The Part-Time Narcissist
In previous posts I've tried my best to avoid mentioning this person's name, even if it is just a nickname I'm providing. And although I've alluded to this person, it pains me to do so, as this person's energy simply drains me of all my wellbeing.
The person I'm talking about is Mouth.
Recent encounters over the past while have forced me into seeking assistance for the second time, by asking for guidance via a pouring-of-the-heart letter. The first response was encouraging: it acknowledged my pain and pretty much suggested to ignore her. That is really hard to do. Enter the second letter, which I wrote recently, and from which I received a response to last night. The antedote was short and sweet: "She's a narcissist. Read up on it. You will never change her."
Funnily enough, this enlightenment added further substantiation from a conversation I had with Kitty while at work yesterday. She and I were discussing a 'difficult' personality at work, and she also mentioned how her own Mum displays a lot of these same 'difficult' personality traits. I was suddenly overcome by a massive desire to purge my feelings, and so described Mouth to her, to see what she could tell me about her, and what she thought of her. After listening to my purge, she said a magic word that sent me on an Internet-hunt.
Narcissist.
Everywhere I turned to on the net, I saw descriptions confirming all that I'd experienced: egotistic, feels superiority over others, strong competitive drive, absorption in oneself, imitation of learned abilities. I was stunned. I'd found my answer, and was feeling pretty damn good about it. It wasn't so much that I felt superior over Mouth having discovered a personality type to attribute her to, rather I could now begin to understand what it was that made her like that and try to work out what it was I could do to cope with her. Having my second letter responded to, and having the answer be the same as what Kitty had suggested, confirmed my beliefs in a big way. I was on the right path.
It's gonna be a long journey, and having spent a good hour or so yesterday trawling through articles on Narcissistic qualities, I think I can ascertain that Mouth isn't purely Narcissistic, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt on that one. I don't think I can wholeheartedly apply this personality disorder to her. However, she displays very narcissistic qualities, ones that give the impression of simply more than a healthy dose of narcissisim that we all require in order to live healthy lives. While the majority of us may display a 20-40% dosage of healthy love for ourselves, she my friends is up to 80%. And at times I believe still counting.
I have realised that everything about her I can deduce from her being a 3/4 narcissistic personality. It all makes so much sense. Therefore with my analytical abilities kicked into gear, I present to you my field case (let me purge myself, please):
1. Self-absorbed Egotist - This is perhaps the strongest part of her narcissism. She makes everything about herself, any conversation someone else is telling, she must stop and interrupt the story to bring it back to herself, either by proclaiming "that happened to me.." or "that's like this time when..." It's all about her. If her daughter has a birthday, it's about Mouth. "X number of years ago I became a mother." If her sibling has a birthday, it comes back to Mouth. "X number of years ago I became a sister." I'm surprised when her parents birthday comes around, she doesn't say "when they were born X number of years ago, they had little itty bitty genital and reproductive organs getting into gear and beginning to grow, for the one perfect day that I would be born."
Every conversation contains I, me, my. Who am I kidding, every sentence.
Even if she is communicating bad or good news about someone else, not directly close or related to her, it still somehow ends up being about HER. "Oh, this lady I work with has X illness.... ohhhh, I feel so badly for her, I have been thinking of her all day.... I don't know what to do to help her.... I can't stop thinking about her... I feel so depressed." Enter case point number 2.
2. Negative whinger - As a follow on from the previous example, everything is so 'woe is me.' It doesn't take much to make her start whinging about anything: traffic, work, not enough time, not enough sleep, sick, gossiping about others, coughing, blowing nose, depression everywhere - in the news, at work, with family and friends - and these are all genuine examples that she regularly takes a part in to complain about. She can't see the happy side. She doesn't believe in the Universe and like attracting like.
Just the other day I was trying to help her, telling her not to dwell too much on the negative. When I started on "if you think negatively, you'll attract negative things, they'll come to you," with a dismiss of her hand she said "Oh, I don't believe in all that." Well then you have no hope. Doomed to live in a never ending spiral of sadness and depression. She will just start up about her sicknesses "I haven't been able to shake this cold for 4 weeks," and says it in this weak feeble voice trying to drum up any amount of attention and pity. I have no sympathy for you, you attract this all yourself. You're always sick! I'm sorry to sound so cruel, but your bullshit has no boundaries. I will only think you more pathetic if you continue on your 'poor me' charade. Which going from all I've read about narcissistic people, you will.
Last time we met someone said to her how they hardly ever see her happy, they wonder if she ever smiles anymore. Of course, she took offence to that. Her husband said "you don't live with her, she's not like that all the time." I almost spoke up and said "how can anyone see you differently then what you show to the world? Everytime we meet you act like that and say negative things, therefore that's what we think of you. It's that simple!"
3. Superior Perfection - She is better than anyone. She is perfect, even though when she says "I know no one's perfect" she believes herself to be more so than anyone else. She believes that her acknowledgement of that fact exempts her of the right to treat people as equals rather than her inferior. She says things like "oh, I don't go there anymore, I've moved up." She name drops brands, places and people in an effort to impress and make herself look high and mighty.
She is right in everything, often (always) confusing opinion for fact. When you remind her of this, she moves onto another argument or ignores it. Her opinion is the right and only way. And when you tell her it's only her opinion, and on the rare occasion that she does acknowledge it being opinion, she still ends the argument with "no, I believe X." No matter what you are talking about, she MUST have the final say. I'm yet to test it, but if I were to follow her afterword with "No, I believe this," she would again reiterate her point of view, even though she has already stated it umpteenth times. But she must have the final word. And she will compete with you 'til she's blue in the fact, just so she can have the final say. Speaking of competition, point number 4.
4. Competitive - She will compete in an argument. She will compete that her point of view is right all the time. She will compete that her way and the way she does things is the only way. She will compete families, her own children, houses, cars, sports teams, jobs, even physical bodies. If there is a way to prove herself better or smarter than someone, she will find a way to compete in it. She doesn't realise that everyone is different; life is not a game, it is a journey, and each journey finds within it different experiences. She doesn't realise this. It's all about winning. Winning is more important than peace. She would rather make an enemy by pushing her point of view and having the final say (above point) and 'win' the argument, than have peace and find a new friend in it. And if she feels that someone has it better than her, she will find a way to put them down, gossip about them, and turn their fortune into a most misfortunate event.
