"She's a rebel..."

"...and she never ever does what she should..."

I am officially a NaNoRebel. That's right, I've broken the rules. Happily there are a lot of us, hence the term 'NaNoRebel' rather than 'NaNoCheat'. I'm a rebel because I'm writing a memoir (albeit fictionalised) AND I'm using some previously written material. This is outside the NaNoWriMo guidelines... however, they're kind of okay with it and really just want people to write, so rebels are allowed so long as we admit that we're rebels. It's all good.

Current word count: 10,422. Still a bit behind but that's okay. And here's a tip I'll give you for nothing... a detailed description of a middle-of-the-night, off-the-scale anxiety attack is probably not something one should attempt to write at night, if one hopes to sleep at all. Apparently it's difficult to write about anxiety without feeling anxious. Huh. Well, lesson learned. It's also the only thing I've written so far that has made me cry.

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Word Count

6,240... slightly below the aim of 1,667 per day (which would put me at 6,668) but still not bad. Unfortunately the quality decreases as the word count goes up. Oh well.

Onward and upward. Writer's block, begone!
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NaNoWriMo - Day One

It doesn't bode well that I got to about 5pm on day one of National Novel Writing Month and thought, "Oh yeah... I'm meant to be writing."  As you can tell, I'm tremendously excited and couldn't wait to get started. :D

I've gone into this flying completely by the seat of my pants. I have no plans. I have no plot outline. I have no defined characters. I don't know what's going to happen or how it all ends. Ends? I'm not even sure how it starts.  Nevertheless, my word count is 1,784. You need to write 1,667 per day to make it to 50,000 by 30 November so I'm ahead. Where I'll be in a week from now, and what will be on the page, is anyone's guess... whatever you do, don't ask ME. I have no idea.

And no, I'm not uploading any of it.
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I am surrounded by talent

Wow, two posts in one evening. I am already practising my writing procrastination skills (by... errr... writing).

You know, I read a few blogs and have discovered quite a few more through other people's blogrolls. I love dipping into blogs that my other blog-friends read, partly because they are usually pretty good blogs and partly because it gives me an insight into the person who reads it. "Hmmm... so she regularly reads a blog about 18th century button collecting. Interesting."

Here's what I have discovered in my blog hopping: there are LOADS of talented, crafty people out there. A disproportionate amount - it feels like four out of five blogs are written by these crafty types. Are people who can sew/create somehow more likely to create a blog? Or is it that everyone else in the world apart from a dozen of us are tremendously talented and they kindly let the useless amongst us take up a quiet little corner of the blogosphere, way over here where we won't cause any damage?

Whatever the reason, I'm in awe. I can knit a little but most of it is pretty basic and I lose interest after a while so not a lot gets finished unless I'm knitting for someone else... and even then I generally only do baby stuff because it's easy and quick. My knitting, however, pales into insignificance when I read blogs where people are making clothes or quilts or bags or earrings or paintings or pendants or hats or... well, anything, really. What's even more amazing to me is that it's often people with three or four children who are making these things. Seriously, how on EARTH do they find the time?

Every time I read one of these blogs I think, "Right, that's it. I'm buying a sewing machine and I'm going to learn this sewing thing. I'll learn it, I'll love it and I'll blog about it. Yep, that's the plan."

Ten minutes later, I'm back to fixing my skirt hem with a bandaid...
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Signed away my sanity

I opened a new post to tell you all about signing away my sanity, only to discover that this is my 400th post. As my dad would say, wacky-do! (No, really. He would actually say that. In public and everything.)

This may be proof that in fact I had no sanity to sign away in the first place, but I have just signed up for NaNoWriMo. Yep, that's National Novel Writing Month, where the aim is to write a 50,000 word novel in November. That's WRITE a 50,000 word novel, not tweak a novel you've already written or finish a novel you've already started. You're supposed to start from scratch on November 1 and aim to finish by midnight (your local time) on November 30.  If you make it to 50,000 words by the deadline you can submit your novel to the website for an official word count and be declared a winner. (Everyone who finishes the word count is a winner. There are no actual prizes.)  Here's an excerpt from the website:

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.

So, this means I shall either abandon my blog in November, or I'll be blogging every single day as a method of writing procrastination.  Frankly, I have my doubts that I can do this and I feel sure I WILL write a lot of crap, but I don't care. I think it's going to be a hoot to give it a go... and as the website says, "Win or lose, you rock for even trying!"

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I need a holiday

So this morning I was chatting with my sister via email and she said, "I need a holiday," to which I replied, "Yeah, me too... and a holiday where I actually go somewhere." There was a thoughtful pause from me as I tried to remember the last holiday where I went somewhere. Okay, I remember now... it was the holiday where I did a bus tour of parts of the USA and Canada. I combined two bus tours, with a stop off in Calgary in between them to visit my cousins. The first tour was 16 days around these places:

That was a lot of fun and I stayed an extra couple of days in New York at the end, before heading off (via Calgary) for another 16 days around these places:

This part was even more fun because it included DISNEYLAND! And Las Vegas, which, if one is not gambling, is kind of like a grown-up Disneyland. It was lots of fun.

But here's the scary part. I was trying to remember exactly when I took this holiday, and finally realised it was just before the September 11 attacks (I left America on September 2, as it happens). That was in 2001... that's EIGHT YEARS AGO! I haven't had a holiday in EIGHT YEARS. Of course I've taken time off work, and had uni holidays in the 2004-2007 period when I was studying, but I used the time to visit family or to stay at home relaxing. There's nothing wrong with a stay-at-home holiday, but geez... has it really been that long?

Right now I have exactly NO money for a holiday and that is likely to be the case for quite a while but still I think I'm going to have to come up with some sort of holiday idea soon. Because wow, eight years...

I need a holiday.
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Opinions - I has them.

During two years of counselling I've discovered many things about myself. Some things have been good and some have been... hmm... somewhat more challenging.  My most recent discovery has surprised me a little - I've discovered that I have opinions.  I know, that sounds nuts, doesn't it? Everyone has opinions. What I haven't known until recently, however,  are MY opinions.  This is not to say I've never had an opinion on anything - in fact I'm sure there are plenty of people who would call me very opinionated - but I've never been confident in my opinions and have always been easily swayed to other opinions, partly because I haven't trusted myself and partly from fear of rejection.  Those things are still there to a degree, but I'm slowly discovering what *I* like and what *I* think... and sometimes it surprises me.

So today I did some clothes shopping. It was a spur of the moment thing (most of the 'spurring' coming from one friend who recommended a fabulous shop and another friend who came with me and 'encouraged' me to buy the things I did) and I spent waaay too much money, but I don't care. I bought things I would never have bought a year ago or even six months ago because I didn't really know what I liked and I feared wearing anything that might draw attention to me. This, of course, led to some boring fashion choices.  Here are todays's choices... far less boring than previous choices and for the first time I really know that I like them and want to wear them:

This one is actually a birthday present from a friend (but I don't have to wait until my birthday, which is not until next month). The red is darker than in the photo.

This is from the same store, which has some truly fabulous stuff. (First photo is the front, second is the back.)

Also from the same store... it's actually striped, not grey, but it doesn't show up well in the picture. The second pic shows the detail.

Trust me when I say that this one looks a LOT better on!

On to another store... I saw these months ago but they were too expensive. Guess what? They were $40 cheaper today AND in my size!

And what are shoes without a handbag? (It's not leather and it's a darker red than the photo.)

I also bought this in black but it didn't photograph very well. It's a long, swingy coatish thing which I'll probably wear with jeans.

Another casual one...

See the lovely royal blue on this one? It's actually a dark purple but my silly camera didn't want to co-operate. The top itself is also black and not that weird, faded, greyish black that it appears here.

Last photo - this is also a darker black than in the photo.

In addition to all of this I bought a couple of plain tee shirts (one black, one white) and a couple of singlets to go under the more revealing items.

All up, a very nice day. Hooray for shopping and hooray for starting to find my voice. It's a great feeling.

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God made me crazy

Some months ago a friend of mine started seeing the same counsellor I see. As my friend doesn't drive I offered to take her there for appointments, and her sessions are generally in the evenings so we have dinner together at my house beforehand. We've also just completed the Anxiety Management course I mentioned a couple of weeks ago.... all up my friend and I have spent quite a bit of time together recently. Tonight I remarked that the great thing about this is that we've got to know each other a lot better, which I think we've both enjoyed.

I feel sure that God had a hand in pushing together two friends with similar insecurities into a situation where they can support each other and have fun too. Isn't that great? God made me crazy so I could make more friends! Hehe. (It's okay - you're allowed to laugh. God has a great sense of humour. Truly.)
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Healing words

Thank you all for your comments on my last post - both the comments on my blog and those that came to me via email.  I appreciate them more than I can adequately express.

I'm not sure I made it very clear that my last post was a positive one. Well, the background information was negative, but the fact that I'm feeling the tiniest shred of something that might one day become compassion towards myself is... okay, it sounds like not much but believe me it's a big deal, and a very positive step in the right direction.

But back to you all... you "faceless internet identities" who've never met me in real life. I'm a stranger to you, right? Why should you care? Why on earth would you be supportive? And yet you are NOT strangers to me, even though we have not met. You DO care and you ARE supportive - time and time again, and in wonderful ways that I could not have expected. You have become my friends and I am blessed.

So I'm taking your comments to me from posts in recent weeks (plus some from people who know me for real) and I'm writing them here as facts. I don't believe them all yet, and maybe I won't for a long time, but I am kept strong by the fact that you believe them.  My belief in myself is shaky but I am hanging on to your belief.  So here goes...

* I have an amazing way with words
* I am courageous, strong and vulnerable
* I am a great woman
* I have a strong faith
* I am part of the Body of Christ
* I am precious
* I am a woman of compassion
* I am loved by God
* I am God's creation
* I am special
* I am worthwhile...

Thank you, my friends. When I come to believe these things it will be, in part, because you believed them first and helped point me towards the truth.
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The age of compassion

In recent counselling sessions I've talked a bit about particular incidents that happened when I was growing up and still living at home. Mixed up with these memories are my thoughts and feelings about myself during that time. I've looked at photos of myself when I was small. There's one in particular where I'm about three years old - I'm sitting on the lounge talking on the phone and laughing and looking very cute. It's a happy photo and when I look at the little girl in that photo I feel so sad for her. My brother started treating me badly when I was quite young. I have no memory of it not happening and given that he's six years older than me it's likely that he was already picking on me to some degree even when I was that little. I look at the photo and I can see how awful it is that anyone could tell that happy little girl that she's worthless. Even more sad is that she would grow up to believe it.

The feelings I have when I look at those photos are entirely appropriate. The things that happened to me ARE sad. The problem comes when I look at photos of me at older ages, particularly when I'm about 14 and up. When I look at those photos I don't feel sad. At an intellectual level there's probably some sadness but mostly I am overwhelmed by the things I believed at the time - all the feelings of worthlessness and shame that were absolute truth to me then are truth to me now. I can't look at photos and think, "How sad that the happy little three year old grew up to become this fearful and unhappy teenager who believed she was worthless" because I'm too caught up in the belief that I was (and am) so worthless and ridiculous that I completely deserved everything my brother and others ever did or said to me. Not only can I not feel compassion, I don't want to believe that girl is me. I don't want anything to do with her; I don't even want to acknowledge her existence. I don't want that girl to be the building block of the woman I am today.

Whilst pondering all these things I came upon this poem...

Variation on the word sleep

Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,

which may not happen.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear.

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in.

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

This is essentially a love poem (and as a love poem I think it's wonderful) but I was also struck by the third stanza:

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center. I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully...

Part of me still doesn't want to know that young girl, but there's another part, a tiny part... if I could go back in time and meet that girl, I think I would want to protect her. Maybe that's not compassion, not yet, but it's something. It's a start.

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It all makes sense now

This morning: 
Large hot chocolate and a raspberry/white chocolate muffin.

Lunchtime:
A bowl of hot chips with tomato sauce.

This afternoon:
Five 'fun size' Milky Way bars.

This evening:
My period started.

Ah. Mystery solved.
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A blubbering mess

** Warning - if you haven't seen The Color Purple, don't watch the clip I've embedded in this post. It is the final scene and will totally wreck the movie for you. **

Last night I was doing some knitting and decided to put a DVD in to watch whilst doing it.  I looked over my collection and thought, "Hmmm... I haven't seen The Color Purple in a while."  It's a long movie so it seemed like a good choice, as it was only early evening at this point.

Okay, sure, I know it's an emotionally wrenching movie. I've seen it before several times and I always cry at various points of the film, but that's okay. I mean, I also still cry when I read Little Women and get to the scene where Beth dies but that doesn't affect my enjoyment of the experience.

So, I put the DVD in and settled down to watch. I teared up a little at the beginning. I was a trifle misty at several points during the film. I wiped away a stray tear when Celie finally got away from Mister.  But when we got to this scene...




...I was a blubbering mess. Not just crying; I was sobbing so hard I had to turn up the volume because I was drowning out the movie.

It is a truly excellent film... but next time I say, "Hey, now there's a movie I haven't seen in a while..." please remind me to have a store of clean hankies nearby.
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What? Isn't this normal??

Last night I attended the first night of a four week (one night per week) Anxiety Management Workshop. There were about 10 of us there and it was a friendly - albeit slightly anxious - little group. The idea of the sessions is to help us understand how anxiety works in the body, to recognise what can cause it to be a bit out of whack, and  to learn strategies for getting it under better control.  There were some interesting things last night, but one incident really made me laugh.

We were each doing an anxiety scale, where you rate your anxiety symptoms from 1 to 10. 1 is 'peaceful and calm' and 10 is your highest anxiety level, which is different for each person. So for me, level 10 would be things like chest pain, extremely elevated heart rate, shortness of breath, hyperventilation, light-headedness, inability to concentrate, shaking... thankfully I don't reach 10 very often!  The idea of doing a scale is to help us recognise what's happening in our bodies BEFORE reaching level 10 (or 7 or 8 or 9) so that we can employ anxiety management techniques before it gets out of control.  As we were all working on our individual lists someone asked, "What if your anxiety is up around level 8 all of the time?"

Let's pause for a second and imagine that question being asked in any other scenario. Surely it would be greeted with cries of alarm, concerned questions about why your anxiety level is that high, and assurances that it's most definitely NOT 'normal'.  At the very least there would be a muffled gasp. But in this anxiety workshop... not a single person responded, and as I looked around the room I saw the same question on every face... "Hang on - isn't that normal??"

Okay, maybe you had to be there - or maybe you need my sick sense of humour - but I found it extremely funny...
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Just a whinge

Yesterday at church I was approached by someone who doesn't normally speak with me. I don't mean he ignores me, it's just that I'm at a big church and there are many people I don't get to see, and that's fine. This particular person is someone with whom I've had contact in the past so I thought it was nice that he came up for a chat. After a few minutes of chit chat and asking me how I am etc he said, "By the way, we have [an event] coming up and I really need people to help with the set up and cleaning up after it. I don't want to ask anyone with a family because they are too busy so I thought you could help."

