Icons: a new poem.

Icons

May 1^st 2012

My heart and mind

are full of icons

cocks and angels

be still

I

have not yet

had my fill

I’m a good girl

I promise you that

Sporting Christ on my coat

and the Goddess in my hat

I look out at that green

It will swallow me

Like a big mouthed whore takes a man

Coins of energy coil along my thighs

Inside I am all soft

The whole valley fills me with love

Bow down now

Take your fill

Open your mouth

I’m sure you’re a good boy

And that you’ll promise.

  

My cat likes Bowie, and shit, The 10th of May ...

     Video of my wee beast enjoying a bit of Bowie. 

Okay, so you may recall that I knew the 10th of May was significant for reasons beyond my doctor's appointment (ADD or not, we'll find out). I thought, is that my long-absent adoptive father's birthday, or mother's day, or some kind of historical event? As it turns out, it is of course the date for Julie's operation.

Julie is Lisa's older sister and she's got what was first pronounced an inoperable brain tumour. That was a year ago, and they're now saying that if they don't operate then she'll definitely die. It can go either way with an operation though. Hardcore. So that's what's happening on the 10th of May. I'm not sure what the results are supposed to be if the operation is successful. If she lives, what will her quality of life be?

I'm taking forever to unpack. On the upside, I've had great company over the last week. I saw Peter on Wednesday and we went for a jaunty walk, then Andrew on Thursday, and then I caught up with the Painter on Friday. I was pretty nervous about catching up with the Painter. 

Even though I felt all fine the last time I saw him, I did want to be honest. The truth is, I want to be friends with this person even though I was horribly hurt. I really want to live what I say I believe, and I do believe that heart felt forgiveness (and not the sort that makes someone 'wrong' and 'guilty' in order to elevate one's own ego and desire to be 'right') is the only way forward. I also wanted an apology, not expressions of his own self-pity, and when he understood what sorry was to me, he was able to look at me and deliver. I really appreciated it. Sure, some might say I'm just too soft, but look at what happens to people who are hard. They're no fucking fun!

With the unpleasant business of feelings and truth bought up and dealt with, I can honestly say I think there is a good chance to have the sincere and silly friendship with this guy that I was supposed to have had. 

Saw Marconi Receiver last night, Tam's band! Really really good, so incredibly proud of her and all the work she's done. The whole band just kicked it in the head, they sounded so sweet and good. I was smiling the whole time. 

Me and Tam


So darlings, remember, apologies aren't hard, manners are hot, music is necessary and marmite will return.

xxxx

ADD, Coffee, Work ... and reading.

My heart is beating too fast. I really haven't had that much coffee have I? Just two strong ones to start the day, then a couple of instant ones at work. 

Was talking to Andrew, (aka Sexy Ex) about ADD again. He hadn't even researched it but said "oh I predict that when you go to the doctor he'll say you're very mildly ADD". Ok then Doctor Andrew, we'll see. He sort of had to concede I might have a point when he looked at the symptoms though. 

The appointment isn't until the 10th of May. Is that a significant date? Mother's day or May Day or something?

Oh anyway, coffee. I'm expected not to have had any for five days prior to my appointment. The thought makes me a little nervous. I looked up coffee and ADD (Peter has a friend who lives in Scotland, a place where ritalin is banned, and she gets by with her ADD by dosing up on coffee) and it's common for ADDers to be big coffee drinkers. Keeps the mind a bit more organised, at least for a few hours anyway.

I also wonder how much of this confused order in the brain (apart from hyper-focus) contributes to depression and exhaustion? 

I remember ticking 25 out of 30 ADD symptoms on this list when I was 19 years old and deciding that I would just give it over to God to take care of. I may not see 'God' in the same light (or darkness) as I used to, but perhaps a good whack of medication could be my miracle? People are so fucking freaked out by medication. I trot out the same line every time

 "so if you broke your leg, would you not get a cast put on it?". The freaked out person looks at you and says

 "it's not the same thing". It's not?

I've known severely unwell people who were not on meds, and believe me, it's better that they take them. 'Mentally unwell' is such a broad spectrum, but if we don't have these conversations, how will we feel connected to others? How will we reduce our appalling suicide rate? Is mental illness a symptom of an unhealthy society? 

I recently had this woman speak over the top of me once, shouting me down, saying that I had never needed to take antidepressants (this was years ago, and they did help) and that it was all in my mind. Er, exactly. It was all in my mind. Places of pain and unrest exist and need to be addressed. Sometimes exercise, good food, dancing, meditating, painting, wanking and talking with friends might be enough. Sometimes it's just not.

Sure, doctors may be over-prescribing or not looking at other reasonable means of treating a variety of ailments, but that's not what I'm talking about. What if you have tried and tried, and you're still finding it way too difficult?

Focusing on what you love, who you love, what gives you a good old stirring in your heart or pants, that's what helps me. I am so grateful to be free of depression, and if I am diagnosed with ADD, then I can find out what I need to do to manage my life a little bit better. Oh please, please don't let the doctor tell me I can't have coffee. Shit, I have to buy some decaf and start mixing it with my real coffee so that I'm not in agony withdrawing.

I felt quite emotional today. I was trying to explain what 'admire' meant to my students. Respect and like. Or perhaps you could admire some things in a person, and not others. One student made a great joke by mistake

"I admire the New Zealand government!" she said

"You admire John Key!" and we all laughed

"Oh no no no," she said "the other one, the Helen Clark!".

One of my students has a massive bruise over one eye. She is a beautiful young woman, and she has been punched so hard in the face that the colours rising to the surface of her skin are like the brilliant hues of an expensive,  gothic eye shadow. Purple and deep grape-black. 