Case in point. When speaking of her own cousin, without being prompted by ANYONE in the room, she started talking directly to her eldest daughter, though speaking loud enough so that everybody in the room could clearly hear. (condescending tone): "My cousin takes her eldest daughter to folk dancing lessons - she pushes her daughter too hard, right daughter? I'm not going to push my daughters into classes so that I can't spend time with them?" See that? She turns an otherwise neutral event (her cousin taking her daughter to dance lessons) into a negative event, by twisting it into the explanation that her cousin is missing out on mother/daughter time by choosing to do so. Therefore making Mouth the winner (once again) because she is 'winning' by not taking her own daughter to dance lessons. What Mouth can't face or even begin to realise because of her own insecurities, is that she is denying any notions or thoughts of herself being a failure as a Mum (there is no failure in this, but because she isn't doing this, she sees it as competition) and because she refuses to do this she turns it into an ugly, unnecessary thing, that in fact causes more stress to the familial relationship, than any one person would ever think dance lessons to be. She turns everything into her favour. And will never see it any other way. If you like gardening, and she doesn't, in her mind you win. But not until she puts down the hobby with "I don't like gardening, it's boring: I'd rather spend my time with my children." Now that she has made you feel like a loser for doing one thing you like without your children (heaven forbid) SHE is now the winner in her mind.
5. Un-empathetic - This is a tricky one. When I first read this narcissistic trait, popping up again and again in all the web sites I visited, I thought, 'hmmm, she HAS empathy. She actually feels for people, asks about them and remembers their birthdays. EVERY birthday of practically everyone she's ever met. Remembers dates of all kinds that you wouldn't imagine. But I read something that made my head go ting! I read that although they may ask you how you are, they are actually working from an automatic memory, and don't actually care how you are. This is one zillion % true. And it applies to the remembering of birthdays too. Every single time we meet, she will without fail ask "how long did you work today?" (when I've worked that day) and "when are you working this week?" (another kind of competitiveness I believe). She never asks me deep, genuine questions. Nothing about me the 'person.' In fact, when the day comes that I become a well-known writer and my first book is released, I know she will ask me "I didn't know you wrote! Why didn't you tell me?" And I will respond with "well actually you never asked." Boom. (I know I've mentioned this future fantasy of mine in an earlier post about her, I just love the thought of telling her she's selfish in a round-a-bout way.)
Another evidential point to her lack of empathy is the way in which she interrupts others conversations. I know I've already mentioned this, but her lack of care in what other people think and have to say is very strong justification for my point. It's only important when she talks.
And the birthday thing. Her obsession with dates, birthdays, and remembering EVERYONES. Once again, I don't think she actually cares. She is doing it for the wrong reasons - out of a desire to show how great and perfect she is by remembering birthdays, and again I think there is competitiveness attached to that. But the reason she does that, is she has mirrored her mother (see below point).
6. Narcissus loved the mirror - Not just herself. But growing up, she mirrored her mother, who is a very lovely person, by copying the traits she admired of her. Her mother is a person that remembers peoples birthdays and dates, and she took that on board, as she believed that made her an admirable person. However she's gone one step too far, in thinking that because she remembers, it somehow excuses her being a horrible person elsewhere (not that she would admit to being a horrible person - she would turn that accusation on your head and accuse you of being a horrible person for saying that to such a sweet, lovely, well-meaning person such as herself. Give me a break.)
Mirroring is a narcissitic trait. It is taken from an authority figure. And who is more authoritative to you as a young child than your own parent?
A narcissistic trait mentioned in the sites I've read is how these kinds of people like to get away from jobs, duties, they 'cheat' at work, and leave others to do their work. She is nothing at all like this, she actually does not stop, whether at work or at home (from what she tells me in her self-praise) and I believe it to be true. However again I feel this is a result of her mirroring the work values of her mother. So you see, everything is falling into place.
BACKGROUND
I haven't asked directly, but I have heard, and witnessed for myself a few things. So I can try to deduce a theory as to why she is the way she is.
She is naturally an attention-seeker, mirroring her own dad. Add to that her star sign, which on it's own has attention-seeking qualities, and you have a double whammy. Add to that, her parents, well not being necessarily frighteningly hard on her, but let's just say whenever she got an A for school work, instead of "Congratulations! Well done daughter!" she got "okay.... let's see if you can keep it up." Not getting the compliments she rightly deserved was the trifecta that I believe made her a rolling moss ball of insecurity, meaning she had to start speaking highly of herself because no one would do it for her, in order to preserve her self-image. This is no fault of her parents. They only did what they received themselves as children from their own parents. And when you see it from that side, you can't even blame her. It is the combination of the three factors that resulted in her strong tendency to display almost all narcissistic qualities.
Although her background does play a part in her narcissism, you can't blame a person for their star sign, or their intrinsic character, right? Yes and no. Everyone has the common sense and intelligence to determine what's right and wrong in the world. Maybe not so much when you're growing up, but they can change themselves as they grown older and out of childhood. The fact that looking around her as she's grown up, witnessing others, she still hasn't had the wake up call to a higher level of human decency, is beyond me. She has no self-awareness. Self-awareness is the most important thing in order to understand and better yourself. She can never be better, or even amount to a good, decent person at the rate she's going. The constant denial she lives in is staggering, and I would actually be afraid to enter her mind and witness the never-ending excuses she makes for every part of her life.
Hubbie asks me often "why does this bother you so much? Why can't you just let it go, forget about it, you can't change her!" And I don't know what part it is of me that drives me so, but like her tendencies towards narcissism, I too react due to a combination of factors. Firstly, due to my mother, I have a strong desire to need to prove people wrong when they are acting badly. Secondly, being of the same star sign as Mouth herself, and having made the decision when I was in early high school, after reading more of the 'unfavourable' qualities of my sign, I decided then and there that I would strive towards being the best of that sign, rather than the worst. Therefore, the fact that she represents the worst in all it has to offer, particularly maddens me. And no it's not that I am competitive against her. I don't like competition. Unless it's a game with a prize, it's not needed in life. Everyone is a unique and beautiful individual. I feel she is a bad representation of that sign, and being of that sign myself, is very upsetting (I believe in my signs!)