Okay, this drives me wild for two reasons. Firstly, I hate being treated like I don't exist until someone wants something. It's downright insulting. Secondly, I resent the implication that single people and/or people without children are always available to drop everything and help with every event that comes up. This is NOT to say that people with kids aren't busy; what makes me angry is the belief that the rest of us have no life and no commitments.

So here's a tip I'll give you for nothing - if you ONLY speak to me when you want something, and treat me like I'm invisible the rest of the time, it's very unlikely I'll be inclined to help you. Further, don't make assumptions about my social life and other commitments. Given that you haven't bothered to give me the time of day up until now there's a very good chance that you know exactly nothing about my life.
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A little bit of comfort

My brother (the one who bullied and abused me) has recently moved back to my parents' house. This doesn't thrill me and I am not willing to stay with my parents while he is living there. However, since I've never discussed the abuse with my parents I can't explain why I don't want to stay there - and the excuse of 'no room' won't really work since my parents have a four bedroom house with only three people in it. Hmmm. Anyway, that's a discussion I've deftly avoided up to now and I'm not planning a trip back there for a while so I'm not worrying about it yet.

The problem with the 'don't worry about it yet' approach is that I'm apparently too good at it. I'm so good at it that I actually forgot my brother was living at my mum and dad's house... so imagine my shock when I was chatting with my mother on the phone yesterday and suddenly my brother's voice came on the line. Let me add some context here - I haven't seen my brother face-to-face for at least two years. I haven't heard his voice in that time either. What I have done in the last two years is talk about 20 years of abuse. I've had nightmares and flashbacks. I've had frightening anxiety attacks. I've experienced depression. I've struggled. Of course, my brother is not directly to blame for these things - and in fact seeking to lay blame anywhere is unhelpful - but he is certainly a massive factor in it all and I was not ready to hear his voice on the phone. (I should add that he wasn't speaking to me and didn't even know it was me on the phone; he just picked up the downstairs extension because he wanted to tell my mother something and couldn't be bothered walking upstairs.)

When I heard his voice I started shaking and experienced other symptoms of anxiety. I had a long bath and did a few anxiety-management techniques and eventually I was fine. I slept well last night and felt pretty good today so I assumed I was over the shock of hearing his voice. Well, until this afternoon....

I made choc-chip cookies...

...and then some gluten-free dark chocolate brownies...

...and then some Mars Bar slice.

Uh.... comfort cooking, anyone?

(I haven't actually eaten any of this and will give most of it away. No, really. I swear!)

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I have reached a certain age

It's happened. I've reached an age where I looked at a particular product and thought, "Hmmm... there's a handy little item..."

The item? It was this:

Yep, I bought a "tv tray". Actually it's called the Table-Mate II. I have no idea how it differs from the Table-Mate I but I'm sure it's infinitely superior. I bought it so I can comfortably use my laptop whilst sitting on the lounge and it's great for that purpose. However... the pictures on the box are a little off-putting.

They all look a bit sad, don't they? One lonely little person, sitting there all alone on a HUGE lounge, eating a solitary meal or reading a book, using their handy tray table.

When I start eating TV dinners by the comforting blue glow of my television I'll know for sure that buying this table was the beginning of the end.
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Garden World

Be still, my beating heart. Today I went to Garden World. Oh my.

Now that the vege garden is complete I decided I needed a few flowers. I went the cheap-arse option and bought "potted colour - 4 for $10!" - which means "we can't even be bothered telling you what these are called because they'll be dead in a couple of months anyway, but in the meantime... PRETTY!" I also bought a gardenia, which thrills me to my fingertips because nothing says Spring to me more than the smell of gardenia. Forget jasmine; it's gardenia all the way for me. I also bought a bromeliad for indoors - I'd never even heard of these before until I saw them in my counsellor's house, but I absolutely love some of them so I couldn't resist it. What attracted me to this one was the vivid green of the leaves, which of course doesn't come through in the photo properly. Hmph. And it has just occurred to me that there's every possibility my counsellor will now think I'm a crazy stalker who is trying to emulate her by buying a bromeliad... but I guess she's in the best position to assess my level of craziness at any time. (Yeah, but keep your doors locked... just in case...)

Garden World also had a large bonsai section. I don't know, I find bonsai a bit weird. It's like the plant version of teacup dogs... I get the feeling that if Paris Hilton were into plants she'd fill her house with bonsai because they're 'cute'.

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Random funny stuff

I usually don't just do a cut-and-paste from emails but this was so very funny... I laughed so loud at some of them I scared my cat. These are supposedly random thoughts from 20-35 year olds...

- More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.

- Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realise you're wrong.

- Have you ever been walking down the street and realised that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

- Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

- There is a great need for sarcasm font.

- Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realise I had no idea what the f*** was going on when I first saw it.

- I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.

- I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.

- LOL has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".

- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

- Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

- I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

- Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies".

- Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.

- Bad decisions make good stories.

- Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning that just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!

- Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem …

- Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.

- There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

- I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.

- "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

- I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

- I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?

- I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

- When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.

- Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.

- I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.

- Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time...

- The other night I ordered take away and when I looked in the bag, saw they had included four sets of plastic cutlery. In other words, someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat b@$tard before dinner.
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The finished product

Here is the vege garden with everything planted.

I know, it looks like I planted 13 tubs of straw but I assure you there are plants in there. Small and a bit sad-looking at the moment, but definitely there. If everything survives I'll have:

* English spinach
* Rhubarb
* Leek
* Dwarf broccoli
* Zucchini
* Kale
* Lettuce (iceberg and cos)
* Tomatoes (truss, cherry and roma)
* Corn
* Snow peas
* Strawberries - they're not in the photo, but they've actually survived from last year (much to my surprise as I haven't watered them or even looked at them in months) so hopefully they'll keep going and give me more fruit.

That list contains five things I've never grown before (rhubarb, leek, broccoli, zucchini, and corn), one thing I've never grown nor even tasted (kale) and one thing I killed last year (spinach) so this should be interesting! I wanted some apple cucumbers too but couldn't find them in Bunnings. I'll try a nursery on the weekend... although I'm not entirely sure where I'll put them anyway. I suppose I could always train them up the clothesline...

A no-dig vege garden in 9 easy steps

Start with a large tub with drainage holes kindly drilled by a handy friend...

...add some wet newspaper...

...a good layer of cow manure...

...plenty of straw...

...some more manure...

...a bit more straw...

...and a good layer of compost.

Repeat three times...

...and add vegetable seedlings.

Voila!

In actual fact I underestimated how much room I'd need so I still have a number of vegetable seedlings that will need to go in smaller pots, but the majority are planted now and I'm feeling decidedly Mother Earth-ish and content...

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For those who pray...

...and for those who don't...

I'm travelling a hard path in counselling. The fact that I'm ready to go down this path at all is great (in two years of counselling I've only touched on these things briefly a few times) and I know that ultimately it will be very helpful, but honestly... the process is excruciating.

Accepting prayers, good wishes and positive vibes.

Thanks.
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The (not red) couch is here!

It's finally here and the very nice delivery boys from Fantastic Furniture also carried my old lounge suite out to my garage, for which I was extremely grateful (especially as they didn't charge me for it).

This sort of shows the colour although it was hard to get an accurate picture. It's a little darker in real life.

Here's the whole room (yes, you can indeed see two cat beds AND a cat tunnel...) The purple cushions won't necessarily be staying; they were just on the old couch.

And because I have a need for completion, here's the rest of the room... (yep, that's a scratching post... it's like kitty Disneyland around here).

What's that, I hear you ask? Could you get a closer look at that fantabulous wallpaper? Why, of course...

Yeah, outstanding, huh? The photo doesn't do it justice; it's awesome. Oh, the joys of renting. Actually it's not really that bad... or at least, it's grown on me and I'm no longer startled when I walk into my loungeroom. Fortunately it's the only room with wallpaper.

So, that's been my day. It's been 13 years since I bought a new lounge so I'm feeling very grown up. I'll feel even better once I get rid of the excess furniture... so let me know if you know anyone in Melbourne who would like a chair like this one... (the frame is ancient - I bought it when I was 18 - but the cushion is only a year old).

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Quandary update

So after my last post I received a helpful email from Lou, with a most interesting attachment. It was basically an innovative way of weighing up the pros and cons of a decision but rather than aiming to draw a conclusion it aims to help one reflect upon the process itself and identify insights and ideas/concerns that might need to be pursued.

Hmmm. I haven't explained it well but rest assured it was a helpful process for me.  What it helped me identify is that the money issue, which I thought was primary, is really kind of secondary. A bigger issue for me, which came up strongly at several points in this analytical process, is that I actually don't particularly want to leave the house to exercise. There have been lots of times when I wanted to exercise for half an hour or so, but the fact that going to the gym adds another half hour to the whole process has put me off. In winter it's been worse because it means leaving a nice, warm house.

Well... it seems my decision is made. I will cancel the gym membership and buy a treadmill. I'd love an elliptical cross-trainer but I think a treadmill is a more versatile option, particularly as I have been thinking about doing C25K (check it out here) but have been too self-conscious to try to run in public.  It's also great timing financially because I'm not paying for counselling for the next few weeks - I'm doing some editing work for my counsellor and have traded it for free sessions (rather than a weird dance of paying her for counselling and have her hand the money right back as payment for editing). So after my lounge arrives - hopefully within the next three weeks - I'll start looking around for a treadmill. Once it arrives I'll blog about it and then you have permission to ask me if I'm using it!
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A quandary

Okay, I'm in a bit of a quandary at the moment.  Here's the situation... I joined the gym a bit over a year ago, when I was just starting to come out of a period of depression. It was great timing because I was starting to feel better and adding the exercise helped a lot with that.  However, for the last four months (at least) I've barely been to the gym at all and frankly I'm not particularly motivated to go... and this means I'm paying $78 per month to avoid the gym. Hmmm.

So I'm trying to weigh up my options. I have considered cancelling my membership and buying a treadmill instead. The advantages to this are:

*  I don't have to leave my house.
*  Once I've paid for the treadmill I won't incur any ongoing costs.
*  If I do concede defeat eventually (not that this would happen... ahem...) I can sell the treadmill.
*  I can put the $78 per month onto my credit card debt.

These are all good reasons to go with the treadmill plan. The reasons I'm hesitating are:

*  I'll still need to be more motivated than I am currently - there's a danger the treadmill may just end up being an expensive clothes airer.
*  I fear that once I give up my gym membership I'll instantly regret it and suddenly develop motivation to go... kind of a reverse buyer's remorse.
*  At the gym I have a variety of exercise options; with the treadmill I'll only have one. 

Sigh. The advantages are quite convincing but... oh, I don't know... I think I just want to be 100% convinced. Of course if I approached my whole life that way I'd never get out of bed.

Yeah. I'm not one of life's real risk-takers. Does it show??.
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Today

Two loads of washing.
Dyed my hair (and missed a spot... damn it...)
Two chicken pies.
One tuna casserole.
Two loaves of banana bread.
One batch of roast pumpkin and feta risotto.
One batch of bolognese sauce.
Knitting.
Part of an editing job.
Facebook.
Playing with cat.

Oh yeah.
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Starbucks church

This is hilarious... I only wish it weren't familiar!





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Ripped-off joke #9

Two tourists were driving through Wales.

At Llanhyfryddawellehynafolybaarcudprindanfygy, they stopped for lunch and asked the waitress "before we order, can you please settle an argument for us and pronounce where we are very slowly?"

The waitress leans over and says "burrr - gerrr - king"

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"He's a faithful guy..." (an SMS exchange)

You know how sometimes people say really simple things but it's just what you need to hear?

Me: "I'm a bit over the counselling thing this week. When does it get easier? I've had 2 years non-stop of 'hard'..."

My friend: "It will get easier, it has to, but before you get to the good parts you have to go through the mire. Maybe. I'm no expert. But I know God and he's a faithful guy. He'll look after you."

Yep.
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Bliss

Is there anything better on a cold night than a shower so hot that after a while you idly wonder if that feeling in your shoulders is actually your skin starting to blister? Okay, there are probably many things better than that but right now I can't think of any. Ahhhhhh..... felt so good....

And conversely...

Is there anything worse than dragging yourself out of bed on your day off - after a rather late night and when it's cold and rainy - to go to a counselling session only to find that your counsellor forgot to tell you that she needed to cancel today's session because she was out at a seminar? I drove up and thought, "No cars in the driveway. That's odd. Maybe her car is in for repairs... oh look, the blinds in the house are shut... and all the lights are off... hmmm..." I rang the doorbell in vain; there was no one home. A few text messages later and the mix-up was revealed - and my counsellor rang this afternoon to apologise 200 or so times and ask if I wanted to reschedule, so it's all good.

I wasn't upset and thought it was kind of funny but I still think I should be able to get some great mileage out of it with my counsellor. Mileage, and maybe chocolate. My appointment was changed to tomorrow night, so that gives me all day tomorrow to build a great story about how abandoned I felt and how much this has hindered the healing process. Ooh, and I'll mention trust; that's sure to be worth a Freddo or two.

Awesome. Off I go to Google "how to cry on cue"...

Edit: My lovely, generous counsellor - who, coincidentally, might just be reading this... because I might have promised I would clear her name after slandering her on my blog :-) - gave me a giant-sized Caramello Koala tonight. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I emailled her and just "happened" to mention that I like Caramellos.

So, to a certain sometimes forgetful but otherwise great counsellor - I don't use names on this blog but you know who you are :

THANK YOU!

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How will they remember me?

A couple of weeks ago a friend's wife died of breast cancer. I didn't attend her funeral but her husband posted on their blog the eulogy he delivered at the funeral. For privacy reasons I won't link to it, but let me assure you it was a great eulogy. The word 'eulogy' is derived from two ancient Greek words meaning "good words" and this eulogy was exactly that. It was warm and funny and sad and joyful all at the same time. Obviously a eulogy can only go for so long so you are forced to choose which memories to share and which character traits to highlight in honouring the person you loved. This has led me to wonder what things people would say if they had to choose a few things that sum up who I have been... and I wonder if these are the same things that I would choose?

I feel quite sure that someone would mention my fanaticism about correct grammar and punctuation. I would like them to talk about my faith in Jesus and my love for God and his people. Apart from those things, what is it that people notice? What is it that defines me?

Much of my life and energy at the moment is directed towards healing from abuse and trauma; and a large part of the process is about learning who I am. I endured many years of harmful words and actions that are part of the reason I have developed a view of myself that is both unhealthy and inaccurate. I know there is a "real me" and I get glimpses of her sometimes but for a lot of the time I am influenced by fear, doubt and confusion.

It won't always be this way, but for right now I think it would be fair to say that other people know me better than I know myself. Other people see things in me that I simply don't see, even when the evidence is right in front of me. The truth is there but my view of it is sketchy at best, and even when I see the truth I often don't believe it.