These women seem like (oh god forgive me, I'm going to sound so cheesey) beautiful flowers that have been allowed to grow at last. I am unashamedly self helpy and affectionate. I get everyone to hold hands and say things like

 "I'm a beautiful and strong woman, and I like who I am".

We laugh quite a lot, and yet there are sometime tears coming to the surface. Today I apologized because I got quite teary, but as I swallowed back the lump in my throat, we all started laughing again. 

It's been a really busy but good week. The new place is still a bit of a tip, and I can't get the phone working, nor is the cell phone coverage any good. I'll suddenly get a rash of texts coming at about six or so in the evening. 

A friend's band is playing tomorrow night, so that'll get me out of the woods, and tonight it looks like I'm catching up with the Painter. 

Might have a wine and attempt to do a bit of sorting. 

OOh, and I'm reading "Oryx and Crake" by Margaret Atwood at the moment. I've mislaid the other book I'm reading (a library one and bound to be mounting in fines) but Atwood's offering has me truly hooked. If you like a bit of Sci Fi without too much of the ridiculous shit in it, then this might be just your cup of tea. 

Ridiculous shit in Sci Fi: writing like this: 

"Zerne looked sideways at the Xyloffer Brigade. It was hard to imagine what they were thinking, their absence of eyes never failed to disconcert him. MeenVo Pileese of the third Nation of Tra asked him if he wanted any moojibiii bars while he was at Cumsucker station number nine."

That sort of thing numbs me over in less than a second. 

Atwood does create a whole incredible post apocalyptic (I think post apocalyptic is one of my favourite things to say) world that requires many strange inventions, but it doesn't seem gratuitous.

Well darlings, must be time to shower and stop at New Lynn Mall for a new razor and something else that begins with R. What was it? Knew I should have written it down.

Lots of love

C

New Abode!

New Abode


The Toscat is sort of leaning, sitting up next to me as I type. My back hurts, but I don't really mind. I'm exhausted, and that's okay. I'm home. I am where I'm meant to be. I love my new dwelling.


I feel like I'm in a boat because the room is narrow, yet when I look up there's a window that fills the whole end wall (just beyond all the stuff I haven't unpacked). In the morning, the light comes through that window (it sort of looks like another ranch slider until you get closer and see that the windows open outwards). Through that ranch slider like facade you see only native bush and the a few hints of other houses in the far off distance. I can walk around naked, and if someone is willing to get out their binoculars to see it, then they can go for gold.


Much thanks goes to Handsome Rob, the Sexy Ex and Da Mamma for their help in shifting all my marvelous and extraneous crap. Handsome Rob turned up with a trailer and despite having a number of other really important things going on in his life, still chose to spend hours helping me. I couldn't help but think about friendships once again, how someone can be in your life in 1992, and then shit, here we are in 2012 and it's still easy to connect with this person.


What's going on when you have a friend for many years and you didn't  recognise that they were a narcissistic, passive aggressive, self loathing A- hole ... and yet there are other friends you haven't been in touch with for a million years and then they glide back into your life so sweetly and kindly? Is that a sign that I am standing up for myself finally? That I'm not willing to be quite so understanding (ie; doormat?). I guess you can be understanding to a point, but if that point means taking abuse  (even quiet abuse, the kind that with holds love as punishment), then the point has been lost. 


Here's to the discovery of points. Ha, I'm not even making sense anymore, I'm so tired. 


Jobbie:


Teaching today was a bit ramshackle, and I haven't got a lesson plan for tomorrow. I'll get up early and do it, I'm just fried right now. I don't have enough hours, but I'm really excited about what I can do to help these women improve their English skills and build up their confidence. I just hope they don't bring their children tomorrow. Don't get me wrong, I love children, of course I do. I'm brilliant with them. But not when I'm trying to teach English to adults. Kind of hard when the mother whips out her breast and keeps feeding the demanding little beast during her English proficiency test. Another woman had this super ADHD child who was completely jacked up on sugar. The only way to shut him up was to draw pictures for him. I whispered to him as I drew, which he fortunately copied. I quite liked him when he whispered. He seemed less like the spawn of satan that way.


Oh, I'm not pregnant either, phew! I wouldn't mind popping one out if I had a consistent and committed partner etc, but it wouldn't be easy to do it in the current circumstances! Ha! Imagine that blog entry. I did wonder what on earth I'd do, and had decided I'd have managed fine, and that of course it would have been a very cute and well loved sproglet. Shit. It would have had the biggest eyes and lips ever!


The night away in Whangmata to get Nanna's ashes buried in with Robert's was really good. A number of rellies couldn't come or didn't want to, so it ended up being really intimate which was brilliant. This man we'll call Pat presided over the burial. He and his wife had known  Nanna and my Step Grandad (he also got re-buried on the same day) for about 35 years.


 It was kind of funny, because Pat talked about my Step Granddad like he was the most awesome man in the world, yet he was a creepy, violent old fuck head with a tendency to feel you up if you didn't wriggle away quickly enough. Ooh he loved a good tickle did my Grandad. I don't care, I forgave him years ago for feeling up my barely formed right breast as he shared a bible passage with me during my 11th year of life. Gave it a good old massage. He liked little breasts. Preferred them to grown ones I do believe. He had also done similar things, and worse, to both of my aunts. Perhaps my mum escaped such attentions due to the large size of her bosoms? It's all speculation now of course. Imagine asking him directly. "Grandad, before you die, I just wondered ..."


Pat was describing how great my step Granddad was with children. Ha! Yes indeed, you could definitely say he had a way with them, that's for sure. Adults thought we were squealing in delight as we ran screaming from him. I was screaming with genuine anxiety. I knew what sex was, and that was the vibe I got.