This analytical purging has helped immensely. Learning about her narcissism has also helped me in a massive way, even though most texts proclaim, 'they can never be changed.' Even with that, I don't feel so bad, because, now I know who and what I'm dealing with. Now that I know the game being played, I can move my chess pieces accordingly.
Check Mate.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
French Kiss the Morning
Prior to my affogato burst early last week, I was buzzing on something entirely different the previous Saturday night.
Cosmopolitans.
And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.
Let me explain.
It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)
Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.
Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.
And the world started spinning a dizzying black.
I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.
It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.
No. 1.
Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.
The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.
The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.
Yeah right.
As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.
I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.
I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.
I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.
Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'
I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.
Hahahahahahaha.
I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"
Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"
"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."
That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.
"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."
Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.
I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.
Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.
(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)
So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.
I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'
I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)
And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.
I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'
Wrong.
I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.
I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.
This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.
That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.
I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.
Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.
But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)
I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!
But then I broke the seal.
Seal Breaker 1:
My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.
Seal Breaker 2:
Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.
This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.
All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."
It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.
My warning thoughts are as follows:
* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all
So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.
Cosmopolitans.
And because of that, I don't think I'll be having any Cosmo's for a LOOONNNNGGGG time.
Let me explain.
It was one of our closest friend's 30th birthday that weekend. Her and her husband, being big spenders, had a pretty extravagant evening planned. A group of 10 of us, were driven over to an exclusive waterfront restaurant, had a HUGE 3 course meal feast, PLENTY of drinks, and then were all driven to a city bar, where we continued to drink, and drink, and drink.... (and dance on podiums....!)
Boy did I pay for it the next day. Following a night, where I had one glass of wine, and about 7-8 Cosmopolitans, it took all the energy I had to keep awake on the drive home. Because I knew if I fell asleep, I might chunder, per Men At Work lyrics.
Getting home, I managed to brush my teeth and remove my make-up with one of those handy moisturised make-up removal wipes. As I crashed into bed, with Hubbie already in his 10th dream beside me, I closed my eyes.
And the world started spinning a dizzying black.
I opened them and closed them. I tried to still the blackness, but everything was whir, whir, whirring. And then I just knew what I had to do.
It wasn't so much that I felt it, more than I sensed it. Then again, maybe my purely intoxicated state disguised the nausea I was feeling. I ran to the toilet and vomited.
No. 1.
Nothing unusual here.... the contents I mean. I had clearly had way too many cocktails towards the end of the night, and my stomach was just emptying out the spare fluid. I went back to bed, and can't remember the rest.
The next morning I very slowly woke up. You know when you're waking up, and it takes you a good few minutes to realise you're awake, and not dreaming? Yeah that's called a hangover.
The hilarious thing about this moment of the day, was that I was in bed, 9:30am, thinking I should get up because the alcohol was still in my system and wouldn't let me fall asleep again. Lying there, I remember looking around the bed sheets and going "I need to wash these, I think I'll do that today." I could see bright light peeking through the blinds, and knew the sun would dry my washing quicker. I thought I'd be good, and despite the previous 'big night,' do some cleaning and washing, before Hubbie got home from work (yes poor thing on a Sunday) and we went out again, to a friend's sons 1st birthday.
Yeah right.
As soon as I was upright, I felt my stomach begin to move. And the nausea just kept getting worse. Previous times that I've over-drank and been sick, I've been sick the night of the craziness, rather than the night after. So I couldn't understand why I felt this way, seeing as I'd chucked the night before. I put it down to needing a coffee and some toast to fill my empty belly, and went about, in agony, preparing my breakfast.
I sat down on the couch to watch tv while I ate my brekkie. The only thing I ended up watching was my plate of toast and coffee mug. I couldn't touch it. I couldn't go near it. I was feeling so unwell by this stage, that I started to doubt whether I actually needed any food. But yet again, in my stubborness to see the situation, I decided to have a sip or two of coffee, followed by a bite of toast.
I was trying to talk myself into it. Internally I was like 'yes the coffee is helping, that's all I need.' Several minutes passed before I attempted another bite. As soon as I began to chew though, the wretchedness started moving from my stomach, into my throat.
I ran to the toilet, posing stationary above it. Realising I still had uneaten toast in my mouth, I ran to the kitchen and spat it into a tissue, disposing of it in the bin. Don't ask me why I did this, but I'm glad I did. I ran back to the toilet, and stood there, waiting. But nothing came immediately. Only my mobile started to ring.
Hubbie had already called me once that morning, before I started feeling so bad. So I was highly doubtful of it being him again. I walked over to my phone, and saw 'Dad.'
I paused a second. Should I answer? I decided I would, knowing that I could talk my way out of it, without anyone being none the wiser of my ailing condition. He couldn't see me.
Hahahahahahaha.
I answered, and he was like "Are you awake?"
Suspicion started creeping into me. "Yeah, I'm just having breakfast, why?"
"Oh well me and your mum are standing outside, and all the blinds are closed.... we're going to the plaza, and thought we'd stop by if it's alright, we haven't seen you in a while...."
That, I believe, is the definition of Murphy's Law.
"Oh, yeah, come in, no problems...."
Had I spat my uneaten toast in the toilet, I wouldn't have had time to run back and flush. It was like my sixth sense had been telling me to.... "be clean."
LOL.
I answered the door, still in pyjamas and nightgown, and they sat down. I knew my best bet was to not hide my tiredness, or my big night, because although I could hide my need to be sick, if they thought I was simply tired, they would think me leaning on the couch, all fetal position like, meant I just needed sleep.
Look, my parents are really cool. My Mum surprises me when she says "nooooo, it's not bad that you can see your bra through that see-through top!" and my dad impresses me with his stories of youth and the crazy things he did back then, like getting into jail and stuff :) (He's really, very good, which is why it's funny!) If I was sick, or showed myself to be sick in front of them, they'd just get unnecessarily worried, and that I didn't need. One person was enough for me to worry about, and at that moment I couldn't even look after that one person properly.