If it weren't for the fact that it's a bit macabre I would ask a few good friends to write my eulogy for me now, while I'm still alive. It's not a vanity exercise; I really want to know what it is that other people see - what is THEIR truth and how does it differ from MY truth? Actually I don't believe that truth is relative, so perhaps I should ask what is their perception and how does it differ from mine? And of the two, which one is the truth?

Hmmmm. It would be an interesting exercise.

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Six fluffy months

I was going to start this post by apologising that I'm writing about Sophie again, or by pointing out that if I had kids I'd probably post far more photos than this so really this is not so bad, or perhaps with a self-deprecating comment about being a Crazy Cat Lady... these things are probably true, but you know what? I just love my cat and I'm not going to apologise for it. I love her company; I love waking up in the morning and having cuddle time with a sleepy cat; I love laughing at her clumsiness as she falls off her scratching post; I love coming home to a little pocket rocket who shows her excitement at my arrival by running the IndyCat 5000 around the dining room and up and down the hallway... and I love taking photos of her.

So... today Sophie is six months old and in honour of her half-birthday I offer the following photographic timeline. I've posted many of these before so feel free to let your eyes glaze over.

This photo was taken by her breeder when she (Sophie) was 7 weeks old.

This is Sophie on her first day here (nearly 10 weeks) stretched out on the arm of the chair. She's actually lying on a handtowel there, not a towel. She's way too big to do that now!

I have come to learn that Sophie is an extremely curious cat who will come running towards any open door (front door... toilet... Tupperware cupboard... whatever), will climb in anywhere she can fit and will stick her face in everything.

Today, at six months, she's a lot bigger...

...but every bit as curious.

Yeah... I'm a Crazy Cat Lady, but I'm okay with it. :)
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Well that didn't take long...

I admit it; I'm unfaithful. Instead of grieving my red couch for a respectable time I went right out today and bought a new couch. I'm worse than Scarlett O'Hara dancing at that ball when she was supposed to be mourning her husband. Except that Scarlett never really loved Charles Hamilton whereas I really loved the red couch. I went to visit it at Ikea and everything.

Aaaaanyway.... as I mentioned in my previous post, after discovering the red couch was no longer available I went to various big-name furniture stores and discovered that couches are EXPENSIVE. Wow, I had no idea that Ikea is really much cheaper than many places. I went home discouraged by the knowledge that it would take me at least another year to save for two couches. Oh my, how depressing. And then last night, I remembered Fantastic Furniture. I had hesitated initially because they have a lot of medium-quality furniture, a depressing amount of low-quality furniture and a few quite-good-quality items. Their wooden furniture (coffee tables, tallboys etc) is actually pretty good, as are their bed frames but I wouldn't buy a mattress from them and I was unsure about couches. When you buy a $300 couch it's not usually an item you'll be handing down to your kids, you know what I mean? Nevertheless, I took a trip out to Fantastic Furniture today and sat on every single couch in the place. Let's not mince words - many of them were rubbish. Ugly, cheap looking, uncomfortable and feeling like they will be broken in six months. Others were very sturdy and well-made but not in my price range or simply not what I wanted. Eventually I settled on the couch pictured below - let me stress that I did NOT buy it in that hideous colour.

The couch pictured is a two-seater. I bought a three-seater and a three-seater sofa bed. Essentially the same as pictured but a bit wider. The fabric I chose is a rough looking fabric kind of like corduroy but the lines aren't as smooth and ordered as cord. Hmmm... it has just occurred to me that it might make a perfect kitty scratching post. Oh dear. The colour is called 'fudge' but it doesn't look like any fudge I've ever eaten. It's a fawny/tan colour... darker than cream but not yellowy, and lighter than brown. All up, including delivery, it was roughly $1750, which is a tad more than I had available to spend, but... la la la... not listening.

When it arrives - in four to six weeks - I'll take a photo of the real thing and post it.
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The death of the red couch

Almost a year ago now I joined the gym and (unrelated to the gym) fell in love with a red corduroy couch at Ikea - I blogged about these things at the time.  It's taken me a while to get my act together and start saving but in the last couple of months I've made a real effort and I estimate that I'm only three or four months away from being able to afford the couch at last.  I decided to encourage myself to continue by going on to the Ikea website and having a look at my couch.  The website had a number of problems and wouldn't show me pictures but a few days later it was fine. Oh look, there's my couch. Blue, cream, striped, pink... wait, where's the red one?  Maybe it's a problem with the website again... I'll just email the store.

The red couch has been discontinued.  MY red couch has been discontinued!!

I'm SO SAD.

Okay, I'm sad, but I rallied. I thought, "I'll just take this as an excuse to go couch shopping at a few other stores. Yeah, it will be fun. Shopping!"  I did that today. It wasn't fun. Apparently, Ikea charges a LOT less for couches than most other stores.  I can't even afford to buy ONE 2.5 seater couch, let alone the two I had planned to get from Ikea.  It was extremely depressing.  Now I'm in a quandry about whether to keep saving for a couch or to put my savings towards my $3,500 credit card debt. Yes, I know, I should get rid of my debt first. The problem is that it's going to take me a long time to be able to pay it off - although I have a plan and I'm reducing it slowly - and I was just finding it depressing never to buy any nice things for myself. My whole life became about bills and debt reduction and it made me cranky and discouraged, so I decided to slightly reduce my credit card payments and redirect some of that towards my savings.  It felt so good to be saving for something fun.  Sigh. I want my red couch!
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It's a conundrum, alright

One of the consequences of having someone spend 15 years trying their very hardest to make me feel worthless, ridiculous and pointless is that most of the time I feel worthless, ridiculous and pointless. Sadly, logic often doesn't come into it. For example, my academic transcript at uni has only Distinctions and High Distinctions, which means I didn't get below 80% for a single subject for three years. Logic would suggest, therefore, that I'm reasonably intelligent. Despite this, most of the time I believe I'm stupid and for my entire degree I made excuses for my successes - "It's just a first year subject and they mark them easier", "I agreed with the lecturer so of course I got a good mark" and so on.

Trying to change long-ingrained beliefs is very difficult and knowing that those beliefs aren't true doesn't stop me believing that they are absolutely true. I said to my counsellor today, "I know that it's totally wrong to believe I'm stupid and worthless. At the same time I am 100% convinced that I'm completely stupid and worthless." So... I know it's a lie and I also know it's true. Yeah, blows your mind a little bit, huh?

Right now I'm feeling very optimistic and hopeful about counselling. I feel more hopeful than I have in ages, actually, and that's a great thing. At the same time, though, there is a BIG part of me that is convinced there is no point trying to change because I really am worthless, and I will never feel any different. Feeling and believing both of these things simultaneously is a little bit weird and very hard to explain and understand. However, I figure that feeling worthless AND hopeful is a whole lot better than just feeling worthless with no hope at all, so I'm taking this conundrum as a win.
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The Geek Inside

Today I took myself out for a coffee after church and sat reading The Body Remembers, the book I mentioned in a previous post. It's a book written for therapists and it's rather technical and detailed in parts so I was concentrating quite hard whilst reading it. Here's how my thoughts ran today:

"Hmmm... well that's interesting... yes, I can see that.... gosh, I hadn't realised that before... oh dear, I don't think I would have used a semi-colon there... yes, this part definitely relates to me..."

That's right. In the middle of reading something that's helping me to learn what's going on in the deepest parts of me I still managed to notice a questionable semi-colon.

Yep. Not sure whether to laugh or cry now...
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A barrel... with legs

Yep, sorry, a little more Crazy-Cat-Ladyness. I can't help myself. Sophie is just about to turn 6 months old and wow, she has grown in the last four months. She weighed 900g when I brought her home at 10 weeks and she's now heading towards 3kg. (No, I'm not completely obsessed - I had to weigh her to work out which worming treatment to give her.) She is typical of the breed in that she is short and very stocky, just like a little barrel with legs. The great thing about those short legs is that she is still waaaaay too small to jump on the kitchen bench. Graceful, skinny cats could do it with barely any effort, even cats much younger, but Boofhead Sophie just jumps and jumps and barely makes it halfway up the cupboard door. As you can tell I'm just devastated about that...

And to prove that she doesn't sleep ALL the time... She's not really that dark but it was night time with dim lighting in my bathroom. And I have no idea what that little nod is at the 00.42 mark. It looks like she was waiting for a cue from offstage.

What shall I do today?

I have a confession... I'm a sucker for stationery. (Shut up - it's NOT an addiction! I can stop any time I want!) Ahem. Anyway, yesterday I spent the day catching up with a friend who was visiting from Sydney. It was a great day; she's a very dear friend and I haven't seen her in a long time. So, we did what any long-time friends would do... we shopped! I was, of course, unable to go past one of my favourite stores, Kikki.K. Oh, it's a treasure trove of things that I'm sure I need. No, really. It's like Ikea but with only stationery. God bless the Swedes.

Do I sound more organised as I'm typing this? I should - here's what I bought:

It's a bit hard to see, but it's a weekly planner 60-page notepad with 'to do' and 'to buy' sections on the side, plus a section to jot things down for next week. And then, still not feeling quite organised enough, I bought this:

It's a meal planner, which is great for me because although I'm not feeding anyone else and therefore could in theory just do whatever I like, I like to plan my meals in advance because it helps me budget and it stops me grazing on chips while I'm trying to decide what to eat.

Because I am both a stationery nerd and an organisation junkie, I am delighted with these purchases. I've even crossed two things off today's list. Clean litter tray - tick. Go to gym - tick. (Write blog post about my geekiness - tick...)
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Roller coaster

Do you ever have a day or two where so many different things happen, and they're so intensely emotional - but all different emotions - that you hardly know whether you're coming or going? Let me fill you in on the ups and downs of my personal little emotional roller coaster this week.

Friday - UP
I chatted with my counsellor and agreed that it was time to get back into some issues that had been put on hold for me whilst I was dealing with some stuff at work. This included some journal entries that I'd sent but we hadn't talked about yet. I was keen to dive into it all again and looked forward to my session on Tuesday.

Sunday - UP
I returned to church after a three month absence (long story but I wasn't in a good place and needed a break). It was great to be back.

Monday - DOWN
I have been reading a book called The Body Remembers by Babette Rothschild. Although written for therapists, and thus highly technical, it's been very helpful. On Monday I started reading the chapter on flashbacks... and almost instantly had a massive anxiety attack as I remembered some flashbacks I had had more than a year ago. It was like a flashback of a flashback, which I didn't even know was possible. It is, and it freaked me out.

Tuesday - DOWN
My counselling session was first thing in the morning and I talked about my reaction the day before. In order to explain why a 'flashback of a flashback' is indeed possible my counsellor started to tell me a story about someone becoming anxious about being anxious. The more she said the word 'anxious' the more MY anxiety level increased, until I had to ask her to stop because I thought I was going to pass out. Yeah, it was intense. After a break and some breathing exercises I felt a bit calmer and we agreed to put this aside for the moment and talk about something more innocuous and less stressful. That helped but I remained shaken by the experience for the whole day.

Tuesday - UP
After my session in the morning I met with my prayer triplet. It was both comforting and refreshing.

Tuesday - UP
I went for a two hour walk in an effort to reduce my adrenaline levels which were still high after my episode of anxiety in the morning. It was good and helped to stop some of my anxiety symptoms.

Tuesday night - DOWN
I received the news that my friend's wife had died that morning, after being diagnosed with breast cancer ten months ago. She was 40; and leaves behind her husband and two young boys.

Tuesday night - UP
After a day of suffering the effects of the morning's anxiety and feeling increasingly afraid of going back to counselling next week and having the same thing happen, I finally reached the point where I decided enough is enough. I reached for my journal and wrote the following:

After writing that I felt a lot better and far more in control. I think something vital has just clicked in my brain...

Wednesday - UP
Givinya's baby was born!

So it's been an interesting few days. Up and down and round in circles.... I'm feeling a little tired now, to be honest! Here's hoping the rest of the week is boring and dull...
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Wait, I agreed to what??

Every second Tuesday I meet with two friends to chat about our lives and pray together. It's a special time and it's been good to share the ups and downs and keep up with each other beyond, "How are you? Good? Good."

We've been meeting together since the beginning of March and in that time we've all been through various hard things as well as some celebrations. One thing we've each said consistently is that we really need to exercise more. There are various reasons for this... we all need to lose a bit of weight to be in our healthy weight range and we also each have health and/or emotional issues that could be helped by exercise. In my case, a number of factors have contributed to a significant increase in anxiety attacks in recent months. The good news (which is also the bad news) is that regular exercise is one thing that can help because it helps to burn off the large amounts of adrenaline that are produced during anxiety. It does make a real difference - I know this, and my counsellor has reiterated it a number of times. Knowing it, however, hasn't motivated me to exercise.

So today as we, in our prayer triplet, each said again that we "really should do some exercise" we decided it was time to stop talking and start doing. We have each committed to an exercise plan for the next fortnight and we're going to report back when we meet again in two weeks. My particular plan looks like this:

* Do a workout at the gym three times per week; and
* Walk to my counselling session next week and the week after instead of driving.

It looks pretty easy, right? The problem is, I haven't been near the gym in about four months and I'm not sure I can even make it up the stairs to the lockers, let alone manage a workout. And the nice little stroll to my counsellor's house for my session? Walking at a reasonable pace (faster than a stroll but not a power walk) it's going to take me roughly 70 minutes. Each way.

Yeah. What was I thinking??
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Meep Meep!

Perhaps I spend too much time on You Tube. Anyway, I loved this...

Just litter, kids. It's safer.

About three weeks ago a self-entitled, rich cow woman who occasionally parks in my work car park backed into my car and totally crumpled my right front fender. She had the hide to look down from her BMW at my little Corolla and ask, "Which bit did I do?" was at fault so her insurance covered it, but it's still been horribly inconvenient to be without a car for nine days, not to mention expensive to travel on public transport (yes, even with current petrol prices). Needless to say I was delighted today to hear that my car was finally ready to be picked up. I had to use my insurer's repairer, which is in Port Melbourne. Tricky in peak hour but hey... getting my car back!

Picking up my car required leaving work early, dashing down to the station to get a train into the city, pounding up the road to the bus stop only to find I'd missed the connecting bus and had to wait 25 minutes, a 9 minute bus ride after the 25 minute wait, and then a 5 minute walk down the road to the repairer. All up, one and a half hours. It was all going fairly well and by the time I got to the bus ride part I was congratulating myself on the fact that I'd make it to the repairer 10 minutes before closing time... AND on the fact that I'd found the right bus and knew where to disembark, being in an area unfamiliar to me. A few minutes later I saw my stop approaching and pressed the "please, Mr Bus Driver, let me off at the next stop" button. So far, so good. Mr Bus Driver, however, having only two passengers on board and a good run on the road, had been in The Zone and travelling a leetle too fast, so he hit the brakes with rather more force than usual. This caused my bag, which was on the floor, to tip over, whereupon my apple fell out and skidded to the front of the bus. The bus doors opened... that is, one of the bus doors opened. The other door stuck because there was an apple jammed under it.

