sort. I could use genuine excuses to explain myself. Hubbie's busier schedule and starting a new job; me getting sick at one stage which removed me from all outdoor activities all together with no planned return to them - yes I could use these as an excuse, but I won't (even though I just did). If I had really wanted to do exercise, I would have found a way, no buts about it.
But then I remembered. Due to Hubbie's new job in the last couple of months this year, and the fact that he needs my car to get to and from work, I've been using the train pretty much every single day.
In the morning I walk 10 mins to work from the station. When I finish I walk 10 mins to the station. Then when I get to the station at home, I walk home for 25-30 mins, depending on what shoes I'm wearing.
That's every day of the week I work. Now that's a good effort.
So, I have half-committed to that resolution too, though unintentionally:) I could be lazy and wait 15 mins for the bus to take me home, but I start walking. Procrastination eat your heart out.
To improve all my relationships, full-stop.
This is a tricky one. Grey in some areas, as most relationships are. People who I've in the past been distant with, or who I've been angry with, I've now grown closer to, or have a new-found respect for. Others, who I have struggled with in the past, I still continue to struggle with even now.
Over Christmas I tried to put my extreme dislike of one person behind me, just for the day. It worked, and I managed to see them in a somewhat positive light. But then like today, when I remember the shit petty-ness, insecure mind games and arrogance I've received from them in the past, my anger fuels up again and I feel really mad. It's not black and white. Nothing in life ever really is. But the fact that I'm trying to learn, trying to move on, and trying to accept the fact that in order to solve your relationship problems you need to change yourself, tells me that I've made some progress.
Grrr. Changing myself at the ignorance of others just shits me. I'm not the problem. But often in life you've got to swallow your pride (and let Karma take care of the rest....)
To continue on my path of spiritual growth and self-development.
Yes. Simply put, yes. Through all my reading and thinking and my daily work calendar full of quotes like "First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do." - Epictetus.
To enjoy life.
This one I completely forgot I wrote down, yet this is the one that must have stayed subconciously in my mind, because this one I, we, have definitely achieved.
We have stepped it up a gear. One of our motto's is "work hard, play hard." We don't always get a chance to do what we want, what with work, family commitments, and other occasions that take up our weekends. So when we do get spare time, we go all out. It may not be big to some, but to us we take extreme pleasure in it: buying coffee whenever we go shopping; eating big and well at very decent restaurants; spoiling ourselves on quality clothes; buying unique and different furniture to furnish our home. We spend a bit more, because that's the kind of life we want: one consisting of quality. Not in the future, but from NOW. Starting from right now.
And we have been doing it, for about 6 months now. Going out, splurging, exploring the town and just smiling. Life is now. You don't wait for tomorrow to enjoy it. That's what we've been doing. Any spare moment we get we enjoy it to the fullest potential, so that when we return to work the next day we don't feel pity for ourselves in seeing someone sitting and relaxing in the sun, and enjoying a coffee at an exclusive cafe.
(Yesterday we had chocolate drizzled cappuccinos and shared a huge waffle for two, drizzled also with chocolate, with side accompaniments of ice cream, strawberries and banana - and today I'm ok with being back at work :) )
Ok, enough reflecting, now for my 2012 Resolutions!
1. To finish the first draft of my first book by late Feb, and by the end of the year have it published with a reputable publisher, with the intention of writing more books in the series for that publisher. This is my first and foremost resolution, it is direct because I know exactly what I want. I'm more than half way there. It WILL happen!
2. To continue to read more, especially in ways that will help along with my writing, and also to read books that will continue to help me better myself spiritually. This is a two-fold resolution. So we'll go to 4.
4. To do some form of exercise ( I have to sigh at this resolution ) however in particular I want to zone in on my arms and make them more toned. I have a goal in mind, as Red has some arm exercises she has to give me in paper form. As soon as she gives them to me, (hopefully soon!) I start! As for the other general exercise, hopefully I will do Zumba with my at-home DVDs, if I can't make myself apply to yoga classes. Yes, as far as resolutions go, my tone in this one sucks, but hey, I have to try, true?
5. To continue living life with Hubbie to the full in every way, shape and form.
6. To continue thinking, believing and LIVING the law of attraction, both for myself and in unison with Hubbie. Although he says I inspired him, some things he has achieved of late have inspired me so much that I want us to continue on this enlightened path, aware that all that we want and aim for in life, we will have.
These, my friends, are my wishes and hopes for myself, and I wish you, all the same happiness, love, health and success that you so rightly deserve.
"Look, I don't have all the answers. To be honest, in life, I failed as often as I succeeded. But I love my wife. I love my life. And I wish you, my kind of success."
- (Best ever end-of-movie quote! 'Jerry Maguire.')
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