(Deep breath, I feel myself getting nauseous just thinking about it!)
So I acted my way through it. I made small chit chat. I willingly offered the previous nights story, and the plans for the rest of the day, then let them do the rest of the talking, only answering when absolutely necessary. The visit only lasted for 10-15 minutes. All the while I breathed, willing the contents of my stomach not to come flying out of me.
I did feel so bad. I didn't want my parents to think my silence meant my not-wanting them to be there. But I hoped they would just put it down to my 'tiredness.'
I stood at the door and waved to them as they drove off. And then I ran upstairs to the toilet. (I don't know why I went upstairs, I think I was more comfortable there, as it was there I'd thrown up the night before.)
And yes I threw up. Anything I'd managed to consume of my breakfast went. As well as I think some of the night before.
I sat back on the couch, my stomach feeling lighter, and less nauseous. I thought, 'good, now I'll wait 'til I'm 100%, then I'll get myself ready for later on.'
Wrong.
I sat there on the couch for over an hour. I managed to get up and walk around, throw my brekkie away, and sit back down on the couch. I was so crook. Then again, up the stairs I went.
I stood in front of the toilet, gagging for ages. And then I vomited. Again.
This time it WAS from last night. And I swear, I tasted something citrus-y that resembled the overly-abused Cosmo's. Ugh.
That was the last time I threw up. I couldn't believe how sick I'd been and how many times I'd thrown up, so long after the fact. The rest of the story goes: Hubbie came home, convinced me that I'd feel better if I started getting ready; through many tears of protest 'I still need to vomit!' I got ready; we drove to the 1st birthday party; I sat in the stationary car, there, holding my plastic bag, swearing I was gonna throw - I didn't; we survived the party, I put on the best show of my life; and I had my first bit of food at 4pm, that didn't reverse back on me - chocolate cake.
I hadn't eaten 'til 4pm. I'd had plenty of water and soda water, oh and bits of turkish bread from Hubbie's meal. I'd been terrified to consume something in case I became a regurgitating monster in front of everyone at the party, a la Exorcist style.
Had some Macca's chips at the end of the night, and some bites of Hubbie's burger, as we sat at home, still tired from the night before, I myself COMPLETELY drained of energy. Yeah, I know, so healthy right.
But the point of all this is the vomiting. My theory is, since I'd broken the vomit-from-overconsumption-of-alcohol seal, my stomach is now more sensitive, and more likely to throw up alcohol (never mind me overconsuming it!)
I'd taken pride my whole life in proclaiming that I'd never vomited from alcohol. I could always say that I'd drank heaps, but felt tough and strong, and alcoholically able in knowing my stomach could withstand any combination of potent fluids I put into it, MWA HA HA!
But then I broke the seal.
Seal Breaker 1:
My second Christmas party at this my current employer. I decided I hadn't been loose enough my first year, so went about in drinking more that year. Ended up in the toilets, throwing up, with a really sweet colleague calling out "Miss S, are you alright?" over the cubicles (she hung around because a male cleaner was in the toilet, I know, how nice of her right?) I blacked out the second half of the night and fell asleep at the club we were at. A window totally was smashed in near me and I missed it all, all because I got drunk and passed out. A friend took me home that night in his car, and for his kind troubles I invited him to my wedding :)
Then, I only threw up that night. I was queasy the next day, but I didn't projectile anything.
Seal Breaker 2:
Blonde's sisters Hen's night, of which I've mentioned in my post "WOW. What a weekend/s, what a week/s." It was the first girls night I'd been out to since I got married. I got WAAYYY too excited, so much so that I just couldn't waste the champagne that was left behind, (part of the complimentary drinks for our party) when the guest of honour and her friends left (yes, Red and I outstayed the hostess). So I drank it all. I said 'I love you' heaps to Red, or so she tells me. She says I was really amusing and funny, and still funny when she and her sister had to practically carry me back to their car. I stopped being funny when I warned of throwing up in her car on the way home.
Hubbie thought I was being funny when I said, "I'm sick, I'm gonna throw up," as I stumbled my way up to our bedroom late that night/early morning. But when he heard me heaving my lungs out in the toilet, he realised he wasn't gonna get any funny-ness that night.
Again. I only threw up that night, and was left nursing my poor stomach the next day.
This time however, my 3rd time, I've broken my seal altogether, as well as breaking a new seal, that of throwing up THE DAY AFTER. I'm getting more and more out of control. However in an effort to not throw up ever again from alcohol (as I sat in my PJs for half of last Sunday, I felt so crap, and made myself remember the feeling so as to not do it ever again) I've found the link between the 3 seal breaker scenarios, and realise the circumstance under which I must be careful of going overboard. It's simple really.
All 3 times I said to myself internally "I'm gonna make the most of tonight."
It's simple enough yes I know. And most times you would imagine anyone to want to have a great night out, it's practically a given. However, when I look at my watch, and start realising the night is ending, I kick it up a notch, turn it up a gear, and start getting really crazy. And that's what happened all these 3 times. That and all 3 times I wasn't driving.
My warning thoughts are as follows:
* wanting to have a really good time, because I haven't partied in ages
* wanting to have a really good time, because I want to make the most of it
* wanting to have a really good time, because I didn't make the most of it last time
* wanting to have a really good time, because I'm not driving
* wanting to have a really good time, just for no reason at all
So there has it. I've discovered my internal mental cues, the 'warning signs,' to a potentially messy night. All because I broke my alcoholic seal. Stupid.
Beating Time
So often in life, we find ourselves running against the clock, trying to get as much done as we possibly can, going to as many places as humanly possible, and setting ourselves goals that we can never really achieve within a day.
We never have enough time. I've myself wanted to find the cure for sleep on many an occasion. I love sleep, sooooo much, don't get me wrong. But when I have too much to do, and I've promised myself and a lot of others to get certain things done, I start counting the hours, and wishing that 8 hours of sleep wasn't a prerequisite every single day. It would be good if we could, you know, skip a day, without the detrimental effects of what that would normally do catching up to us.