I'm pretty civic minded. I don't litter; when I have gum I throw it in the bin; I sort my recycling; I give up my bus seat to those who look like they need it more than me. So, naturally, although I now had no intention of eating that apple I bent down to pull it out from under the partially opened door. Just as I did that the door became unstuck on its own and smacked me in the head. HARD. Really hard - there was an audible 'thwack'.

I staggered off the bus (leaving the apple behind) and proceeded towards my destination, mindful that I had only ten minutes to get to the repairer. Two minutes down the road I thought, "Boy, my head hurts." Yeah, well that would be because I'm now sporting a large red-and-purple lump at my hairline. Owwww. And of course ten minutes later I was stuck in peak hour with a throbbing head and a growing realisation that I might actually have concussion. I wouldn't say I'm one to panic, but I did spend part of the trip home reminding myself of the day, the date, the current Prime Minister, and how to count backwards from 100 by sevens. Also checked my pupils when I got home (contracting and dilating nicely, thank you). I was fine.

Next time, though, I'll leave the darn apple right where it lands.
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Well THIS looked like a fun game.

I left the zipper on my knitting bag open just a tiny bit - before going out for an hour...

Cloudy, but clearing

Firstly, thank you to those who commented on my last post or contacted me via email. Your care, support and prayers mean so much to me and you help more than you know.

I'm still not feeling quite up to my usual self. I think this has been building up for a little while now and this week it all rose up like a wave and dumped me on the sand. Apparently, this is called a STUG - a Sudden, Temporary Upsurge of Grief. (Where would we be without handy acronyms?) Good name, since that's exactly how it felt... and I'm always strangely comforted to hear that what I'm experiencing is normal and textbook. This is the kind of situation where I want to be boring and run of the mill.

It's been a strange week. If I'd had my way I think I would have stayed in bed all week and licked my wounds but of course I had to go to work. My emotions have been all over the place - one night I came home and cried because my letter box only had junk mail in it, another night I was almost beside myself with rage because a salesperson rang trying to get me to change electricity providers, and another night I happily did some painting and watched TV and felt pretty good for a few hours. Underneath it all, though, I've been feeling sad and overwhelmed. Not in despair but definitely struggling and unable to see a way out. My long-suffering counsellor, who deserves far more money than I can afford to pay her, has been patiently answering my emails all week, which have all been a variation on the same theme - "Tell me that this won't last forever. Tell me that healing is possible. Tell me this is okay. Tell me that I can do it. And now tell me again, please." So she told me and told me and told me again, every time I asked the exact same thing. The answer didn't change - "yes, healing will come" - but sometimes I just need to keep hearing it, and I'm trying so hard to believe it.

And now... I'm beginning to emerge from the wave. I'm struggling and I'm not free of it yet but it will come. And so will healing.
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Obscured horizon

I had a subdued counselling session yesterday. It mostly consisted of me saying, "I've been doing this for nearly two years, I don't think I'm getting anywhere, I can't see any progress and by the way this whole thing really sucks." My counsellor pointed out that I spent nearly a year with another counsellor who wasn't helpful to me, reminded me of progress I have made and agreed, "Yes, this does indeed totally suck."

I'm feeling tired and discouraged right now, to the point where I really can't see any progress even though I know it's there. All I can see are the negatives and the fears and the steps backward and the falls. I know they are not the whole picture but they loom so large on my horizon sometimes that they obscure everything else.

Yesterday I talked about how long this seems to be taking. I have had friends who were in bad places and had counselling for a while, but never for this long. My counsellor said something like, "The kind of thing you're dealing with isn't something that takes weeks or months; it can take years. You have had a lifetime of programming and it goes very deep; it will take a long time to work through it." Well. Okay. Of course I knew this - I've said it myself plenty of times - but I didn't want to hear it yesterday. Not years. I don't know why it should have made a difference... come the end of August I will have been in counselling for two years anyway and frankly I can't see myself feeling 100% fine in the next 12 months so I already know this is a slow process and will take (has taken) years. But still, there's something about hearing it that makes it real. Years. One year... two years... three years... and then??

I know there's not a quick fix. I'm not sure I'd want one, really, because I feel sure it wouldn't be a fix at all but merely a bandaid that will fall off later and leave me in a worse place than I'm in now. I'm not looking for the magic solution. I guess I'm just writing this to have a little moan. This is hard. It's slow. I can think of 500 other things I would rather do. I'm a bit overwhelmed by it all and I can't see any progress... my little flame of hope is more like a smouldering ember that's filling the room with smoke and choking me.

I'm trying to think of a hopeful note on which to end this post... something like, "I'm down but not out" or "I am discouraged but I know it will all be worth it". Even if those things are true, I don't feel them today. I'm discouraged. I am overwhelmed. I can't see the positives. And today, that is all.
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Dear Givinya...

...are you calling me a liar?? Kidding! See? Smiley face! :) But because you wanted proof...

Firstly, to show that it's just a normal fridge/freezer:

And here's the inside:

Same, but with things moved around to show the containers:

Remember, when I say I have three serves of soup, I'm talking about three serves for one person, for one meal. I could eat out of my freezer for a month. You (and your family) could only eat out of it for a week.

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The Great Freezer Challenge Part 2

Okay, I've just done a freezer inventory and I am never NEVER again allowed to complain that I have no food. NEVER. Here's what I found:

Pre-cooked meals:
Macaroni with bacon & spinach
Burrito meat x 3
Beef and lentils
Vege/lentil soup x 4
Curried sweet potato and carrot soup x 2
Pumpkin soup
Beef and rice
Pasta with red sauce
Spaghetti sauce/mince x 2

Meat:
Crumbed cutlets x 8
Sausages x 4
Steak
Crumbed fish x 6

Veges:
Mixed frozen veges (individual serves) x 3
Peas/corn/carrots x 1 bag
Frozen roast potatoes and hash browns x 1 bag each (I'm pretty sure those particular purchases were hormonally driven!)

Other:
Loaf of bread
Puff pastry
Crumpets
1/4 of an apple cake (YAY! That was a nice surprise.)
3 bananas (for banana bread)

Cat food:
Chicken necks x 3
Minced chicken frame x 4 serves

I'm ashamed to say I had no idea most of this was even there. And we're not talking about a chest freezer here - this is just the top bit of my fridge. Forget the fortnight... I think I could do the Freezer Challenge for the next month and not even have to cook anything at all for the first three weeks.

Hmmm... what to have for dinner tomorrow?
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The Great Freezer Challenge

This morning I tried to put a loaf of bread in my freezer. I couldn't do it because the freezer is full.  I'm surprised it's full because it seems I'm always buying groceries and I never seem to know what to eat or cook for dinner - and yet here I am, with a freezer full of pre-cooked (by me) meals as well as meat and frozen fish. There are even some frozen veges for when I'm feeling lazy (which is often).  How it this possible when I keep saying I need to go shopping because I don't have any food in the house?

This discovery of food in my freezer happily coincides with my decision to get super-tough with my budget. I write budgets. I write them a lot. They are detailed and reasonable and will help me to pay off my debts some time before I die. I write them but I tend not to follow them.  I don't know about anyone else but I'm finding that this method isn't really working for me on the debt-reduction front.

So, with these two things in mind, here's my challenge.  I'm going to spend the next fortnight eating ONLY things that are already in my house - for every meal, not just dinner. I have a full freezer, a full pantry and a semi-bare fridge, although there are carrots, cheese, pumpkin, eggs (but only two so this may be a problem) and even some cream cheese. I remember buying the cream cheese a week ago but I can't remember what I was going to make with it.  Hopefully I'll remember - or come up with another idea - before it turns green...

I love a challenge and I'm quite looking forward to this one. To be honest I could probably go for longer than a fortnight but I would like to eat fresh fruit again at some point (I ate the last two pieces this morning) so I'll stick with two weeks and see how it goes. My only concession to this is that I will need to buy cat food some time during the next fortnight. I haven't tried her on it but I'm pretty certain that Sophie won't eat Weet-Bix when the kitty food runs out.

Wish me luck! (Anyone care to join me??)
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Cake-a-palooza

You know how some people spend hours painstakingly creating amazing birthday cakes where every detail is perfect and it looks so wonderful you don't want to eat it? People who make cakes like these ones?

Nice, huh? As it turns out, I am not one of those people. I don't have the patience to make cakes look that amazing. I tend to leave them on the tray on which I made them; I leave marks where I wiped things off; everything is a tad lopsided ; there are drips and spills and occasionally there are fingerprints; and often I don't make the right type of icing so the cake looks just a little bit wrong. My cakes look like they were decorated by hand whilst wearing mittens.

However, the cakes I make are greeted with cries of delight by the people for whom they are made, because they know that their cakes would be equally drippy, lopsided and careless. My cakes are greeted with joy because the cakes are made with love... and let's face it, chocolate cake is chocolate cake and my mouth doesn't know the difference.

So, here are the cakes I made for home group tonight to celebrate three birthdays. The first is a cat, in honour of one friend who recently bought a kitten. She and her husband are the most over-protective cat owners I've ever met (their cat is drinking filtered water) but it's only because they love him.

The next cake was for two people, both of whom are musicians. Here's the stroke of genius - the music on the piano is actually part of one of my friend's songs. She is fairly well known in Christian circles and her songs are sung in many churches so it was easy to find her music online. I thought that was a cute touch on the cake.

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A-Z of hideous murders

Lately I've been having some issues with a particular person. It's not really appropriate to say more here, but I'll just say that it's been causing me a fair amount of anxiety, as well as sleeplessness. I caught up with some friends today and talked about many things. One friend mentioned a technique she uses when anxiety doesn't allow her to sleep - she picks a subject (say, fruit/veges) and tries to find an example for every letter of the alphabet.

Apple
Banana
Corn
D... ummm... well, you get the idea.

This seemed reasonable. I thought about it for a bit, then said, "That's good, but instead of fruit I think I might imagine 26 different ways to kill the person with whom I have the problem..." Much hilarity ensued as we tried to come up with imaginative methods of murder. It was fun and great stress relief.

Feel free to add your own ideas in the comments section.

Arsenic
Bludgeoning
Crushed by a boulder
Drowning
Elephant stampede
Fire
Gas leak
Hydrochloric acid
Igloo collapse (in case this person tries to hide out in Antarctica)
Javelin
Impaled on a Kite
Lion attack
Drowning in chocolate Mousse (well, any flavour would do)
Nail gun
Orbital sander
Paintball attack gone horribly wrong
Choking to death on Quail
Thrown into the Rapids of a River (ooh, double points)
Stabbing
Hit by a falling Tree
Umbrella
Pushed into a Vegan restaurant with steak strapped to their body
Thrown over a Waterfall
Multiple X-rays without the lead apron (well, sure, this one would take a while)
Yachting accident
Some terrible incident involving a Zipper. Or a Zebra. I'm flexible.

Disclaimer: I do NOT, under any circumstances, condone murder... nor throwing people to the mercy of angry vegans, for that matter.
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Sound of Music stunt

Oh my. I think this is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. It was apparently a stunt to advertise a new show - they hadn't yet cast the part of Maria. 200 dancers and only two rehearsals.

Blergh

I'm at home today and in bed with a cold. I probably don't need to be in bed, I suppose, but I have to sit somewhere and this is as good a place as any - it's warm and comfortable and there's room for a purring kitten beside me. I have one of those hacking dry coughs that renders me speechless, and somewhat breathless, for several minutes every time I try to talk or move around too much. If I stay in bed and don't speak I'm mostly fine, although I still have a nice blocked-sinus-induced earache going on, not to mention a snuffly nose which is probably causing some horrendous snoring. On the whole, though, I'm fine and enjoying resting in my warm bed... but I have to tell you that I may completely crack it if one more person asks me if I have swine flu!

(Although now that I think about it... I have had bacon twice this week...)
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Bits and pieces

Various things that have passed across my mind and horizon this week...

*  Ducted heating is possibly the most wonderful thing ever invented. It's been COLD here. If I had a job where I could work from home I don't think I would have left my bed all week.  There was at least one night where I got into bed with a book, stuck my feet under my hot water bottle (with its fleecy cover), picked up my cup of tea and sighed happily... aaaahhhh. Wow - who knew I would turn into a little old lady so early?

*  Last night I cooked risotto for my home group (Bible study group). It was very delicious... but possibly less so after I threw in a large handful of shaved parmesan and then realised it was green. Euww! Thankfully the risotto was about porridge consistency so it was easy to scrape a layer off the top and remove it.

*  I've been watching Elizabeth I with Helen Mirren. She is sublime. Enough said.  I've also been re-watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Really, could they have found someone who looks less like a hobbit than Elijah Wood? He's far too pretty to be a hobbit.

*  My new (temporary) boss is lovely but doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'personal space'. Unfortunately I hate having my personal space invaded without invitation, which means we do this little dance where my boss comes to speak with me, I back off because he's standing too close, he comes closer because I've moved away, I back off again, he comes closer, etc etc. I suppose it's good exercise, if nothing else.

*  Yesterday my cat took her toilet fetish one step further and stood on the unopened packet of toilet paper in order to stick her head and paws right inside the bowl. As I watched her leaning in with her head directly under the bit where the water is released into the bowl I have to confess it took all my willpower not to press the flush button. (I promise that if I do succumb to the temptation I shall wait until I have my camera handy...)

*  The new Star Trek film was immensely satisfying, but I realised the extent of my geekness when the camera panned across the prow of the Enterprise and I smiled in delight to see 'NCC-1701'. Hmmm... yeah. Geeks ahoy.

*  Shopping, shopping, shopping... this week I bought three pairs of jeans for $75. Total, not each. Fabulous.  I'm also going to a favourite wool shop on Saturday and then to Ikea on Tuesday. Be still, my beating heart.

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Mars Bar Slice

Okay, eating six pieces in a row may have been a mistake... and so my loyal readers can make themselves sick too, here's the recipe:

Ingredients

3 cups Rice Bubbles (Rice Krispies, if you're in America)

3 x 53g Mars Bars (ie, the regular size, not the king size)

75g butter

1 tablespoon golden syrup

200g good quality milk or dark chocolate

Method

Melt Mars Bars, butter and golden syrup together and mix until smooth. (Note: the nougat bit of the Mars Bar doesn't fully melt but stir vigorously to get rid of any lumps.)

Stir in Rice Bubbles until fully combined

Press mixture firmly into foil-lined and greased 20cm square cake tin or shallow slice tray. (Note: it's very important to line the tray with foil AND grease the foil... no foil, and the slice stays in the tin forever. Foil but no grease, and you'll be picking bits of foil off the bottom of the slice for the next two hours. Seriously. Trust me.)

Place slice in fridge until firm.