I looked over at my Aunt during some prayer in which Pat said "none of us are perfect". She was also open-eyed. I winked at her. I'm not usually a winker, but this occasion seemed to call for it. Dirty old Granddad was quite the winker. We smiled at each other. My Aunt is a fiery one. She's the sort that will just tell you to shut the fuck up if she feels the need to. I used to be really freaked out by that, but I'm not anymore. I'd tell her to fuck up too if that happened now. And then we'd hug. Maybe not right away, but we would.


Later she said that if I hadn't winked, and if the dogs hadn't come when they did, then she was about to speak up and say what she really thought about stinky old Granddad. We were  behaving for my Uncle's sake, and for the sake of Pat and his wife. Did Pat and Pattette realise that when this 'wonderful man' tickled their three year old son so much that he wet himself (a fun story they related at the graveside) that the poor kid was probably being molested when they weren't looking? Who wants to be tickled till they wet themselves? I didn't laugh. Oh how he loved children. Should really be on his little metal engraving.


The dogs came and saved the day. This other family were attending to their graves and their two amazing weird dogs ran over to explore. I called them over, and one in particular was ridiculously cute. It was a developmentally impaired bull dog. The owner ran over apologising as this amazing beast lay down on the grass by us and sort of spread eagled it's body flat to the ground. It truly looked like a stoned bull frog.We all were laughing and getting some much needed relief from all the Death, and the girl said "aw sorry, he's a bit retarded, he was the runt of the litter." I took a photo and then realised I'd left my memory card in the computer.


What was great about the graveside visit was describing Robert and Nanna. Sure, ole Granddad was a nasty bit of work, but Nanna loved him and I love Nanna. I only got to know her since Granddad died ... I think that was about 7 years or so ago. Robert was 13 (he'd be 44 going on 45 now!), but it was still good to acknowledge what I remembered of him. He was kind. He had lovely brown eyes.


Nanna had a blokey sense of humour, she was sharp tongued and musically gifted. She was cute. She was hard. She was coy. She was learning to paint in oils. She never gave up on love, deciding she would quite like to get married for a third time should a nice man come along. 


I love how people can be so very many things. Whatever is going on for you, don't stop. It's only too late when you're dead, and once your dead, you're back into the Big Endless Love and will more than likely be recycled into a new life. You won't remember it, so just focus on this one for now.


The best parts of the Whangamata weekend were swimming in the sea with my lovely young cousin, and going down to the wharf with mum on the Sunday before heading back to Auckland. My cousin is such an intelligent and sensitive soul, she's adorable.


Oh, and the sun is shining these days. Very happy about that. Bring me the vitamin D!!




xxx

Got a new Flat! Got a little jobbie! Nanna's Ashes tomorrow!

Holy full moon dogs!

My heart has been beating way too fast all day, cos it's all UNFOLDING and now I'm trying to keep up with my own life!

I went and got an amazing healing with Karen from The Healing Company last week. At least I think it was last week, my ability to measure time is not always reliable. She was kind yet professional as usual, and this time really focused on my breathing. She said I really need to breathe slowly and 'get grounded' every day, and that this takes 20 minutes, not 2 minutes. So that's what I've been doing every day since, and crisp my biscuits and bake me a pie, it's really helping. I would totally recommend her services. I always feel that something has been dealt with or revealed and feel it's a real investment in my mental and spiritual health.

Karen Reid

http://www.thehealingcompany.co.nz/

Since that visit, I found a place to live. My brand new land lady liked me and recommended a job interview at the place she works. It's an organisation that assists ethnic women in building up skills and confidence after going through women's refuge. The job is only part time, and it's low pay, but to teach English to women who have been through hell sounds exactly like my cup of tea. It was emphasised that a big part of the job is being motivational and empathetic. Done!

So now I just need another job as this one won't pay enough to live on. The universe seems prepared to deliver right now. I just have to keep breathing and meditating, then I can be the magnet for All The Good Things!

Mum and I are going to Whanga this weekend to (scatter or bury?) Nanna's ashes. Nanna's youngest son Robert is buried in the Whangamata cemetary; he died when I was 10 and he was 13. My mum never recovered from that really. You can trace my mum's 'issues' pretty clearly to that event. She'd managed so well for so long, but her little brother dying in a freak accident was just too much to bear.

This is going to be a family event, so my Aunty Noeline is flying in from Oz, my cousin Brian and his partner will be there, my Uncle Bruce and his kids, and my cousin Helga. Sort of weird because I'm not close to these people, though I do have a soft spot for most of them. A couple of them have just not connected with me at all, though I have tried. I have to respect the fact that they don't have to be close just because they're family! I wish Claire was here, and of course it will feel strange that Karen (Bruce's ex wife) won't be there. I feel close to both of them. I've decided it will be a good process anyway, a nice little road trip. Mum and I will put on CD's and sing in the car.

I can't get an appointment with the doctor who knows a good deal about ADD until May 10th! Geeze, that's a bit of a wait, but I guess I've waited all my life so another few weeks won't matter.

So, got a nice place to live, a bit of work and a Hilton cluster puff luxury pillowtop mattress topper. The latter has seriously changed my life. I feel like I'm sleeping on a warm cloud. If I get a little bit of insomnia, it doesn't seem so bad, because I'm awake to feel my cluster puff mattress topper. I ly there smiling to myself. Not like the Joker in Batman. Like a girl in a 1970's soft focus advertisment for shampoo.

Okay my little cluster puffs, go forth and do what you will!! Love Cx

I have a crush. Just a little one. Oh, and it's Easter.

So. Easter. To the left is The Easter Cat.

If you're of the Christian persuasion then I guess you might be getting your freak on with a bit of church going and crying about how great it was for Jesus to have died for you. If you're pagan you'll be into the whole renewal and fertility celebration ... cos that's what bunnies and eggs are all about!

I love Jesus, but I'm all for a bit of Pagan fun should it come my way.