It's our own fault. We give ourselves too much to do. Waste our time on petty little bullshit, make promises we can't keep. Or in my case as it often occurs, I plan on doing too much, and end up burnt-out by the end of the day when I do miraculously manage to keep all my commitments, having had to fly and rush through them just to achieve them all.
It's no good. We need to relax. Look at what is realistically possible. Look at what it is that is truly important to us, our livelihood, and what we must do. All the extra stuff, forget it. If you don't die by failing to perform a task, it's probably safe to say it isn't so important, and can wait 'til another time for completion.
Despite all these very smart realisations I've had to beat in and imbue into my mind over the last few months, I found myself in a rare and delightful circumstance yesterday.
I found myself beating time. Like literally. I was in front of time.
Daylight savings ended in Victoria on Sunday morning. Now that we are entering into the depressing cold and dark wintry months ahead of us, our clocks are to move back one hour, in order to align us up to this man-made invention.
So, by moving back an hour..... you actually get an extra hour. Of whatever you so wish.
:)
I knew the time was going back one hour, however come Saturday night, after Hubbie and I consumed one too many drinks, we went to bed, completely oblivious of the earlier conversation we'd had about gaining an hour the next day.
I made myself get up out of bed just after 9am on Sunday morning. I had all this washing to do, and I figured my sleep in on Saturday had been more than decent. I probably wouldn't have slept much longer, it's just that when you wake up, and there's very little light coming in through the cracks in the closed blinds, you just KNOW that it's a depressing sight outside.
I started making brekkie, and had the TV on in the background. I caught a brief look at one of those news banners they have along the bottom, that changes every few seconds with the daily news titles of the day, and saw the words "daylight savings ends."
I stopped motionless for a moment, my brain trying to catch up. Then it hit me. It was now actually 8:30, rather than 9:30!
'I could have slept longer,' was what I first thought to myself. But then the joy of realising I was up, and had had the same number of sleep, but it was still an hour earlier..... I felt devilishly scheme-y.
I called Hubbie, who had planned to go to work at 6:30..... yep he got there 5:30. We laughed because it meant he was coming home earlier, with once again, not having lost ANY sleep.
All morning I did my jobs, peaking quick looks at the clock, and feeling as if I were WAY ahead of time. And I was. I was thinking, 'this is awesome, this is the only time in the year when we actually get in front of time.'
Ha. Screw you time. I beat you.
Famous last thoughts.
What I failed to realise, was that although I felt I had beaten time, my body was still running on old time. So, my brekkie came early according to my old body clock, and then my lunch came... late, and dinner... late.
That wouldn't normally be an issue, because I'm not soft. But my body having been out of sorts lately, by the time I was preparing dinner that night, I felt shots of weakness spasm through me. The changed time, combined with my not-too-crash-hot-body, was now giving me sick symptoms.
Today I write this with a sore-ish throat. I had weak muscles on the way into work, making me think it may possibly develop into a full-blown cold/flu. I'm keeping it at bay with cough lollies, and I need to have another hot tea soon.
Moral of the story. When you think you've beaten time, you haven't. Don't get cocky. Time always catches up to you.
We never have enough time. I've myself wanted to find the cure for sleep on many an occasion. I love sleep, sooooo much, don't get me wrong. But when I have too much to do, and I've promised myself and a lot of others to get certain things done, I start counting the hours, and wishing that 8 hours of sleep wasn't a prerequisite every single day. It would be good if we could, you know, skip a day, without the detrimental effects of what that would normally do catching up to us.
It's our own fault. We give ourselves too much to do. Waste our time on petty little bullshit, make promises we can't keep. Or in my case as it often occurs, I plan on doing too much, and end up burnt-out by the end of the day when I do miraculously manage to keep all my commitments, having had to fly and rush through them just to achieve them all.
It's no good. We need to relax. Look at what is realistically possible. Look at what it is that is truly important to us, our livelihood, and what we must do. All the extra stuff, forget it. If you don't die by failing to perform a task, it's probably safe to say it isn't so important, and can wait 'til another time for completion.
Despite all these very smart realisations I've had to beat in and imbue into my mind over the last few months, I found myself in a rare and delightful circumstance yesterday.
I found myself beating time. Like literally. I was in front of time.
Daylight savings ended in Victoria on Sunday morning. Now that we are entering into the depressing cold and dark wintry months ahead of us, our clocks are to move back one hour, in order to align us up to this man-made invention.
So, by moving back an hour..... you actually get an extra hour. Of whatever you so wish.
:)
I knew the time was going back one hour, however come Saturday night, after Hubbie and I consumed one too many drinks, we went to bed, completely oblivious of the earlier conversation we'd had about gaining an hour the next day.
I made myself get up out of bed just after 9am on Sunday morning. I had all this washing to do, and I figured my sleep in on Saturday had been more than decent. I probably wouldn't have slept much longer, it's just that when you wake up, and there's very little light coming in through the cracks in the closed blinds, you just KNOW that it's a depressing sight outside.
I started making brekkie, and had the TV on in the background. I caught a brief look at one of those news banners they have along the bottom, that changes every few seconds with the daily news titles of the day, and saw the words "daylight savings ends."
I stopped motionless for a moment, my brain trying to catch up. Then it hit me. It was now actually 8:30, rather than 9:30!
'I could have slept longer,' was what I first thought to myself. But then the joy of realising I was up, and had had the same number of sleep, but it was still an hour earlier..... I felt devilishly scheme-y.
I called Hubbie, who had planned to go to work at 6:30..... yep he got there 5:30. We laughed because it meant he was coming home earlier, with once again, not having lost ANY sleep.
All morning I did my jobs, peaking quick looks at the clock, and feeling as if I were WAY ahead of time. And I was. I was thinking, 'this is awesome, this is the only time in the year when we actually get in front of time.'
Ha. Screw you time. I beat you.
Famous last thoughts.
What I failed to realise, was that although I felt I had beaten time, my body was still running on old time. So, my brekkie came early according to my old body clock, and then my lunch came... late, and dinner... late.
That wouldn't normally be an issue, because I'm not soft. But my body having been out of sorts lately, by the time I was preparing dinner that night, I felt shots of weakness spasm through me. The changed time, combined with my not-too-crash-hot-body, was now giving me sick symptoms.