Place chocolate pieces in heat proof bowl, melt in microwave and stir until smooth.

Spread melted chocolate over slice and refrigerate until firm.

Remove slice from fridge about 1 hour before cutting into squares with a warm knife. (Note: It's easier to cut if you turn it upsidedown on a cutting board so you're cutting into the rice bubbles, not into solid chocolate.)

Enjoy!
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Seven days inside my head

Seven days ago:

I sent my counsellor some excerpts from my journal. As soon as I hit 'send' I thought, "Sh*t. What have I done?"

I knew it was a mistake.

Six days ago:

I re-read what I sent my counsellor. I then emailed her and said I thought I might be coming down with something and probably wouldn't be able to make it to my session next week. (She knows me well enough now to ignore this...)

I thought it was a mistake.

Five days ago:
I re-read what I sent to my counsellor. I opened my journal and read some entries I didn't send her. I flicked back through the journal and noted how many entries were really quite similar to what I'd sent. They go back a long way.

I was willing to entertain the idea that maybe it wasn't a mistake.

Four days ago:
I re-read what I sent to my counsellor. I remembered previous counselling sessions where I'd left feeling annoyed with myself because I'd tried to talk about what was going on inside me but just couldn't get the words out.

I began to think it wasn't a mistake.

Three days ago:
I re-read what I sent to my counsellor. I remembered previous counselling sessions where I took my journal with me but left it in my bag because I didn't have the courage to read it aloud.

I thought it wasn't a mistake.

Two days ago:
I re-read what I sent to my counsellor. I tried to imagine what my next counselling session would be like. I wrote in my journal, "I still expect it to be hard to talk about these things, but I'm glad [counsellor] has those journal entries."

I knew it wasn't a mistake.

Yesterday:
I re-read what I sent to my counsellor. I thought again about the sessions where the words were stuck inside me. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I knew that a bigger mistake would have been to keep those journal entries to myself.

Today:
I re-read what I sent my counsellor. My counsellor read some of it back to me. We talked. I was right... it was hard. These things go deep and talking about them will be hard for a long time. But... that's okay.

It was not a mistake. I did the right thing. I'm glad I did.
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Should I be offended?

Should I be offended when my cat feels the need to clean herself for twenty minutes after I pat her?

The decisions to be made when you're a cat.  Sleep all afternoon?

Or spend some time playing with all your toys?

And then there's the pic below.  I can't work out whether Sophie has a toilet fetish or she's just a huge nosy parker. Every time I turn on the light/exhaust fan in the toilet she comes running from wherever she happens to be and sticks her face in the loo. I often have to push her away in order to sit down and even then she meows at me, pats at me with her paws and tries to get me to move. I have to say this occasionally puts me off my game...

As soon as I stand up she sticks her head back in the bowl, then looks up at the button, waiting for me to press it so she can watch it flush. It's like her own personal Better Homes and Gardens water feature.

No... my cat's not weird. Really.

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It's a great relationship that we don't have

The counsellor/client relationship is a strange beast. I've been seeing my current counsellor for about 10 months and I'd say we have a great relationship... except technically we don't really have a relationship at all. Well, we do, but how do you define it? We're certainly friendly, but we're not friends - we don't have coffee or go shoe shopping together. (And if we were friends she really shouldn't be my counsellor.) It's a professional relationship... and yet this woman knows far more about me than any of my friends. She probably has a better insight than anyone I know into my fears, my hopes, my insecurities, my anxieties. Sometimes we talk about things that make me horribly uncomfortable or highly anxious - conversations I wouldn't dream of having with my friends - and although it's often difficult to talk about these things I always feel safe to do so. I trust my counsellor with the fragile and raw things within me; and she has seen me at my most vulnerable.

I'm pondering this tonight because today I emailled my counsellor some entries from my journal. Now, I've seen plenty of chick-flicks and I know that you should never let anyone see your diary. It always ends in tears (or in wacky hijinks, if it's that kind of film). And yet here I was, happily sending off portions of my diary - my DIARY! - to a woman I didn't even know a year ago; a woman who is paid to chat with me; a woman who seems to care about me but who is not a friend. It's really rather strange, when you think about it.

Still, my counsellor is great... and I'm happy to say that we have a wonderful non-relationship. :-)

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Truth

It's been one year and nine months since I first started counselling, and almost exactly one year since I started to understand the extent and impact of my brother's abuse. I have had weekly sessions during that entire period, apart from a period of about three months when I was having fortnightly appointments. That's a lot of counselling. It's such a part of my life now that I have trouble sometimes remembering what life was like before I started. In the last few months, as I've been digging deeper into trauma that's been buried for a long time, counselling has started to feel like a bad dream. I keep thinking that I went into this feeling a little bit down and depressed and now, without quite knowing how it happened, I'm living in a whole new world. It's a world where I talk about trauma and abuse in familiar terms, where anxiety is measured on a scale of severity but is never entirely absent, where often I can't sleep because talking about things has made me unsettled and upset, where sometimes I need to curl up in bed like a wounded animal and hide from the world, where I feel intense shame for things that shouldn't have shame attached to them at all - it's a world where I live with a pain that goes so deep I don't even have the words to describe it. I never intended to enter this world. I didn't even know it was there and sometimes I just can't believe this is where I live now. It feels like a bad dream and I want to wake up.

At times I think that if I'd never gone to see a counsellor I wouldn't be in this place. I wouldn't be someone who has survived abuse. I wouldn't be anxious. I wouldn't have insomnia. I would float along happily and not be in this strange and difficult world. Sometimes I feel like I made a mistake seeing a counsellor, and that taking that step caused all these things to happen... like it's my own fault that I'm now struggling, and living in a place that's frightening and hard. These are the times when I need to remind myself of what is true.

Truth: whatever his motives, the way my brother treated me was abuse. Calling it abuse or calling it something else or even ignoring it won't change the truth. Abuse is abuse.

Truth: whatever her motives or her understanding of the situation, and even though she loves me, my mother allowed my brother to continue to abuse me. The fact that she loves me and didn't see it as abuse doesn't change the effect it had on me.

Truth: just because I didn't feel traumatised doesn't mean I wasn't. If that's my 'normal', how could I possibly know?

Truth: anxiety is not new. I've always had anxiety attacks, especially at night; I just didn't know what they were. Counselling helped me name them. It didn't cause them.

Truth: before I started counselling, I wasn't happy. I didn't feel safe. I didn't know how to trust people. I didn't like myself. I wanted a 'reset' button. I longed to escape, to be a different person, to start again where no one knows me. Counselling didn't make this happen; it just made me recognise it.

Truth: sometimes I don't know what's true, or I know it but I have no idea how to get there. I need help to see the truth and live in the truth. That's the point of counselling. It's not to make me feel terrible or to condemn me to a new and painful world; it's to help me see where I'm living and then help me move on and start to live in a better place.

And that's the truth.

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Come home, all is forgiven

Shoemaker's elves, where are you?

Rhody Garden Take Two - same place, different season

On Tuesdays I see my counsellor in the mornings. Tuesday is also my day off, which means if I'm feeling a little fragile after counselling I have the rest of the day to be nice to myself and have some recovery time. It's a good system and works well for me.

Today was a fragile day. At one point my counsellor suggested a word to describe how I feel about the thing I was discussing and it was so exactly on the money it was like she jumped into my head, had a little look around and said, "Oh, right, I see... you feel like this." (Kind of spooky, actually, but probably more so for her than me... inside my head is a strange and scary place!) Anyway, I needed some time and space afterwards, so I headed up to the National Rhododendron Garden. I was the only person in the whole place - even the lady who takes the entrance fee wasn't there; there was just an optimistic note suggesting that people place a donation in the box provided. The gardens were quiet and peaceful and lonely and just what I needed. My soul was soothed and I left there reminded that God is good.

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Easy parenting

When I was growing up my sole career ambition was to be married and have children. I know, it's not at all 'enlightened' but it doesn't matter because women's liberation means having the freedom to make choices, and that was the choice I wanted to make. 

As I discovered later, we can't always fulfil the choices we make.  I'm now 38... and a half... and the chance that I'll be able to have kids is, realistically, pretty slim. Part of that is because I'm a Christian, which means I would want to choose the marriage part before the bit where I have children. Additionally, I don't want to marry anyone who doesn't share my beliefs and that narrows the available 'pool' in a seriously drastic fashion.... but that's okay. I'm free to make these choices and I know the consequences.  And of course, even if I do get married within my potential child bearing years there is absolutely no guarantee I'd be able to have children anyway, partly because of my age and partly because... sometimes things don't work the way you hope they will.

The thought that I might not have children - probably won't have children, if I'm being realistic - is heartbreaking at times.  I have people with children say to me, "Oh, but you're so lucky. You don't have any of the pressures that we have... parents never get a minute to themselves, it's so completely full-on..."  This merely makes me want to reply with either, "So why did you have more than one?" or "I'd be happy to take them off your hands if they're such a burden and you feel so 'unlucky' compared with me."  But I don't because I know they're trying to be kind even if their kindness feels more like salt in my wounds sometimes.  Also I know that parenting IS full-on and loving your children often makes it more stressful because then there's guilt about feeling stressed. (Although I still think it's incredibly insensitive and hurtful to say to someone without kids "you don't know what it's like", but that's a blog post for another day...)

Today, though... I'm sitting in bed with a raging headache brought on by yet another night of insomnia, which was partly fuelled by anxiety.  I feel awful and I've taken the day off work.  But here's what was great about this morning - I got up, gave my cat a good morning cuddle, fed her, let her into her daytime play area and then went back to bed and shut my bedroom door.  Yes, I long to have children and it hurts that I don't... but the ability to leave my 'baby' to fend for herself, and know that she can do that perfectly well, is pretty awesome on days like today.

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Cause and effect

I'm no scientist, but I think it works like this:

Cause: Tell a couple of friends that since buying the enormous cat tree I haven't caught Sophie sleeping on the dining table (where she's not allowed).

Effect: Come home immediately after this conversation and find Sophie sleeping on the dining table (where she's not allowed).

Cause: Think about posting on my blog about my cat jumping up onto surfaces where she's not allowed.

Effect: Whilst still mulling this over in my mind, walk into bathroom to find that cat has snuck in and is now sitting demurely on vanity unit (where, of course, she's not allowed....)

Just in case I have somehow developed superhero powers that enable my thoughts to become reality, I am now thinking about winning the lottery, stopping global warming, being thin and possibly a bit taller, making low cost housing available to all and having Cadbury Creme Eggs in shops all year round. I'll let you know how it goes.

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Winter Wonderland?

Two winters ago I had mild depression and anaemia. It would take me half an hour to make my bed. I lived in a house with no heating, so I spent most of winter huddled over a fan heater and crying. I was tired and lethargic and I hated it.

Last winter I was depressed again, far worse than the previous year. It would have taken me half an hour to make my bed if I'd been at the point where I was even able to think about doing any kind of housework. I was tired and lethargic and I didn't care.

Now it's nearly June and the weather is getting cold. A few days ago I realised I was starting to slide into some pre-depression behaviours. I'm tending towards avoiding contact with people; I haven't been to church in four weeks; I'm finding cooking to be more of an effort than normal so I'm not eating well; my general anxiety levels have increased; I'm not sleeping much; I'm occasionally bad tempered and I'm sometimes having trouble making decisions.

This sounds like a bad thing, but actually it's good news... because this is the first time I've been able to recognise the signs that might lead to depression before becoming depressed. Life might still be a bit of a struggle as the weather gets colder but I don't think I'll be depressed this winter. Things are looking up.

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Rules for sci-fi television

I've had a few days off recently and it's been coupled with a bit of insomnia so I've managed to get through quite a few episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It's cheesy and the first couple of seasons are awful - I've said many times that if you can get through Season 1 of Star Trek: TNG then you can get through almost anything. It's truly craptastic. Having watched so many episodes in a row I think I've become a bit of an expert on the rules for portraying either the future of humanity or an alien race on television.

1. The Small Government Rule
The entire planet may consist of several continents and contain 15 billion people (or creatures), but it is ruled by a central government consisting of 3 or 4 people. All decisions, affecting the entire planet, will be made by these people. If the planet does not have free elections then one of the government leaders will definitely be a power-hungry dictator who is madder than a cut snake.

2. The Homogenous Culture Rule
Everyone in the future is super tolerant and PC, and accepting of all different alien cultures. There is, however, absolutely NO cultural diversity or difference within individual planets. All creatures of the same alien race will dress alike, follow the same religious beliefs and build their houses on roughly the same pattern.

3. The Tailored Savages Rule
The more 'primitive' and violent the culture, the more elaborate their cultural dress. Aliens who enjoy ripping other cultures limb from limb seem to want to clothe themselves in many layers of leather, buckles, furs, padded shoulders and sharp, angular accessories.... because when you're in a bloody, hand-to-hand battle, you want to spend 30 minutes doing up buckles and making sure your animal-talon hair accessory is straight, right?

4. The Highbrow Humanity Rule
In the future, humans have 'evolved' beyond such crass entertainment as television or movies. Fortunately, in the future there is enough classical music, literature, art and the occasional highbrow play to suit everyone. And of course these things will suit everyone since in the future we are all interested in the same things (see The Homogenous Culture Rule).

5. The Cross-Species Breeding Rule
With the advent of space travel, more and more alien cultures are meeting other interesting alien cultures. As luck would have it, most cultures are roughly humanoid in shape and almost all seem to have sexual practices and genetics that are compatible with each other. This means that virtually any alien species can cross-breed with another. The fact that this is approximately equivalent to a canary successfully breeding with a labrador has apparently escaped everyone's notice, despite the fact that everyone in the future is a scientist in their spare time. The resultant offspring of this cross-breeding catastrophe won't favour one parent or the other; they will always look like a 50/50 mix of both parents.

6. The Random Numbering Rule
At some point, all the planets across several galaxies got together (possibly at some huge intergalactic freshman mixer) and thought, "Hey, you know what? It would be really fun if we all numbered our planets as well as naming them." This resulted in a proliferation of planets named things like Earwax 4 and Wobblybutt 8. The numbers are arbitrary since no one has ever heard of Earwax 1-3 or Wobblybutt 1-7. The exception to this rule is Earth, of course. We don't need a number... we're Number One!

I'm sure there are plenty more rules... feel free to add your own in the comments. :)
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The finished product

This photo was taken inside without a flash so the quality and colours aren't great but you get the idea... this is the way the painting ended up.

Crazy Cat Lady

Cats can be expensive. Savvy businesses have twigged to the fact that cat owners tend to spend more than dog owners on accessories for their cats. Part of this is because more and more cats are being kept indoors 100% of the time, which is the responsible thing to do but it means that cat owners need to provide ways for their cat to exercise and play indoors. Dog owners, on the other hand, can take their dog out and play ball in the park. The need to exercise an indoor cat means that cat owners are usually willing to buy large and elaborate cat trees so their cat can climb and scratch. Cats also like to look out the window and sleep up high so cat trees are perfect for that.