Feeling a bit bloody tired today. Not entirely sure why, it's not like I've been scaling mountains or masturbating excessively. Was good having The Sexy Ex over the other day, but a Lover does not a boyfriend make.

Just finished reading a romantic comedy girl book. One of those ones where the girl is depressed about turning 30 (for fuck's sake) and always ends up with some really hot guy who is usually her best friend.

My best male friend is my ex-boyfriend, and he's 25. It's not going to end with a wedding, and neither should it. I suppose in years to come when he does marry someone who laments having to turn 30, I can be an aunt to their adorable children.

As for me, I have crush. This is not a fulfill-able crush.

This is simply a crush for the sake of feeling that thrill of desire run through

your body and soul without necessarily having to do anything about it.

You may laugh, for my crush works for Michael Hill Jeweller. MHJ is a chainstore style jewellery shop that creates a lot of stuff I would not wear. Michael used to have an accidentally amusing advertisement on TV years ago in which he would announce himself most emphatically. My friend and old flat mate Cornelius used to cry out "Micheal Hill, Satanist!" and this gave us many a moment's mirth. Ah yes, those were the days. Or perhaps these are the days.

Anyway, I went to get the latchy bit fixed on a silver chain, and lo and behold, the young man fixing it was SO NICE. In addition to being SO NICE he was wearing what might have been a wedding ring. Oh, and he's probably under 30.

I told him my theory about shop keepers needing velvet chaise lounges to recline on, how this would revolutionize the retail industry. I figure that if people in retail could relax then this would be good for customers. He was mildly amused by this, and I was in one of those moods where I was saying whatever came into my head. I imagined myself to be quite witty.

He was patient, fixed my chain, and looked at me with curiosity when I produced an Indian necklace and asked what kind of metal he thought it might be.

"What is it?" he asked

"Oh," I said

"It's a necklace ... see?" and I held it up around my neck for him to see how it sat. It's one of those ones that does up tight around the neck, then falls in the shape of a triangle pointing towards the breasts. I smiled and said all I had to do now was figure out what to wear with it. Something changed in his eyes. He could see me.

As he continued to repair my silver chain, I noticed his hands. Oh my god. Beautiful long fingers working delicately on silver, black hairs standing out on skin, masculine with a capital M. He had also gone bald young and chose to completely shave his head. With his glasses and uptight white shirt, he looked so straight you'd want to use him as a ruler. For some reason I found this quite sexy. He reminded me of a friend I fell in love with back when I was doing my degree, the same beautiful voice and amazing sweet presence.

We talked jewellery cleaner. I bought some (yeah, yeah.) He asked what kind of stone was on the necklace I was wearing. Pyrite. Fool's gold. I love you. I want to rip off your white shirt and see your dark chest hair. He showed me how bright my silver would be when I used the cleaner. Mm, fascinating. I asked his name. Goddmanit, the same name as the guy I loved sixteen years ago, and the same name as The Painter. Freaky. He asked mine.

"Candice"

"Can-dees, not Cand-is?"

"Yeah, that's how mum said it. Oh, and it means White Hot or Pure and Glowing."

He smiled again. God. Just beautiful.

"And which are you?"

"Both of course" I smiled back, and most gratifyingly, he laughed.

I walked away. I flirted! I never flirt!

I actually found that more exciting than having the super hot 27 year old throwing himself at me the night I went to Golden Dawn and got bullied by the bouncer who resembled my P addicted ex boss.

So that's my crush. Michael Hill Jeweller will never be the same. Does this mean I'm going to start buying gold gate bracelets and big silver hoop earrings? I hope not, but I certainly know where to go for jewellery cleanser.

Happy Easter lovely ones!

Jobs, Hypnotherapy, Selling shit, ADD, Getting Tidy!

Jobs, Hypnotherapy, ADD, Selling Shit, Getting Tidy.

(photo: yes, I sold the dress.)

Jobs:

Here's the latest job I won't be applying for:

You’re passionate about growing both internal and external relationships and keen to be a part of a team delivering great customer solutions!

Rentokil Initial | Manukau City |

If you are a New Zealand woman you will be aware that Rentokil are a company that supplies public toilets with little bins for 'feminine hygiene' disposables. I daresay there will be someone out there who is passionate about internal and external relationships when it comes to soggy tampons and sanitary napkins, but baby, that aint me.

I did apply for another journalism jobbie, only it's entry level and I don't know that theatre reviews and my idea of a witty application letter are quite what they're looking for. I personally think mentioning that I'm not too irritating is quite a good thing, but not everyone would necessarily see it that way. At least I amuse myself, I'm productive that way.

Speaking of jobs, Andrew came over yesterday and we went to the hotpools. He's also gainfully unemployed, so we enjoyed a good soak out at Palm Springs (Parakai). Such an adventure was possible due to the glory of Selling Shit. The part time work I had fell through, but fortunately I didn't get upset, I just feel lucky that I had the extra work even for a short time.

Fortunately I keep selling one or two things a week; a pair of fine cream leather gloves here, a Ben Elton book there. I don't think I'll have much luck selling Ben's offering, there are about four other listings for the same over-sized paperback book - a dark post-apocalyptic nightmare that totally bummed me out.

I don't know about selling my old Ken and Barbie Dolls. Might photograph them having an orgy, might get more mileage out of it. Maybe I could list the photos as art?

Last week I had another hypnotherapy session with Caroline Cranshaw. It was pretty amazing actually. I went with the aim of working on my inability to have a somewhat normal level of order in my bedroom. This meant dealing with old grief and increasing self-respect; something that looked quite superficial ended up being a catalyst to heal deep wounds. In addition to this, she recommended that I talk to a specialist about Attention Deficit Disorder. I didn't take it seriously when she first said it, sort of "oh ha ha ha, I'm ADD!". She said she has met a lot of people in her line of work who have ADD, and that it really would be worth finding out if I have it. She suspects I do.