Today I write this with a sore-ish throat. I had weak muscles on the way into work, making me think it may possibly develop into a full-blown cold/flu. I'm keeping it at bay with cough lollies, and I need to have another hot tea soon.
Moral of the story. When you think you've beaten time, you haven't. Don't get cocky. Time always catches up to you.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Affogatos are the bomb
***Disclaimer: The following blog takes place in fast forward. On a speed scale of 1-10, this blog is 11.***
Oh My Gosh. I am totally buzzing from just having had my first affogato. And they are bloody good.
For those of you who haven't yet been enlightened by this wondrous culinary creation of humankind, an affogato is a coffee/dessert, where 2 fantastic ingredients are combined: coffee and ice cream.
All together now, YUUUMMMMM.
Basically, you have your espresso shot in one cup, and in another cup you have a scoop, (who are we kidding, 'scoops') of ice cream. You pour the espresso over your ice cream, (this can also be done gradually) and lo and behold, enjoy the incredible, sweet, creamy goodness that results.
A colleague at work discovered this on the weekend, and just had to share her incredible discovery with us. So she bought ice cream, and seeing as we all started super-early today, it was the perfect start accompaniment to give us that extra 'kick.'
And boy do I have kick. I have so much buzz I don't know how I'll be able to focus on work. Maybe next time I'll endeavour to have breakfast first.....
And and and. We were just talking and I've decided I MUST buy affogato servingware pieces so that I can make my own at home, for me and Hubbie and guests. And and and. You know how they have all cute little affogato items, like little cups and dishes and sqaure plates to present it all on. Yep. Guess whose buying all THAT this weekend.
And and and. Guess what? We were going a bit crazy thinking of fantastical ways we can modify the affogato to make it even MORE unreal, and we thought, 'how about adding frangelico over the top, or baileys irish cream?'
'And what about crushed biscuits?'
'And what about crushed honeycomb?'
So now the ultimate creation is: Multiple scoops of ice cream, consisting of vanilla, chocolate, caramel AND choc-chip variety, with baileys drizzled on top, followed by crushed biscuits AND crushed honeycomb, finally emphasised by delicious, warm, comforting, ESPRESSO.
Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Shudder.
Oh My Gosh. I am totally buzzing from just having had my first affogato. And they are bloody good.
For those of you who haven't yet been enlightened by this wondrous culinary creation of humankind, an affogato is a coffee/dessert, where 2 fantastic ingredients are combined: coffee and ice cream.
All together now, YUUUMMMMM.
Basically, you have your espresso shot in one cup, and in another cup you have a scoop, (who are we kidding, 'scoops') of ice cream. You pour the espresso over your ice cream, (this can also be done gradually) and lo and behold, enjoy the incredible, sweet, creamy goodness that results.
A colleague at work discovered this on the weekend, and just had to share her incredible discovery with us. So she bought ice cream, and seeing as we all started super-early today, it was the perfect start accompaniment to give us that extra 'kick.'
And boy do I have kick. I have so much buzz I don't know how I'll be able to focus on work. Maybe next time I'll endeavour to have breakfast first.....
And and and. We were just talking and I've decided I MUST buy affogato servingware pieces so that I can make my own at home, for me and Hubbie and guests. And and and. You know how they have all cute little affogato items, like little cups and dishes and sqaure plates to present it all on. Yep. Guess whose buying all THAT this weekend.
And and and. Guess what? We were going a bit crazy thinking of fantastical ways we can modify the affogato to make it even MORE unreal, and we thought, 'how about adding frangelico over the top, or baileys irish cream?'
'And what about crushed biscuits?'
'And what about crushed honeycomb?'
So now the ultimate creation is: Multiple scoops of ice cream, consisting of vanilla, chocolate, caramel AND choc-chip variety, with baileys drizzled on top, followed by crushed biscuits AND crushed honeycomb, finally emphasised by delicious, warm, comforting, ESPRESSO.
Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Shudder.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Happiness Is.... #4
Happiness Is....
Striving towards your dreams. Living out your passions. Imagining the incredible.
Nothing is better than the moment you start taking small steps towards reaching what was previously thought of as impossible. Once you start the cycle of passion, nothing can stop you. The excitement at each small step you take, regardless of how minor, provides ammunition in itself: your attempts at tasks you undertake fuel you forward.
That's what it takes, baby steps. All good things come, in time. However the insurmountable joy is instant. That you begin to feel as soon as you begin your journey. And the spectacular thing is, nothing else matters. The joy that emanates from following your dreams, is all the reward you need. And that realisation, that knowledge, leads to MAGIC.
Last night I finished the first chapter of my book. :-D
Striving towards your dreams. Living out your passions. Imagining the incredible.
Nothing is better than the moment you start taking small steps towards reaching what was previously thought of as impossible. Once you start the cycle of passion, nothing can stop you. The excitement at each small step you take, regardless of how minor, provides ammunition in itself: your attempts at tasks you undertake fuel you forward.
That's what it takes, baby steps. All good things come, in time. However the insurmountable joy is instant. That you begin to feel as soon as you begin your journey. And the spectacular thing is, nothing else matters. The joy that emanates from following your dreams, is all the reward you need. And that realisation, that knowledge, leads to MAGIC.
Last night I finished the first chapter of my book. :-D
Monday, March 21, 2011
It's harder than it seems....
So, I haven't been around much. I know that although A LOT of the time that I am busy, I still have the chance to blog while at work, but unfortunately, that too has been super-crammed-in with stuff going on.
You know when you haven't written in so long, that you don't even know what to write anymore? Yeah, that's just because
A) you can't remember where to begin, and
B) I feel most of my creative energies going towards my Story :)
Yes, that has happened my dears, I always knew that once I started writing my passion, my blog would ultimately suffer. I don't want to be one of the endless bloggers out there, who when you click on 'Next Blog,' you see their last update was in Dec '08. No thank you. If I decide to conclude my blogging, my last entry will be just that, my last, and definitely conclusive. But that day isn't here yet, and if it were up to me, I will do this as long as I can. Away from my diary writing days, this is the closest free therapy I can get :)
So as I have no clear beginning for this blog post, therefore there will be no end. Free blogging I call it - let's go!