Realising the need for large cat trees, and realising that pet owners in general are suckers for their pet's happiness, the cat tree/accessory industry is huge and stupidly expensive. There is one particular company, which I won't name, that makes a very distinctive type of cat tree. These trees are very sturdy (like, 50kg) and cats apparently love them... but the smallest ones, which are about the size of a footstool, are roughly $300. The tallest and most elaborate is $980. I'm willing to spend $980 to stop my cat dying but there's no way I'm spending nearly one thousand dollars so that Sophie has somewhere comfy to sleep. Like she'd know the difference anyway... the other day I found her asleep draped across the rungs of a dining chair in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

Sophie is an indoor-only cat, so I recognise the need for some sort of cat tree/scratching post. It will keep her entertained and exercised and, hopefully, will stop her scratching my furniture and climbing the curtains. Well, that's how it's supposed to work. She does have a small scratching post with a couple of levels that I bought from the Reject Shop, and she loves it, but it's not very sturdy and there's no way she'll be able to use it when she's full grown. British Shorthairs tend to be stocky and heavy... like a little barrel with legs. So I've been looking online and in stores and have been horrified at the prices of some things I've seen. Not only that, most cat trees are tall and narrow so a heavy cat would knock it over in no time. I was starting to despair until I stumbled across the website for Lunic Pet Accessories. Yes, I'm shamelessly plugging them because they were fantastic. Their website said they'll design a cat tree/scratching post to your requirements so I emailled them and gave a very vague description of what I wanted. They came back with a few designs, we tweaked them, and this was the end result:





















It's 130cm tall, 80cm long and 50cm wide. The whole thing (including being delivered and assembled) cost me $170, which is about $100 cheaper than anything else I saw of a comparable size, and about $200 less than anything I saw of a comparable size plus quality and sturdiness.

I'm very happy with it and Sophie loves it... but I admit there was a moment where I thought, "Hmmm... I'm buying a piece of personally designed, hand-crafted furniture for my cat."

Yeah.... I think I'll pop off now. I have to go pick up my membership card for the Crazy Cat Lady Society.

My first commissioned work...

... except I'm not being paid for it. :) I'm on the Women's Ministry team at my church and we're having a Women's Wellbeing and Wellness Day on 30 May. The fliers and other advertising for the day has a pink gerbera as the logo, so the team asked me to paint a giant pink gerbera to hang in the foyer of the church on the day.

Scary. I've only ever painted things as I felt like it; I've certainly never gone into it with any kind of plan. Hmmm... bit like my life, really. I told them I would give it a go but if I didn't like it, no one would ever see it. Given that I'm paying for the canvas and paints, they agreed that was fair. I warned them that my style is very 'hit and miss' and it might suggest a gerbera rather than look like a real flower.

I haven't finished it yet but the flower itself is pretty much done, apart from a stem. I couldn't bring myself to paint it the Barbie-style hot pink that the other women wanted so it's more purplish than pink... close enough. The colours in the photos aren't entirely accurate.

The paint colour is Matisse Magenta. It's delicious. I like Matisse colours but can't afford them most of the time so I content myself with A2, which is also a nice student quality paint but it doesn't have this yummy magenta shade - and my paint mixing skills are hopeless; I'd never be able to mix it to my satisfaction. The canvas is about 120cm high by 50cm wide. I thought about making the flower bigger to fill more of the canvas but I kind of like it as is.

So there it is - the first thing anyone has ever asked me to paint.

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Dear Hallmark, I have an idea

It's Mothers' Day tomorrow. For the past few weeks I've been seeing an explosion of sheepskin slippers, nighties, chocolates, romance novels, foot spas and other things that every mother apparently wants. In addition, there are racks and racks of cards with sentiments like, "Dear Mum, you've loved and guided me my whole life. You've made me what I am today. I can never repay you. Thank you for everything."

These are all fine sentiments and I believe it's important to tell people that you appreciate and love them. I am left to wonder, though, what happens when you don't have a great relationship with your mother. What kind of card do you send when your relationship is scarred by deep wounds that may never heal? I've searched high and low but as yet I've been unable to find a card that says, "Dear Mum, for nearly twenty years you chose not to protect me from your son's abuse and you made me believe the abuse was my fault. Now you treat me like I'm a huge disappointment to you. You've helped to make me what I am today. I can never repay you." Hmmm... can't see Hallmark going for it.

I have mixed feelings about Mothers' Day. I have plenty of friends who are mothers and I think they're doing a great job. It's not all they are but it's a large part of who they are and it's a good thing for them to know they are valued (although appreciation would be good more often than once a year). At the same time I find it an incredibly difficult day because I, and I'm sure others with stories like mine, feel a mixture of pain and guilt. I look at the Mothers' Day advertising and I feel bad that I don't have that wonderful mother-daughter relationship that is being shoved at me from all sides. Whilst it's true that my mother allowed my brother to abuse me, it's also true that she fed me and clothed me and comforted me in her own inadequate way. I doubt she'll ever understand the damage she helped to inflict upon me. Does the good outweigh the bad? Should I act as though we do have a Hallmark relationship and hope that it becomes true? Am I wrong to still remember the pain?

The reality is, there is no scale. I can't weigh up the good and the bad and see which one comes out on top. My mother, whatever her motives, contributed to some terrible pain that has left me with deep scars. I am working hard towards healing but I can't pretend the pain never happened. Equally, I can't pretend we have a great relationship now. I believe my mother loves me but I really don't think she likes me very much; and the best I can say about our relationship is that it is politely strained.

It's Mother's Day tomorrow. I don't think I'll be sending a card.
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Of this and that, and a bit of the other too

I decided it was time to do a bit of a catch-up post since I haven't blogged in a while, but I'm having trouble remembering exactly what I've been doing that has got in the way of blogging. I know there's been stuff. Important stuff. It kept me busy. Really. I just can't seem to remember any of it.

Work has been a bit better. Things are still hard but the staff team is starting to regroup and life goes on. On Monday a lovely parishioner came in with cupcakes for the staff team and on Friday another parishioner arrived with flowers for me and for the woman who volunteers in the office on Friday. In both cases it was because they thought we might be feeling a bit stressed and sad. I've tried to institute a new rule that anyone who comes into the church office must bring flowers or food but that idea doesn't seem to be taking off.

On Saturday I went to my church's musicians' camp (ie, the church I attend, not the one where I work). The fact that I went to the camp is more hilarious than it sounds given that I couldn't hit a recognisable note with a gun to my head (although really, who could?) and I can't seem to manage the multi-tasking required to sing and clap at the same time. However, I support the music pastor and music team by doing their admin stuff so they kindly invited me to the camp. I only went for a few hours but heard two sensational talks about praise - why God is worthy of praise and how we can praise him. The speaker pointed out that we don't actually need to use the word 'praise' in order to praise God. Good point ... there are many, many songs that enthusiastically declare (over and over and over) "we want to praise you, God" but never get around to the actual... praising God part. Reminds me of a friend who used to say to people, "I want to encourage you." And that was it; his entire method of 'encouragement' was that sentence. Whenever he said it to me I'd say, "Okay... fire away then. Encourage me." Unfortunately my sarcasm was lost on him.

Counselling has been mostly focussed on what's happening at work which is annoying in some ways but a good break in others. It was getting a bit intense for a while so diverting my attention to something else might not have been a bad thing. On the other hand, though, there have been a few moments of thinking, "Honestly, could I just deal with one thing at a time??"

And finally, in kitten news... Sophie is bringing me great joy and lots of laughs. The first pic below was taken just after I discovered she'd not only snuck into my room when I accidentally left the door open but she'd also realised that the bed is the place to be. I just love her "oh crap - I've been busted!" look. The other pics are just because I like them.

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Changes

I haven't blogged much recently because there has been stuff happening. My boss - ie, the minister of the church where I work - resigned from his position just before Easter. Staff were told about it just after Easter, it was announced to the congregation last Sunday, and today was his last Sunday at the church.

He is leaving for personal reasons and the family is moving back interstate to be closer to their wider family. I respect that and I think they've made the right choice. I am, however, heartbroken at their decision. It is a huge loss for the church and a huge loss to those of us who work there. A locum has been appointed and he will work part time, including Sundays, in the role of vicar whilst the church begins the long process of finding a new minister. After the last minister left it took 18 months to appoint the current... well, now former... minister. It's a process that should take a considerable amount of time. As Christians, we believe that leaders are appointed by God and are responsible for leading, caring, teaching and praying for the people under their care. It's a big deal, and as such we shouldn't go for the next person who happens to be looking for a job. We need to be prayerful and considerate... and we will be, but it leaves the church in an unsettled state. It's a difficult time; and right now is especially difficult because the resignation came as a surprise and we've had very little time to get used to it. We are unsettled and we are all very sad.

It's difficult for me too, even though I am not a parishioner of that church. I have spoken before about how much I love my job. A large part of that is because we have a great staff team. There are four of us and we work well together. It's been a joy to come to work. Now one quarter of the team has left and it leaves a hole for us. Additionally, roughly 50% of my job is just being PA to the minister... so my job will change quite a lot and I'm not sure yet how it's going to look.

If you're a praying person, please pray. This is a difficult time.
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There was one in the bed and the little one said...

I am in my bed at the moment, which is a double bed. If I could fit a queen bed in this room I'd have one, but alas, a queen bed would mean I wouldn't be able to open my wardrobe doors. As I write this I am tucked up in one side of the bed, and on the other side there are two books, two journals, a Bible, four DVDs, an envelope and two pens. Plus my laptop which is on my lap, obviously.

It's official. I can never marry. I mean, come on... where the heck would I put all my stuff?? ;-)

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Insomnia and the rom-com

Being awake at 1.20am can do strange things to my brain... like make me start musing about romantic comedies and why we like them. Why do I have these thoughts? I have no idea. I'm quite sure that the film makers didn't intend anyone to think deeply about them, but there you go. I can't sleep.

Last night I watched Picture Perfect with Jennifer Aniston. (I mean, Jennifer Aniston acted in it. I wasn't watching it with her.) I wasn't particularly invested in it; it just happened to be on. I knew from the first two minutes that Jen's character would end up hooking up with the blonde wedding video maker guy. Everyone knew it, I'm sure, despite several attempts to fool the audience into thinking that this time she wouldn't get the guy. Of course she ended up with him and it was... well, a "picture perfect" ending.

We know how romantic comedies will end. If the girl didn't get the guy it wouldn't be a romantic comedy, it would be a drama. The "rom-com", as they are apparently known, is totally predictable and largely formulaic, and yet dozens of them are made every year and they continue to bring in oodles of dough for film makers and actors alike.

I feel quite sure that no one really believes that the events portrayed in romantic comedies are the norm. We know life isn't really like that in most cases, as much as we would like to fool ourselves that it is. I know many people think that women like these films because we hope life is going to be like Hollywood, and because we believe that someday Richard Gere will serenade us through the sun roof of his very expensive car, holding a bunch of roses, and then vault out through the roof of the car and climb up the fire escape in his gorgeously expensive suit whilst holding the roses between his teeth and... sorry, where was I? Ahem. Anyway, the truth is that most women are not idiots. We don't think life is like a movie and we don't secretly hope that life will be like a movie.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I like the occasional romantic comedy simply because they're fun. Sure, I know how it's going to end but I don't know how they're going to get there. Truth be told, most of the time I don't want realism in my movies. Realistic movies tend to be depressing or frightening or mundane - because that's what real life is like. Sometimes it's sad, sometimes it's scary, most of the time it's just day to day mediocrity that can have some great times but 99% of the time it isn't film-worthy. I don't want to watch a movie about things that might very well happen in my own life. Where's the fun in that? I want silliness, I want adventure, I want ridiculous events that I know will never happen.

So here's to the romantic comedy. They're stupid, they're predictable, I will certainly mock them... but I'll probably keep watching them too.
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For Hip-Jen

No, this is NOT going to become a mushy, cutesy cat blog... but I've added these pics (including the blurry action shot) to prove to Hippomanic Jen that Sophie is not a stuffed toy but a real, live kitten. Or... she's a very well-made stuffed toy with moveable limbs.

Also, this post is evidence of exactly how long my "the cat won't be allowed in the kitchen" plan lasted. Heh. Yeah.

Kitten Day!

Sophie has arrived! I picked her up this morning and I can confirm that she does NOT enjoy car travel. For a little girl she has a very big voice and she used it for the entire 20 minute car ride home. She's been here nearly three hours and has spent most of that time wandering all over my house, checking things out and meowing loudly. She was too unsettled to sit still... and fair enough given that she's just been ripped away from her family and taken to a strange house where there are no other kitties. She's calmed down a bit now and is having a little rest beside me on the arm of the chair. I have shown her the litter box but she hasn't used it yet... I'm hoping that just means she doesn't need to go right now...

Here are some pics...

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Hard work

Counselling has been hard lately. Really hard. I'm not going to talk about the details here (and really the details aren't important to share) but let's just say that dredging up feelings that have been buried for more than a couple of decades is hard work. It's necessary work and it's a great step towards healing, but it sure hurts.

I'm feeling sore and fragile and as a result blogging is likely to fall by the wayside for a bit. (At least, intelligent blogging is likely to fall by the wayside - I expect that blogging about trivial stuff like my bubble bath will still happen!) Anyway, please bear with me...

Bubble, bubble...

It's entirely possible I may have gone a bit overboard with the bubble bath...

As it turns out I also misjudged the hot-to-cold ratio, as I discovered a minute later when I put my foot on and nearly scalded the skin off it. Still, it ended up being a very relaxing bath. :)

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Turkish delight

Today I went with a friend up to Olinda, in the Dandenongs. It is a lovely little spot up in the hills with some delightful crafty shops and tea houses. We found a new shop called Treasures of Istanbul, which was loaded with the most wonderful hand-painted Turkish plates and bowls, as well as rugs, bags and some truly outstanding lamps. The guy who owns it has just moved to Australia to be with his Australian fiance so the store is fairly new, but he seems to be doing okay. My friend and I could have spent hours in there - not to mention thousands of dollars, if we had that kind of money.

Given that it's a new shop, and the owner has just moved to Australia, it would have been unwelcoming not to buy something, right? Right - I knew you'd agree. I bought this bag:

The photo doesn't quite do justice to the beautiful rich colours. I really love it... it makes me smile just to look at it!
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Cat bling

I went out today to look for some cat accessories for when I get Miss Sophie home. I had no idea of the world into which I am, apparently, about to be initiated. You can buy just about any piece of crap precious item imaginable for your kitty. Here are some samples:

A pet carrier, which can be worn like a handbag, for when you want to take your pet for a walk. That would be a walk where you do the walking and your pet looks out in embarrassment from the frilly pink face hole.

Of course, depending on how much your pet weighs, your shoulder may get sore. In that case, pop your little darling into the pet stroller!

What pet could be happy without a collar? You have your choice of the trendy bandana collar or, for the more sophisticated lady, a delicate jewelled number.