I did an online survey and it said that although it was no definitive diagnosis, that the score I got put me in the 'likely to have severe ADD' category. God, this would be kind of a relief actually. To have an answer. A way to deal with it.

It's like my mind is a massive library with all these books, but all the books are open, and I see the way every book relates to another book. I tell stories that branch into new stories, threads running through my mind like a tangle in a sewing box. But be patient. I will tell them all. You may be getting tired, but I will tell them all. If I forget today, I may remember tomorrow, and I'll just keep going.

So I've done a little bit of research, and there are some facts about ADD I hadn't realised, such as as 'hyperfocus' being a symptom. I didn't think I could really have it because I can actually focus on one thing for hours if it really interests me. I can read all day. Literally. I can stare at crabs during low tide for an hour or more. I could write this blog everyday, but you might tire of it.

What that means is that people can see the person with ADD being 'disciplined' when something is interesting to them, and they wonder why they can't apply that to other things. Like being tidy. I don't get it either. I wish I could focus on everything. As you can see, I'm definitely leaning towards the ADD camp, the descriptions are just too familiar. The tangled wires in my head are smoothed out when I focus on one thing I'm good at, weather it's writing, or watching something. I often notice things other people don't; I will see the small skink as we walk through the bush, I will catch hawks circling with my flying eyes.

So this is something I'm going to be looking into. ADD and Me. Ha, a book in waiting?

Whatever the case, I'm really grateful to Caroline for suggesting I look into it.

Wish me luck ducks!

x

Job Cunting and the post 38 romantic comedy of my life.

Job Cunting: yes, I'm very mature.

Job searching is okay for about three weeks, then it can be a little disheartening. Fortunately for me, I’ve passed through the stage that involves high anxiety and am now enjoying ‘the moment’. I’m selling stuff I don’t need on Trademe, and that makes a massive difference each week. Well, massive to me anyway!

Checking out jobs, I sometimes think I should apply for all sorts of boring and weird things and see if I get any response at all. I could apply for these :

• We are looking for qualified and experienced QA/QC Officer, for immediate start. Minimum 1-year experience required in NZ food manufacturing industry.

• URGENT need for Railway Signalling Technicians for immediate work based in Auckland

• Your interest in banking will help you identify the right banking solution for our customers.

• Are you looking for a customer focused role within the insurance industry? We have an exciting opportunity available.

Yeah, well you get the idea. Sometimes I’ll read an advertisement for something and I’m amazed at the language used. It’s exciting. It’s challenging. You will have to be a team player. You won’t mind going the extra mile. When I read that sort of thing I think. “No”. You have written a stunningly unoriginal advertisement and so you must be unoriginal, your soul and skin brittle with air conditioning, your hair unyielding with product. No, I am not a team player. I like to talk to people, but I prefer to work on things alone, so that I can concentrate. I get too distracted otherwise. I possibly have ADD. The online test said I may be ‘severely ADD’. Gee, steady on. But it would explain why conventional jobs are so difficult for me, why it’s nearly impossible to be tidy no matter how hard I try. This is something for me to investigate. Journey with me (when I can afford to get it properly sorted) as I discover weather Ritalin might actually be the answer.

A friend who got properly tested and diagnosed said it changed her life, that she wouldn’t be where she is now if she hadn’t started taking Ritalin. I asked what effect it had. I’ve been on anti depressants years ago, and the side effects were truly horrible. My friend said she suffers no side effects, that things just feel ‘clear’, like she knows what to do. I wonder if it would help me find my keys more often.

I’ve also been looking for another place to live. I love T and her son, but I long for a quieter atmosphere, and I’d like to use my ‘nice things’ which isn’t advisable when there’s a teenager slamming your rare china into the cupboard with sullen chip inducing regularity. The cost of living alone might work out to save me money in the long run.

It’s actually a beautiful day. I feel excessively tired, as if I’d been trekking for days. I dreamt I had lots of money and two hot men after me. Nice. One of the men was handing me something in the dream, something small with great meaning, but as he did so I was waking up and realising it was a dream. I was disappointed as I thought it was real.

I got a text and a phone call from Simon yesterday. He’d like to take me out for dinner. What he really means is that he wants to slip me onto his big knob. Aint gonna happen.

I don’t know how I expect to meet a lovely man when I stay home reading all the time, but my Golden Dawn experience really rattled me . Ah well, forgive and live. I forgive you bully boy bouncer. You’re just a sad child, and I can understand that. A lot of sad children disguised in the ‘grown up costume’. Being angry and hoping you die in a car accident isn’t going to help.

Well dearies, it’s time to have a bit of lunch and then go and post one of my trademe sales.

Oh, and Andrew and I went and saw that movie ‘The Hunger Games’ the other day. I enjoyed it. I know it’s meant for teenagers, but I thought the acting was pretty good.

I’m currently reading a romantic comedy style book, one of those in which the heroine is always under thirty and about to meet the man of her dreams. She doesn’t go on endless internet dates with men who admit to having wanked in the kiddie pool. When the hot guy in the book does something wrong, it’s all a big misunderstanding.That’s what I thought might happen when I fell for The Painter. I had really hoped he was going to come to his senses like they do in the movies, but nope! Once I accepted that this wasn’t going to be a Drew Barrymore style blockbuster ending, and especially not a Meg Ryan one (don’t vomit), I think I could have accepted it if we were friends, but even that hasn’t happened. Nob. Yes. I'm talking to you Mr Painter Man. Wake up and be a friend ya dick head.