* Because he is in my direct view as I speak, I'll begin with no-show boy: he's pissing me off again. Just the other week, on a Wednesday, (only 3 days after he came back from a whole MONTH of annual leave mind you!) I deliberately told him that I was having the upcoming Friday off, you know, as a GENUINE RDO. There was a little voice in me that said "careful Miss S," which I obviously ignored. Well lo and behold, I come in the next day on Thursday, and he has conveniently called in sick! He always does this! He takes it upon himself to take sick days when he feels he is 'due' only because others are having their days off! Hey, we deserve them..... and it's not fair because he still gets his RDOs! Grrrrrrr!
And he is always sick. That's the thing. He is not genuinely sick, the kind of sick I get maybe 2 to 3 times A WINTER. No he is 'sick' at least once every few weeks for the entire year..... and you know what his excuse always is? "Oh, I slept only 3 hours, and then I was absolutely f***ed getting up...."
Really? You were totally screwed with only 3 hours sleep? Nooooo, you don't say! Maybe quit smoking pot all night, and then you might actually get some shut eye! And believe me, I'm NOT making that part up.
Ha. Taking it upon himself to MAKE himself sick because he is due a day off. My arse you're due.
Today even, being a Monday, he has come in not only 30 minutes late, BUT has been sniffling and blowing his nose ALL DAY. It is really disgusting when you are eating and hearing someone breathe in their snot in a continuous motion. It's not nice. And I can't really feel sorry for him, knowing it's self-induced. Sorry mate, I know you want me to turn to you and say "ohhhhh, no-show boy, you should go home, you've been sick all day!"
No way. Not when you're always sick. You know those people, who are ALWAYS sick, always complaining of something? Well there are these things called vitamins dude. Take them. Don't forget to quit the pot either.
* Well, it's certainly harder than it seems, let me tell you. The writing that is. There is sooo much to think about: characters, what they will say, is what they're saying in character, am I progressing the story too much, am I not revealing enough, AND THEN I'm constantly re-evaluating where I am in the story and making sure I'm still on track and writing with my primary story goal in mind. Phew!
I love it, and when I get into it, it's great. I've laid down some rules, such as I must write on Thursdays, AND most Monday nights. I think it is way too hard to find time on the weekend, when those days end up being catch up days for all things house-related, as well as generally being a time that you wanna just have fun. It's just that I haven't even finished a chapter yet - as I write, I realise I need to research certain things, and it makes it actually impossible for me to continue unless I do that. I'm hoping once I get over the 1st chapter hurdles, I'll be on my way, and moving a lot quicker and smoother.
Oh yeah, and every time I read my first few paragraphs, I totally lose focus: proof that I've read it too many times. It scares me at first, because I wonder in panic "why am I zoning out?"
Ahhhh, writing is pure torture. Yet I still love this kind of torture.
* I've realised/decided that meditation is the key. Especially when dealing with annoying people. In an effort not to want to mention names, even fictional ones I've created to disguise real people, I'm simply going to say 'annoying people' here. I was fine for a LONG time. I wasn't aggravated, necessarily totally upset or hurt or maddened by any actions or words, or just generally normal behaviour performed by persons of interest. Until this last weekend.
It is so much easier to say "I'll ignore this person," than to actually ignore them. The doing of the act, is A LOT harder. Especially when you're forced into a 5 hour situation where you can't get away. My scenario resembles that of throwing an untrained swimmer into the deep end. They may splatter about for a few minutes, until they sink and drown. That's how I felt just recently.
I'm trying to get my head around the fact that people can't be changed. This is a very difficult realisation to grasp. Also, I don't understand people's hostile and rude behaviours, and why they don't realise that despite their high opinions of themselves, they actually are far from perfect, far from good at all.
But when you risk hurting your loved ones, saying things like this out loud becomes impossible. A situation that has no solution, a beginning that has no end. So you have to learn to deal, even when learning becomes increasingly excruciating to do so. I'm not sure where I stand, but in the midst of my google search for 'dealing with difficult family members' this morning, I discovered a few repeating points of advice:
- you can't change them, but you can change how you react to them
- don't react immediately to offensive words/behaviour: take a breath and respond when calm
- don't allow yourself to enter into topics that will cause intense disagreements
- don't focus on their bad qualities, as all you will see is their bad qualities
I always struggle with points like these, as I feel that with I myself having to accomodate to their behaviour, is like some kind of acceptance that their behaviour is ok. When it is far from that. I know that learning to deal with it is not saying that, but as I said yesterday, "why do I have to deal with them? Why can't they deal with me?"
I wish I could give them a piece of my mind..... I don't know, maybe the day will come when that happens. In the meantime I need to breathe. I breathed a lot yesterday, and I just feel different. Then again I prayed intensely, maybe I received some inspired clarity, divine guidance that I do not yet know I have.
It just makes me sad when I notice I'm acting out negatively, in the most minor every-day situations in my life, all because I haven't been able to express myself in the situation that most matters. But I feel a change within me, and I really hope that this time I'm able to follow through on it. I just need to learn how to waddle first, before I can dive into the deep end. Learning and building one's character through intense trials takes a lot of time....
Well that's all for today...... so concludes Miss S' random tidbits, til the next tidbit session....
Ta ta.
You know when you haven't written in so long, that you don't even know what to write anymore? Yeah, that's just because
A) you can't remember where to begin, and
B) I feel most of my creative energies going towards my Story :)
Yes, that has happened my dears, I always knew that once I started writing my passion, my blog would ultimately suffer. I don't want to be one of the endless bloggers out there, who when you click on 'Next Blog,' you see their last update was in Dec '08. No thank you. If I decide to conclude my blogging, my last entry will be just that, my last, and definitely conclusive. But that day isn't here yet, and if it were up to me, I will do this as long as I can. Away from my diary writing days, this is the closest free therapy I can get :)
So as I have no clear beginning for this blog post, therefore there will be no end. Free blogging I call it - let's go!