Your cat must have exercise, particularly if she is an indoor cat. A floor-to-ceiling cat gym should solve that problem.

And finally... what kitty household is complete without a self-flushing, self-washing cat litter box?








Poor Sophie. She's going to be horribly disappointed when she finds out her new mummy bought a plain, carpeted scratching post from The Reject Shop and will be buying an ordinary old $5 litter tray with no lid and no flush at all, self- or otherwise.
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Any thoughts on names?

I've chosen my kitty!  Fast work, I know, but I did all the research in the three weeks while I was waiting for my landlord to answer my request, so it was just a matter of ringing the breeder.

Photos are below. They're from my phone and the breeder's camera (apparently held in shaky hands) so she's hard to see but you can get the idea.  She's a seven week old British Shorthair and I'll be picking her up in a fortnight or so.

Now the important question - what to call her? Right now I'm leaning towards Sophie but I'm undecided.  I prefer human names for cat - no Princess or Cuddles kitties for me!  Any thoughts?

A new addition to the House of Femina

I'm one excited little Femina today, because my landlord has just given me permission to get a cat! I'm sure all you dog-lovers out there are saying "ugh" but I don't care.  I love the placid companionship of a cat; and as a person who lives alone it is so great to come home to a face instead of an empty house.  Yes, it's a furry face that can't talk but even so it makes a huge difference.

I'm now in the process of contacting breeders so hopefully I'll have good news soon.  I could get a stray from the pound but since I am at work four days per week I want to be sure to get a breed that copes well with being alone and won't be lonely and unhappy.  I'm looking for a British Shorthair... often called a teddy-bear cat because of their placid personality.

More news soon... :)
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Bravery

I've been meeting up with a couple of friends every fortnight to pray and chat about how we're going. It's been such a blessing to us as we've all been dealing with some major things recently and have appreciated the mutual support and love.

Yesterday when we met I talked about how I've been going with counselling. One of my friends said, "I think you're very patient and very brave." That was a lovely thing to say and I was touched to hear it (even though it doesn't feel like that from my side)... but I couldn't help thinking that I'm just a little bit over the whole bravery thing now. What I'd actually like is for someone to say, "Look, you've been very brave and you've done really well... but we'll take over from here. You go have a lie down and eat some chocolate and relax."

I don't think that's going to happen, but hey - a girl can dream!.

Perspectives

I met a new friend recently. NOT just a new friend; a fellow West Wing fan - these things are important! As it turns out we have some other things in common too, including the fact that we're both dealing with the effects of some ugly stuff in childhood. Our stories are not the same by any means but there are some common threads.

I was around at her house on the weekend to watch some West Wing... we got through half an episode (I know - and we call ourselves fans!) and spend most of the evening chatting instead. At one point my friend asked how long I'd been seeing a counsellor. I said it's been about 18 months: 10 months with Bad Counsellor and 8 months with Good Counsellor (yes, that's how they're designated in my head). My friend said, "You're amazing. You've come so far in such a short time!"

This threw me entirely for a minute. Let me give this some context... I would estimate that there are about 1 in 5 counselling sessions where I say things like I never expected to be in counselling for this long; I feel like I'm doing something wrong because my progress is so slow and half the time I feel like I'm going backwards; I feel stupid that I talk about the same things week after week and don't seem to be getting anywhere; and I feel like I'm never going to feel any different from the way I feel now. So to hear someone say I've come "so far" was surprising. It reminded me that most of the time I have very little perspective about any of this. Often I feel like I'm approaching counselling from a reactionary stance. Things come up and I talk about them; and while I'm dealing with the Crisis Of The Week I forget to look and see how the thing I'm dealing with RIGHT NOW, that seems like the only thing in the world, fits into the bigger picture.

You all know I hate using the word 'journey' in relation to counselling and healing, but (yes, I'm going to do it) I'm afraid I can't escape the fact that it IS a journey. If I don't look back occasionally at where I've been then I get caught up in the urgent and start thinking I haven't taken any forward steps at all. Similarly, if I don't have at least some idea of what 'better' looks like it makes it very hard to work towards getting there.

I don't know that I want to use the word 'amazing' just yet, but it was good to get someone else's perspective. I have a long way to go and most times I have only the vaguest idea of where I'm going anyway, but in all that I shouldn't lose sight of how far I've come.
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The living dead

Yesterday I went to the supermarket to buy something for lunch.  I admit, I wasn't looking my best.  Although it was a work day I work in a pretty casual environment so I wear jeans most of the time. I was wearing them yesterday, and my top was clean but maybe a bit slobby.  My hair was scraped back and I admit my grey regrowth should have been dealt with about two weeks ago.  Still, I was feeling okay... until I got to the checkout, where the girl serving me greeted me cheerily with, "Hi, how are you today? You look dead!"  Not "you look dead tired", just "you look dead".

I was a little taken aback but was prepared to believe I might have misheard her.  I said, "I beg your pardon?"  She repeated it more loudly, "You look dead!"  I said, "Oh."  At this point she may have realised she wasn't winning any points with me so she asked, "Umm.. have you had a busy day?"  I could have put her out of her misery but I was a tad snippy by then, so I stared her down and said, "No, not particularly."

Strangely, the conversation ceased at that point...
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What a bunch of losers

Yes, it's that time of year again - Biggest Loser season.  I confess, I am addicted to this show.  No, not for the inspirational stories of people working on the issues that made them put on weight in the first place; I am addicted to it because it's SO bad that I can't look away.  It is the train wreck of train wrecks.  Where they find these people I have no idea but, apart from the occasional delightful person (who is never the winner), the Biggest Loser house is filled with the fish that John West Big Brother rejected.

I believe their most endearing quality is their naivety.  I'm going to have to assume they've seen the show before in order to have applied, yet still in the first week they say things like, "We all went into the weigh-in room and I couldn't believe that we'd have to weigh ourselves! I've never revealed my weight to anyone - not even my husband!"  Seriously, you didn't realise you have to weigh yourself on a weight loss show?  And you didn't want to tell your husband your weight but you're okay with revealing it to thousands of strangers on national television?

The first week also sees the contestants expressing shock that they've been asked to exercise.  Anyone who's seen even a snippet of the show knows that there are crazy-eyed trainers who make people exercise until they vomit (which is then filmed in slow-mo for the enjoyment of all) yet they still say, "I thought they'd go easy on us in the first week because we're fat."  Yeah... your weight is kind of the point, here.

My favourite type of contestant is the one who forms an alliance in the first week but isn't smart enough to work out that the alliance is not in their favour.  This year it's a 'couples' format, so there are sisters, brothers, married couples, best mates, workmates etc.  The brothers team is made up of one scheming, obnoxious, arrogant brother who, as we saw last night, will screw over his own brother to be in control; and one younger brother who follows his big brother around like a puppy and thinks the sun shines out of his... ears.  They are clearly getting the 'villian' edit from the producers but I get the feeling it's pretty justified.  The thing is, though, these boys are powerhouses.  They are incredibly strong and determined to get their own way so at the moment they're pretty much unstoppable.  Early on they formed an alliance with the 'sisters' team, which was comprised of two lazy, whiny, unpleasant girls who appeared to have no clue what was going on but thought they were smarter than everyone else.  They're also the lightest people in the house, which means they have virtually no chance of winning the show.  They formed an alliance with, you guessed it, the brothers.  They kept saying, "They've promised to take us through to the finale."  It apparently never once occurred to them that the brothers would want to take the weakest, lightest couple to the finale so they can beat them.  Thankfully the sisters won $10,000 in a challenge last week and coincidentally decided they'd had enough of, you know, exercising and eating right, so they asked to be voted off.  They were.  Bye, sisters - it was fun to hate you but I'm happy not to see your miserable faces on my TV anymore.

The producers of this show apparently think they're targeting it to the Alzheimers demographic, so they constantly replay what we just saw, like, 45 seconds ago.  And in case we missed the replay they show two or three interviews with contestants where they commentate the thing we've already seen twice.  So most nights go a little bit like this:

Shot of Contestant 1 walking into the kitchen and finding a letter on the table addressed to the contestants.
Contestant 1 (interview): I walked into the kitchen and saw a letter on the table addressed to the contestants. I had no idea what to expect.
Contestant 1 (live): Hey guys, come into the kitchen. We have a letter.
Contestant 2 (live): We have a letter? Who's it from?
Contestant 2 (interview): Yeah, Contestant 1 called us into the kitchen and said there was a letter addressed to us.  I had no idea what to expect.  I asked who it was from.
Commercial break.
Contestant 1 (interview):  So earlier today I walked into the kitchen and on the table was this letter. I didn't know what to expect, so I picked it up and saw it was addressed to the contestants.
Replay of footage of Contestant 1 walking into the kitchen and finding a letter on the table addressed to the contestants.
Contestant 3 (interview):  This morning Contestant 2 came upstairs and told us that Contestant 1 had found a letter in the kitchen. And it was addressed to us!  I didn't know what to expect.  These things are never good news.
Footage from last week showing another contestant finding a letter in the kitchen.
End of episode.  Tune in tomorrow for a rehash of everything we've just seen... and if you're lucky they might even open the letter.

Ah, reality TV.  You turn my brain to mush and make me want to put my foot through the television... yet how I love you.
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Canine comfort

I written before about my fear of dogs (particularly the Big Black variety) and it's a real fear... but I realised today that I've never told you about my dog Fred.

Fred came into my life on my fifth birthday as a gift from one of my brothers. At the time I was only a little bit bigger than Fred, but I wasn't afraid of him. I couldn't be afraid... Fred looked like this:

In truth, even as a child I was never really one for stuffed toys or dolls. I would much rather have read a book than played with a toy or doll (although I am still jealous of my friend Vicky who had the most amazingly wonderful doll house I've ever seen in my life). With Fred, it was different. I loved him. I still don't really know why - being so long and kind of flat he wasn't cuddly like a teddy bear. He wasn't cute. I always thought his expression was rather sad, actually, and there were times when I made up tragic stories to account for why he looked so sad and serious. Nevertheless, I just loved him. I didn't carry him around... in fact I'm not sure he ever left my bedroom except for the time I made a train out of cardboard boxes and took him for a ride around the dining room... but I slept with him for years. He heard all my secrets, all my joys, all my sorrows. He was soaked with my tears more times than I care to count. When I was angry and frustrated I threw him across the room and told him I hated him, but he always forgave me. He's that kind of dog.

When I grew too old to sleep with a stuffed toy he was demoted to the end of my bed. He kept my feet warm in winter and kept guard in my bedroom when I wasn't there. My other toys were put away, thrown out, given away or forgotten, but not Fred.

Today he lives on a shelf in the wardrobe in my spare room. He is filthy and has a couple of holes that leak stuffing if he's handled too roughly. I'm afraid to wash him in case it finishes him off. I don't bring him out of the wardrobe. I don't think about him at all, really. Today I mentioned him to someone and it prompted me to drag him out and have a look at him - and I remembered what a comfort he was to me when I was a child.

So thank you, Fred. You're a smelly, mangy old thing but you got me through some hard times and I don't think I could have done it without you.

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Gold star!

For some time now I've been telling my counsellor that I should be awarded a gold star when I have a good week or do my homework or get things right (even though "there are no right or wrong answers here"...heh). Her response was that she had mysteriously 'lost' her gold stars (uh huh); and later she said it was time to start visualisation therapy - "I want you to picture a great big gold star"!

I tried to keep faith, but eventually I had to admit it. There was no gold star. Well, I guess that's okay. I knew I could learn to get by in a world without gold stars. Sure, a little sadder, a little wiser, but life goes on. I learned to live with it.

At the back of my mind, though, there was still a tiny little whisper. "Maybe there is a gold star..." And today, that tiny whisper became a shout...

GOLD STAR!!

(Of course, if my counsellor thinks I'm going to shut up about the gold stars now she's going to be terribly disappointed....)
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More painting

Here's what I've been up to lately. They were leaning against my couch when I took the pic so they're a little crooked but you can get the idea.

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Nothing to see here

I don't have anything particular to say and I don't feel much like blogging for the moment but I thought I'd send a postcard to let you know I'm still alive and well in Blogland.

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Using the 'A' word (no, not that one...)

I had a coffee today with a friend and talked to her a bit about my history with my brother. She knew I had some history of trauma but didn't know what it was. As I was talking I used the 'a' word - abuse. (I had to stress that it was not sexual abuse, because sadly it is so prevalent that people tend to assume that's the only thing 'abuse' can mean.) We chatted for a bit and my friend asked questions like, "Did your parents have any idea?" and "How long did it continue?" I said it went on pretty much until I left home at age 20, when my brother was 26. My friend said, "He was 26? Oh, well that's abuse."

This made me pause. Hadn't I just said it was abuse? It's not a word I use lightly and it's one I took a long time to accept. I danced around it for ages, calling it teasing, bullying, being picked on - anything but abuse. Abuse is for real and it's serious. Teasing can be forgotten; abuse requires healing. It's a big deal. I know it's a big deal and that's exactly why I don't use the word lightly. I was therefore surprised that my friend didn't see it as abuse until it met some criterion in her head. My brother was still doing what he did when he was in his twenties and that, according to her, is what makes it abuse. So does that mean it wasn’t abuse when he was 13 and gave me a black eye? Was it abuse when he was 17 and told me I was fat and ugly? When he was 12 and stole my colouring book so he could draw a thick black line through every page except the one with the picture of a witch, which he meticulously coloured in and then labelled with my name... was that abuse? Was it abuse when he was 12 and 14 and 17 and 19 and made me cry, then mocked me for days afterwards because I cried?

I have agonised over this. I spent weeks with my counsellor questioning whether abuse was too strong a word, and weeks later I went through it all again, and I may well go through it again at some point in the future. One of the reasons I have hesitated is because I know there are people who’ve suffered terrible abuses that make my experiences look like a Sunday treat. While I have struggled there are others who have decided the struggle is too hard and they don’t want to continue. I don’t compare myself with those people... and yet at the same time I do. Our experiences are vastly different but the result of our experiences is the same. My reactions, my fears, my thought processes, my insecurities, my recovery process – they are all typical of someone who has been abused. Not someone who has experienced X-level of abuse; just someone who has been abused.

I should not have to explain why my experience counts as ‘real’ abuse. Yes, abuse is a big word. I cannot tell you how much I wish I never had to use it – but when I do, please don’t make me feel like I have to defend myself. It WAS abuse even if it doesn't fit your idea of what abuse looks like.

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Devastating

**Update**  I've removed the photo of the CFA worker giving water to a koala because it's now being sold to raise funds for the CFA.  You can buy a copy by clicking here.