I have to keep remembering that it’s okay. If life is a mirror and I’m meant to find the reason or the lesson, then I guess it would be about being much kinder to myself, and forgiving of others. As I keep being thankful and happy, more to be thankful for will turn up. If someone turns up and they treat me poorly, then instead of lamenting it, complaining excessively, I can find a way to use it as a map. Oh, and don't stick with an abusive situation for extended periods in the name of forgiveness, that doesn't work either. Real forgiveness will lead to healing and renewed joy.

If my life was a modern romantic novel it would be a very long story. I don’t know if I’ve read one where the heroine is over the age of 38, hasn’t had children and does random things career wise . As the days go by, the thought of children becomes less appealing. I know I’d be an amazing, loving mum, and I know if I just wanted to get pregnant Simon would be quite willing ... yet unlikely to be fully present as a father. When he and I first became lovers I asked what his fantasies were, and he looked embarrassed. I thought, oooh, this is gonna be kinky. In fact, it was sort of the opposite of kinky. He said what tipped him over the edge was imagining we weren’t using protection and that he was impregnating me. Goodness.

So Universe, Jesus, Angels, thanks so much for the good friends I have, for the little bits of work that have come my way, for the lovely sun filled room in which I currently sit. Life is damn good. I don’t care if I sound like a wanker, but I’m going to say it; I’ve had three good cups of coffee and that really does make me happy.

The cat, she slumbers. The sky is blue. Moo moo moo. May my own romantic comedy please unfold with a little bit more of the romance and less of the comedic tragedy.

Love well. x

Top Reads and Andrew Goes to Hot Yoga!

Monday 12th March

It's Raining, It's Pouring, it's time to ... read a book!

The lettuces are looking good, my basil is flourishing, I want not for salad during these strange rainy days.

The Toscat is curled up asleep near my feet. Ran out of cat biscuits and so opened up the 'homebrand' sardines for her, which, I've discovered, are best as cat food anyway.

Applied for another job, and got a really funny and uplifting rejection from another! I'd taken a risk and written a completely different style of application letter (I attempted to be funny by being too honest). The guy wrote back, saying that I was a nutcase, which was exactly what they were looking for, but unfortunately 'a few other fairies already applied' and so the position was taken. Still. A pretty good response. Thus encouraged, I am now going to apply for any job I deem a little out of my league in the same manner. Onwards fellow soldiers who languish in the trenches of unemployment or some kind of stinky job you don't like. Take some risks!

My top reads of the last four months

In no particular order:

Sherry Cracker Gets Normal , DJ Connell. Fiction

From the first line, the intriguing tale of Sherry Cracker had me 'falling in love'. You know that feeling, the book that has you wishing it would never end. Sherry Cracker is told by her boss, Mr Chin, to 'get normal' by Monday.

"The idea of normality was flashing in my mind's eye like the rotating beacon of a lighthouse as I made my way down the office stairs. The stair well was pitch dark but I knew the width and squeak of every stair by heart. I used to run up and down the stairs until Mr Chin forbade it: 'This run, run, run get on my nerve. Walk up stair at normal human speed or forget interesting and exciting job.'

(Chapter 4, page 29)

I’m Perfect, You’re Doomed by Kyria Abrahams. Memoir

Fantastic memoir about growing up in the Jehovah's Witness church. This is really funny and tragic at the same time. I imagine a young Janeane Garofalo the whole time I'm reading it, and I think my favourite part has to be about Smurfs being demons. There's this story about how a child took a soft toy smurf into a JW Kingdom Hall and that it came to life and started screaming obscenities as it ran from the hall. It then burst into flames. Praise be to Jehovah.

Brida, Paulo Coelho.Fiction.

You've got to be in the right mood to read Pauly. Fortunately this was the case when I picked up Brida. It's easy to read, very fairy tale like, leaving me with a good feeling about soul mates and what that term might mean. You feel like going around saying things in a knowing voice after reading it. Irritate family and friends with your increased wisdom.

When You Are Engulfed In Flames, David Sedaris (audio, memoir)

Well suck a monkey if you don't already know how much I LOVE David Sedaris. That's very white of me evidently. I can live with that. I got this from the library (man I love how you can order things from any library around Auckland, it's amazing!) and played it in the car all the time. He has an unusual voice (if you've read 'Me Talk Pretty One Day' then you'll know all about it), somewhat nasal and high pitched. It matters not when you listen to him describing various scenarios; again, I never wanted it to end. I could listen to , or read, this kind of thing ALL THE TIME.

Naked, David Sedaris. Memoir.

More good memoirs from Sedaris. Reliable read for all settings. Must have on long plane journeys.

Magical Thinking, Augusten Burroughs. Memoirs.

Augusten Burroughs is also an amazing memoirist in a similar vein to Sedaris. They differ in that Sedaris often goes into greater detail and is the 'educated one', whereas Burroughs loves to remind us of how uneducated and abused he's been. This is where Burroughs is master. He makes the harrowing shit actually pretty amazing, funny and interesting to read about. He is open about how shallow he can be, but instead of making you hate him, it makes you love him all the more. I love him.

Dry, Augusten Burroughs. Memoir.

This is (as the title suggests) about Burroughs journey into sobriety. A friend pointed out that people who belong to AA aren't supposed to publicise it, but I think it's a good thing. I reckon this book will help a lot of people. As usual, he's able to take a really difficult issue and treats it with a measure of humour and tenderness that has me longing for his next book.

So duckies, those are my top picks in recent months. I swear (with the exception of Brida) that you'll enjoy all of these!

Ho-kay. Cat is cleaning herself. Day is weird and damp.

Andrew Does Hot Yoga

I told him not to eat anything before we went in, that it makes it difficult, but he decided to have a panini and a smoothie. He was right royally fucked. He did put in a good effort for the first 15 to 20 minutes, but that heat really does take some adjusting to. Now that he knows what it's like, he'll be able to do more the next time. The main goal of the first class is to just make it through without leaving the room. That's 90 minutes of sweating like a bitch, but the reward is massive.