* Because he is in my direct view as I speak, I'll begin with no-show boy: he's pissing me off again. Just the other week, on a Wednesday, (only 3 days after he came back from a whole MONTH of annual leave mind you!) I deliberately told him that I was having the upcoming Friday off, you know, as a GENUINE RDO. There was a little voice in me that said "careful Miss S," which I obviously ignored. Well lo and behold, I come in the next day on Thursday, and he has conveniently called in sick! He always does this! He takes it upon himself to take sick days when he feels he is 'due' only because others are having their days off! Hey, we deserve them..... and it's not fair because he still gets his RDOs! Grrrrrrr!
And he is always sick. That's the thing. He is not genuinely sick, the kind of sick I get maybe 2 to 3 times A WINTER. No he is 'sick' at least once every few weeks for the entire year..... and you know what his excuse always is? "Oh, I slept only 3 hours, and then I was absolutely f***ed getting up...."
Really? You were totally screwed with only 3 hours sleep? Nooooo, you don't say! Maybe quit smoking pot all night, and then you might actually get some shut eye! And believe me, I'm NOT making that part up.
Ha. Taking it upon himself to MAKE himself sick because he is due a day off. My arse you're due.
Today even, being a Monday, he has come in not only 30 minutes late, BUT has been sniffling and blowing his nose ALL DAY. It is really disgusting when you are eating and hearing someone breathe in their snot in a continuous motion. It's not nice. And I can't really feel sorry for him, knowing it's self-induced. Sorry mate, I know you want me to turn to you and say "ohhhhh, no-show boy, you should go home, you've been sick all day!"
No way. Not when you're always sick. You know those people, who are ALWAYS sick, always complaining of something? Well there are these things called vitamins dude. Take them. Don't forget to quit the pot either.
* Well, it's certainly harder than it seems, let me tell you. The writing that is. There is sooo much to think about: characters, what they will say, is what they're saying in character, am I progressing the story too much, am I not revealing enough, AND THEN I'm constantly re-evaluating where I am in the story and making sure I'm still on track and writing with my primary story goal in mind. Phew!
I love it, and when I get into it, it's great. I've laid down some rules, such as I must write on Thursdays, AND most Monday nights. I think it is way too hard to find time on the weekend, when those days end up being catch up days for all things house-related, as well as generally being a time that you wanna just have fun. It's just that I haven't even finished a chapter yet - as I write, I realise I need to research certain things, and it makes it actually impossible for me to continue unless I do that. I'm hoping once I get over the 1st chapter hurdles, I'll be on my way, and moving a lot quicker and smoother.
Oh yeah, and every time I read my first few paragraphs, I totally lose focus: proof that I've read it too many times. It scares me at first, because I wonder in panic "why am I zoning out?"
Ahhhh, writing is pure torture. Yet I still love this kind of torture.
* I've realised/decided that meditation is the key. Especially when dealing with annoying people. In an effort not to want to mention names, even fictional ones I've created to disguise real people, I'm simply going to say 'annoying people' here. I was fine for a LONG time. I wasn't aggravated, necessarily totally upset or hurt or maddened by any actions or words, or just generally normal behaviour performed by persons of interest. Until this last weekend.
It is so much easier to say "I'll ignore this person," than to actually ignore them. The doing of the act, is A LOT harder. Especially when you're forced into a 5 hour situation where you can't get away. My scenario resembles that of throwing an untrained swimmer into the deep end. They may splatter about for a few minutes, until they sink and drown. That's how I felt just recently.
I'm trying to get my head around the fact that people can't be changed. This is a very difficult realisation to grasp. Also, I don't understand people's hostile and rude behaviours, and why they don't realise that despite their high opinions of themselves, they actually are far from perfect, far from good at all.
But when you risk hurting your loved ones, saying things like this out loud becomes impossible. A situation that has no solution, a beginning that has no end. So you have to learn to deal, even when learning becomes increasingly excruciating to do so. I'm not sure where I stand, but in the midst of my google search for 'dealing with difficult family members' this morning, I discovered a few repeating points of advice:
- you can't change them, but you can change how you react to them
- don't react immediately to offensive words/behaviour: take a breath and respond when calm
- don't allow yourself to enter into topics that will cause intense disagreements
- don't focus on their bad qualities, as all you will see is their bad qualities
I always struggle with points like these, as I feel that with I myself having to accomodate to their behaviour, is like some kind of acceptance that their behaviour is ok. When it is far from that. I know that learning to deal with it is not saying that, but as I said yesterday, "why do I have to deal with them? Why can't they deal with me?"
I wish I could give them a piece of my mind..... I don't know, maybe the day will come when that happens. In the meantime I need to breathe. I breathed a lot yesterday, and I just feel different. Then again I prayed intensely, maybe I received some inspired clarity, divine guidance that I do not yet know I have.
It just makes me sad when I notice I'm acting out negatively, in the most minor every-day situations in my life, all because I haven't been able to express myself in the situation that most matters. But I feel a change within me, and I really hope that this time I'm able to follow through on it. I just need to learn how to waddle first, before I can dive into the deep end. Learning and building one's character through intense trials takes a lot of time....
Well that's all for today...... so concludes Miss S' random tidbits, til the next tidbit session....
Ta ta.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
On the last day of Summer....
I started writing my STORY. In the dusty recesses of the home study 2 nights ago, I began what will in the future be known as the word on everybody's lips.
I'm dreaming big.
No, I will not divulge the name, the story, the characters or even the theme. Only a few people close to me know the minor details of my overall plan, and they won't even be able to read it until I'm happy with the final product.
I was all antsy the other night. I felt such anxious anticipation, of what is happening and what is to come.
You can definitely tell the difference between work and passion. That is the biggest lesson I have been fortunate to come across this last while. You cannot teach passion, force passion. You can only let it move through you, emerging from the depths of your core, pushing out of you and into the world for all to see.
I can't wait. :-D
I'm dreaming big.
No, I will not divulge the name, the story, the characters or even the theme. Only a few people close to me know the minor details of my overall plan, and they won't even be able to read it until I'm happy with the final product.
I was all antsy the other night. I felt such anxious anticipation, of what is happening and what is to come.
You can definitely tell the difference between work and passion. That is the biggest lesson I have been fortunate to come across this last while. You cannot teach passion, force passion. You can only let it move through you, emerging from the depths of your core, pushing out of you and into the world for all to see.
I can't wait. :-D
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