Images are from here

Grant application

In 2007 I started an Honours year at uni - which I ended up having to defer indefinitely due to some health issues, but I might get back to it eventually. While I was still there I was struggling financially to the point where I thought I'd have to drop out for a while and find a full time job. My supervisor encouraged me to apply for an Equity Scholarship. This was a $2,000 one-off payment to people who could demonstrate that their current situation was having a detrimental effect on their ability to study. I had to fill in an application form and explain my current circumstances (basically a begging letter). I filled in a proper application but I also wrote the following and forwarded it to my supervisor ask if she thought it would be suitable...

Poverty can be a cow
I'm sure you understand
But it seems you're getting sick
Of students holding out their hand

I know you need good reasons
For handing out the dough
Well, you'll want to give me money
When you hear this tale of woe

I always do my homework
Except for when I'm slack
But it's hard to sit and type
With this sore and twisted back

I can dimly see the teacher
So my eyesight seems okay
I think I need new glasses
But I don't know how I'll pay

My hearing's causing problems
I can't hear people speak
Lip reading's proving handy
But it doesn't help in Greek

I don't want you to worry
If I don't appear one day
I can't get out of bed
But the doc says I'm okay

I went to do some shopping
But my car broke down again
I tried to write a cheque
But I couldn't find a pen

My shoes are torn and tattered
And my clothes are wearing thin
Though I found a nice warm jacket
While rifling through the bin

My kitchen cupboard's looking bare
With neither jar nor box
I really need some money
Or I'll have to eat my socks

I have a limp, a leer, a squint
My hair falls out in clumps
The doctor checked my heartbeat
And said it rattles, skips and jumps

A scholarship would help me
It couldn't make things worse
And it will save you from the pain
Of this dodgy rhyming verse

I didn't send the poem but I did get the scholarship, as well as a $3,000 merit scholarship - to which, frankly, I wasn't really entitled. My marks were very good but they need to be exceptional for that scholarship. My wonderfully supportive supervisor had a hand in that although she wouldn't admit to it.

I still wonder what would have happened if I'd submitted the poem...
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Write it down

It's a curious thing that on paper I earn more than enough to pay all my bills, make payments to decrease my credit card debt (yay for four years of being a student) and buy the occasional treat... yet at the end of every month I seem to be penniless and in more debt, with no new possessions to show for it.  Similarly, I'm often heavier at the end of the month even though I have no recollection of eating that bucket of lard.  Clearly, I am either suffering major memory loss every month or I'm simply not paying attention.  My money, if I had any, would be on the latter - although of course one of my grandmothers did suffer from Alzheimer's disease so I may be wrong.  Hang on.... what were we talking about again?

In an effort to keep things from dribbling out of my head and sliding into the gutter I have made February "write it down" month. I am writing down everything I eat (even the little bits that slip in while cooking) and everything I spend.  This came about from two separate events. One was from chatting with my counsellor about trying to lose weight and she told me this truly horrifying statistic - 95% of people who decide to start a diet actually put on weight.  This bears repeating - ninety-five percent of people who decide to start a diet put on weight.  (Actually I may not have those details exactly right because I fixated on the 95%, but it was something like that.)  Of course this is largely related to use of the word 'diet' and to food restriction. She was trying to illustrate that merely restricting food intake is woefully inadequate if there isn't a change in the way we think about food and ourselves.  She also said that people who spend a period of time writing down everything they eat - and doing it 100% honestly - often end up losing weight because they become more aware of 'thoughtless' eating (and are sometimes shocked to realise how much they've really been eating) and more aware of what triggers will cause them to eat the wrong things or comfort-eat.  They can then start addressing those issues rather than trying to restrict their food intake and failing miserably next time they have a bad day.

The second event was when I went to a local shopping centre with some friends after church on Sunday. It's a bit of a ritual; we head down there most Sundays for lunch.  I bought a sandwich, then a little later I bought a coffee, then after we'd gone our separate ways I did some grocery shopping and bought a bottle of water to drink while I was shopping.  Right there was about $12 spent. It's not a huge amount but the problem is it's too easy to add a coffee and a bottle of water to lunch and not even factor it in. Half the time I don't even remember it.  Those annoying little coins in my purse are FAR too easy to spend, and with $2 coins being so tiny, it's easy to be carrying quite a bit of money in coins... and just as easy to spend it without realising how much was there in the first place.  (In a similar vein, I once bought a smallish money box and filled it with every $2 coin I received as change from shopping. A few months later I had saved four hundred dollars, just by clearing my purse of change every now and then.)

So I hereby launch Write It Down month. I have a notebook especially for the purpose. I did consider going to Officeworks to buy a new notebook but realised the irony of that action. In any case, I received this notebook (in the 'cups' design) for my birthday last year.  It's perfect for the job.

Three days down, twenty five to go. Wish me luck!
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Murray lives!

I knew my boy would recover...



















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So... God is real

Last night I went to church. Normally I go to one of the morning services but occasionally I also go to the evening service, which is aimed at young adults and tends to be a lot more casual (with louder music). I like it. The sermon was about God's promises and focussed particularly on the bit in Genesis 21 where God fulfils his promises to Abraham and Sarah and gives them the son He'd promised so many years before. The person who was preaching said that the Bible is full of God's promises and pointed to little strips of paper that had been placed in the pews in front of us on the little shelf where the Bibles sit. Each one contained a promise from the Bible, so we picked them up and read them. The one that was in front of me had Psalm 34:4 - "I sought the Lord and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears." This is a pretty good promise at any time, but here's the thing: this is the very verse through which I was converted 21 years ago.

Freaky, right? But there's more. For about the last 18 months I have really struggled to pray. It's partly related to the amount of emotional energy that I've been directing towards the counselling/healing 'journey' (bleh - hate that expression) which hasn't left me much emotional energy for anything else. Mostly, though, it's been because I haven't been quite sure how to fit God into it all. I've never questioned where God was when my brother was bullying me - I am sure it made Him as sad as it made me - but I've certainly questioned where God is now. The effects of my brother's treatment of me are so deeply ingrained, and the progress I'm making to get over it seems so slow and so hard-won that I've felt like I'm slogging it out on a tiny island and God is on the mainland and can't even see me.

When I read that verse I was reminded that the God who delivered me when I was a fearful and insecure 17 year old is the SAME God. God knew everything that had happened in my life up to then and everything to come that would bring me to this point. He said to me so clearly last night, "I care about your struggles now in exactly the same way I cared about them the first time you read that verse."

There are plenty of times in my life where I've read bits of the Bible and thought, "Hmmm... that's particularly relevant to me right now" but there have also been a couple of times where God has grabbed me and said, "This is for YOU. Listen to me." Last night was one of those times.

God is real. God is good.
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I am in love...

...with my air cooler. Seriously. I want to marry it and have its babies.

I didn't expect it to cool down the room because it was seriously hot in there - and it didn't, really, but I've had it pointing at me all night and I've actually slept! At one point I woke up and had to turn it down because it was a bit too cool blowing on me (as opposed to the previous night where I had the fan blasting at me on 'high' and I was still waking up constantly feeling all sweaty and fevered).

The other good thing is that it doesn't use nearly as much water as I feared. It has an 8 litre tank and after running constantly, although at various speeds, from 7pm last night to 9.30am today the tank is still half full.

This is true love...

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This is what a heatwave looks like

At least, it's what it looks like at my place.

Crispy snow peas

Burnt strawberries...









...and capsicum

And Murray the house plant looking very sorry for himself (and this was after I gave him a very big drink of water).

I can't believe I won the Rodent War but lost against the forces of nature! Actually most of the plants were at the end of their fruiting season anyway, and those that weren't will recover, so it's not too bad. But here's the really amazing story. I went to pick some cherry tomatoes and found that a few of them, although only half ripe, felt a little squishy. I came in to put them in the 'ripening bowl' on the windowsill, and removed the ones that had already ripened. Some of those felt a little squishy too. I ripped one in half and it looked fine, so I bit into it. And then I realised (I swear this is true) that the tomatoes have been COOKING on the vine, and on the windowsill after I picked them.

Yeah. It's been hot.

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I am a little calmer now...

...because I bought an evaporative cooler. The air is not as icy-cold as an air conditioner but it's about ten thousand times better than sitting in front of a fan that's pushing hot air towards you. Last night I went out to the shopping centre because it was cool there, and when I came home and walked inside I started to cry because the air in my house was considerably hotter than outside (and it was already uncomfortably hot out there). The air from the fan honestly felt like the air being blown from a heater, but leaving it off was far worse. While I was at the shops I went into a few stores in the vain hope that they might have an air cooler for sale but I was out of luck. Most had lots of fans and a couple of portable air conditioners, which are out of my price range and aren't really that effective.

I resigned myself to waiting out the heatwave, but after another night of sweating, feverish nightmares and waking up every hour or so I decided I couldn't wait, even though the so-called cool change is meant to come tonight. We're still in for another week of temps over 30. So, I went onto eBay. There were lots of evaporative coolers, and lots in drivable distance - but the bidding was OUTRAGEOUS. Clearly, people are desperate so they're all bidding past the price of a new cooler just to be sure of securing one, because a second-hand cooler is better than no cooler at all. I can attest to that.

I bid on one but it went over my limit very quickly. I thought I'd either miss out on a cooler or have to pay more than I wanted when lo and behold, I saw one with a "Buy It Now" price of $60. ("Buy It Now" means you can bid, and hope that you get it cheaper than the Buy It Now price, or simply pay the asking price and know you'll get the item.) I think it had only been listed for a couple of minutes when I saw it. I didn't even hesitate; I knew I'd never get it for that price at an auction. There's actually an identical one on eBay now and the price is up to $60 already - it's had 35 bids and there's still 18 hours to go. The one on which I'd bid originally is up to $102.50. (**Update - it sold for $120 after 28 bids.) The one I bought is only about a year old but it's still second-hand - you can buy these things NEW for $100. Madness!

Anyway, so now I have the cooler. I no longer want to cry and I'll probably stop swearing too. I can't guarantee I'll stop having ice cream for dinner.

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Kill me now

It's 10.25pm and it's 36C degrees here in Melbourne (that's 96.8F).  We're expecting three more days of temperatures over 40C (104F).

I don't have an air conditioner in my house.

The fan is not cutting it.

*sob*

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Bloggiversary

This week is my three year bloggiversary. (There are many ways I could have spelled that word... I liked bloggiversary the best.)  I'm not sure of the exact date because I've done a few clean ups and deleted entries, including the first one I ever wrote, but I know it was some time in the last week of January, three years ago.  I also reached 300 posts a few days ago but I didn't notice at the time so I didn't blog about it.

Much to the relief of many, I'm sure, I'm not going to write 300 things about myself, but since it's a three year anniversary of blogging I thought I'd go with a "three" theme for this post. (Note: anything that starts "three favourite..." is likely my three favourite whatevers today.  "Favourites" can change drastically depending on my mood.)

Three strange body facts:

1. My second toes are longer than my big toes
2. I can't whistle
3. I am so completely right-hand dominant that I can't hold a full coffee cup in my left hand unless I concentrate very hard; and I have never been able to carry a handbag on my left shoulder.

Three favourite dead musicians:
1. Ella Fitzgerald
2. Cole Porter
3. Dinah Washington

Three embarrassing moments:
1. Complaining at length about a colleague and turning around to find him behind me.
2. Stepping in blue paint in Grade One and having to be carried out to the grass so I didn't walk paint all over the floor. (In hindsight, why didn't the teacher just tell me to take off my shoes?)
3. Asking my mother to take me to the hospital because I swallowed my chewing gum.  (She kept telling us not to swallow our chewing gum but never said why. I assumed it was because it would be fatal or at least very bad for me. Hey, I was 6.)

Three favourite Christian songs:
1. Blank Blue Sky by Nicky Chiswell
2. Angels Wish by Steven Curtis Chapman
3. Happy Day by Tim Hughes

Three habits:
1. I remove all jewellery as soon as I get home.
2. I never leave the house without a bottle of water, a notebook and several pens.
3. I read while sitting on the toilet.

Three things that irritate me:
1. People who drive all the way up the inside when they know their lane is ending and then try to force their way in instead of being polite like the other drivers who put their blinker on earlier and wait to be let in.
2. People who use the phrases "I tell it like it is" or "I'm just being honest" as an excuse to be horribly rude to others.
3. Wearing jeans while driving and developing a wedgie part way through the trip - seriously, try to extricate your undies whilst sitting down and wearing jeans AND trying to drive. It requires contortionist skills that I simply don't possess.

Three movies that I watch because they make me smile:
1. The Sound of Music
2. Calamity Jane
3. Little Women (any version but particularly the June Allyson version)

Three books I have read over and over:
1. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
2. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
3. The Eyre Affaire by Jasper Fforde

Three things I'm glad I bought:
1. My super-comfy bed
2. My menstrual cup
3. All seven seasons of The West Wing

Three things I don't possess, but wish I did:
1. A nice singing voice and/or any musical ability at all
2. A house
3. Confidence

Three reasons I like blogging:
1. Writing about bad things helps me to deal with them
2. Writing about good things means I get to enjoy them twice
3. I have met some wonderful people

I can't think of any more 'threes' right now so that's it for my bloggiversary post.  Thanks for joining me on this ride!

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Less-than-subliminal messaging

Clearly the government's message about water conservation/Target 155 has started to sink in. Well, after more than ten years of drought I suppose it had to sink in eventually. I realised just how well it had sunk in tonight as I watched an episode of NCIS** on DVD. Two of the characters were investigating an abandoned house. There was a camera shot out the window from inside the kitchen, which showed the kitchen tap leaking... drip, drip, drip. I looked at it uncomfortably and thought, "Oh dear - all that water being wasted!"


**I am, by the way, rapidly becoming addicted to NCIS. I borrowed the first three seasons from a friend and... well, you may not hear from me for a while, that's all I'm saying.

The Greenhouse Effect

Firstly, thanks for your kind words in response to my last post. I'm still feeling a delicate shade of pale blue but at least that matches my eyes.

Now, back to the vegetable obsession temporarily. Last night I had friends over to my house to dinner and as we sat around in a contented haze of post-burrito repleteness I lamented the fact that my vegetable garden is being eaten by beasts unknown. I casually said, "What I really need is a lean-to greenhouse, only made with screening instead of perspex. I can't get one though because they're hugely expensive and I'd have to get it custom built since I have such a tiny space for the garden." The husband-half of my friends said, "Well, I could build it for you. It would be easy. Where's your tape measure?" Apparently, he builds stuff. I had no idea. Before I knew it he'd measured up and drawn plans. Wow!

It will look a little like this one, only without the sloping roof, and of course it won't come out so far from the house because I only have one metre to spare. I expressed concern that it might be a problem that I rent (and therefore can't undertake any building projects) and he said, "Don't worry, it will be attached to the house by two tiny screws and when you move you can dismantle the whole thing and you won't even be able to see where the screws were."

I am SUPER excited about this. He estimates it will cost about $200... as opposed to the $900+ dollars for the cheapest commercial one I could find. It probably won't happen for a couple of months but I'm content to wait... and in the meantime I'll start planning my winter garden.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - my friends are awesome.
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