I still find some of the poses really hard to do, and I can't say I ever leave a class thinking 'well that was an easy one'. It really is one of those things that you can't explain. You just have to do it. Well, hunger is gnawing at my puku like a small rodent, so it must be time for a Freedom Farms sausage with a poached free range egg and salad from the garden. Yum.

Oh, and last night Suzanne and I went and had drinks. We went to Chapel Bar, and my god, what is going on with that place? The DJ played 'My Way' by Frank Sinatra and I got excited and asked if he was about to mix Sid Vicious into it. "Yeah, yeah," he slurred fatly, "that's exactly what I'm gonna do". Fuck him. He was being sarcastic. You can't be that ugly and also be mean. Oh wait. I guess you can.

Suzanne and I danced around anyway. There was this really hot girl who danced like a stripper, she wore black and white striped socks up to the knee with black high heels and a tight, short black dress. She kept smiling and looking at herself in the big mirror on the wall. I don't think she was a prostitute, but if she is, I bet she's making a lot of money.

A guy called Mike introduced himself. He was one of the many very drunk clientele, quite cute, blonde and well dressed, barely able to stand.

"Do you have a man" he smiled into my face, putting his arm around me.

"Not a permanent one" I replied, "what about you?"

"I proposed to my girlfriend two weeks ago!"

"Wow, congratulations! Where is she?"

"Uh, I dunno, around here somewhere."

"Was she the girl with long brown hair that spoke to you before?"

"Nah, she's got really blonde hair. The thing is, we're both just as fucked up as each other."

"Mike, that's beautiful" I replied.

He laughed with delight.

"And just think, when it all gets too much, you can both attend Narcotics Anonymous, and then you could write a book. You could call it 'Sober Together'."

He really liked that, laughing his arse off. Obviously he won't remember any of it and he and The Blonde Fiancee probably went home to have unsuccessful drunken sex.

Suzanne and I danced to the point of sweating, then went to SPQR and got a hot chocolate, only it wasn't very hot, and the service was cold.

"He's a failed model" I said to Suzanne "and he resents having to be a waiter. He can't understand why he didn't get that last job because he's SO GOOD LOOKING."

When Suze went to the bathroom I listened to the very loud one sided conversation to the right of me.

"It's not those built up guys who have a big one. It's the tall skinny ones, and then it's like they've got this third leg."

I would love to have joined in on this observation, but instead contented myself with listening and looking at how the streetlight picked up the softly falling rain.

May your day be blessed. May your lettuces yield many leaves (get planting if you haven't already) and may your heart be full of peace. Moo moo. xxx

Endolphins, work, men, clothes, art, all that and a bag of chips.

Ok, so Mr Andrew Pants is going to come to a hot yoga class with me tonight! (Post note: he did not go, but read the next blog to find out how he coped when he did come!).

After knowing each other for six years he's finally decided to come to the class that will officially kick his little arse. I am looking forward to it. I have missed going to hot yoga and anticipate the massive rush of endorphin's that flow like small spiritual dolphins of love and energy through my newly oxygenated blood. Endolphins.

Last night I went over to Feather's and we drank wine and ate pizza, stuffed ourselves beyond capacity, did an angel card reading, and talked about work, men and clothes.

Work:

Applied for two jobbies today, one as an employment advisor for the intellectually disabled, the other is possibly for writing advertorials. I would love to do advertorials. I used to make up different versions of advertisements for fun as a child. Of course, mine were always the sick and twisted version, but isn't it great to realise you've always harboured such a talent? I wrote a wonderful cover letter for it, which is bound to be ignored, but if not, well, the world could be my green lipped mussel!

I currently have a small part time job organising appointments for a therapist; this makes the difference between putting petrol in the car and paying my cell phone bill.

Men

Well, as I've said just recently, I surrender. I could possibly make myself annoying, ordinary and vapid and I might get snapped up, but I just can't do it. I'm going to have to remain weird, emotional and full of love. It does mean there are less proverbial fish in my sea, but that's o.k. I'd rather be single than settle for Less. Simon continues to call me, but really he just wants me to get on it, so that's hardly flattering. He said I behave like a startled rabbit sometimes, but that's what happens when one is confronted with a wolf. Hot wolf. No. No, stop it. No walking in the woods for me. Caught up with Peter The Runner on Monday; Tieneke and I visited and had a spa. I kept my wine consumption to a minimum and we all talked about drugs, sex and employment. Fun times. I haven't heard from The Painter, a pity, I'd hoped we were going to actually be friends, but perhaps it's just not meant to be. Fortunately I am dripping in good friends.

If friends were gold chains, and I was an ostentatious rapper, then my neck would be weighed down with a few high quality pieces.

Oh my god, it's already after 4pm and I have to get my bum to hot yoga! Jeeze, where does the time go?

Clothes:

I am the op shop Queen, or at least a Princess. I find such good things, it's ridiculous. This is what comes of unemployment! Well dressed and relaxed. Attending art galleries, pondering the meaning of dreams, going to the library. People will ask what I do and perhaps I'll reply "I go to op shops". Surely that would be enough?

Oh, and I made a necklace too. A little skull on a long gold chain. Looks good, goes well with the one I got from St Kevin's arcade at First Thursday's last week.

Speaking of Thursday, that means there's something on at Black Asterix again. Something to do with those Bratz type dolls and how they encourage little girls to value excessive slimness, cuteness and sexiness from a young age. I'm going to value my big bum tonight and dress to exaggerate it. May as well!

See you there, and if we never meet, that's ok, you know we're all one anyway.

xxx

Gallery Visit and general Surrender.

Sunday

So. What have I been doing? Caught up with Feather on Thursday, invited her to the Black Asterix gallery party whatsit. That was good for looking at people as well as the art, though I'd already seen most of the art when I'd caught up with The Painter last Sunday.

Feather and I went to The Thai House for a feed before trotting around the gallery. Laughed at t a large framed white piece of paper with a bit of crinkled discolouring at the bottom of it. 'The Emperor's New Clothes' is alive and well, often appearing in the art world. Saw Callum in his hat (he's always in his hat) and disussed the 'pretty but slightly disturbing' works in the small rear room. No, I don't mean someone's arse, I literally mean the rear room of the gallery.

I quite liked the charcoal pictures of faces. Someone materialising from shadows, or perhaps being sucked into them.

We looked at people a bit more. I think I saw Frankie, she played in a band with a friend of mine years ago, Fatal Jelly Space. I'd been thinking of that a few weeks back when I'd caught up with Snow White, my old friend of Christian times. Snow White still had a WORKING mixed tape of music I'd created for her when we must have been around 21! It was like finding part of myself as an aural sedimentary layer.

There were songs on that tape (all recorded off vinyl of course) that I'd forgotten about, like "I'm Loose" and "Peggy suicide" by The Warners ... "Oh Peggy Suicide, filled her head with cyanide ..." and of course I'd also taped "Miseriah" and "Aliens" by Fatal Jelly Space. I realised I hadn't listened to 'Nimrod's Son' by The Pixies for years and years. My tastes are quite flaccid these days, I no longer wear steel cap shoes and feel the need to mosh, throwing my elbows agressively up and out in order to protect my face. I think I'm a little less angry than I used to be, though paradoxically I'm more direct. Direct, yet lacking fury.

Feather and I then walked down K Rd to St Kevin's Arcade and looked around at all the quirky little things people were selling (it was "First Thursday's") and couldn't resist buying something. I got this great necklace, it was a chunk of fool's gold with a birdy chain by BOBAE handmade jewellery. Love birds. Feather got a hand bag from this excellent wee shop at the rear of the arcade, CARA C, Vintage and Design Store. I really wanted one of the rings from that shop, but really, how many rings does a woman need? I end up wearing the same ring nearly every day anyway, the big silver one I almost punched Ex Friend Kathy in the face with years ago. Pity I didn't take out her eye really. Ha. Kidding. Come on, you know I'm a peace lover.

So yep, that was a good catch up with young Feather, and then caught up with Mr Andrew on Friday. His Dad wasn't well, had to be admitted to hospital, so we hung out, went and got Burgerfuel and watched a movie. What did we watch? It was quite good, whatever it was. Something with Kevin Spacey doing his awkward disconnected middle aged man thing as usual. The girl playing his daughter was a bit of a shit actress, but she had really dark eyebrows, and that was compelling in it's way.

Ok, first fine day in god know's how long. Must. Get. Out. Off to see mum, then to Snow White's for a bbq. Taking organic chicken, acid free tomatoes, juice and stop for some wine somewhere along the line.

Oh, and I'm going to completely forget about romance for awhile. Darlings, you know I've put in a good effort, but now, well, I surrender. I do not understand men. I love them, but fuck my ducklings, I cannot be reading minds anymore. I shall stick to books. I shall indulge in self loving each day, murmuring sweet somethings to myself. I shall paint mediocre paintings because I really enjoy the process. I shall buy things for $5 and resell them for $35 on Trademe. I will change my sheets more often. I will stand on my head just because I can. Oh, and I' will get a job. Soon. I hope.

lots of love. I'm off to The North Shore. Swim! Swim like a sea monkey!

xxx

A Mundane Life, At peace with The Painter, Seeing Lisa.

My Glamorous Life

I drag myself to the kitchen and put on the jug (or boil the kettle as you might say in the USA). I stand there in bare feet and notice all the little bits of cheese on the kitchen floor. My flatmate's son eats a lot of cheese. Or at least, drops a lot on the floor. I sweep the cheese, but I don't want to clean the shit off the back inside of the toilet bowl. I may change my mind after I've had coffee. I've thought about living alone again, but if you work out the cost, you'd have to earn at least $600 a week in the hand to do it. I love my flatmate and her son, but you know how it is. The longing for silence. I'm sure there are things I do that are annoying. Maybe worse than shit stains in the bowl and urine on the toilet seat. It's all give and take.

The jug comes to the boil. I spoon in a massive mound of coffee for the plunger (press in USA speak) and I hold the jug up quite high as I pour in the scalding water. I believe this gives the coffee a bit more punch, and it tends to have that thicker taste that I like.

As I pour I silently count to five, as that is exactly the right measure of water. As I wait for it to do it's thing, I lift my arms up in the air for a bit of Yoga stretching. Not too much of course. My body doesn't quite believe it's out of bed yet. I really do want to go back to Bikram Yoga. I know Birkram is the Magpie Pimp of Yoga, but the fact is, it really works.

I push down the plunger and then pour the coffee (also from a slight height) into a chipped cup I wouldn't usually use. I hate chips. Mum always said "bacteria gets into the chip and you can be poisoned', so if anything got chipped when I was growing up, mum used it for pot plants or pens. We had a lot of pens that didn't work, sitting around in old chipped cups. Lots of pot plants too.

Mum still keeps chipped and even completely broken crockery for when she does mosaics. She has never done a mosaic, but the dream lives on. I bought her a book on how to do them. It's probably under a box of broken crockery. Still. One day.

As I sit here (in bed, cat at my feet) I feel the body thirsting for more coffee. I'm thinking of Lisa, who I'm seeing today. She sometimes works near Auckland, and today she's able to meet up with me for a little while before returning to her client, and then back up North. I have a very late present for her. I can't remember if it was a birthday or Christmas gift now, but it's a metal garden fairy. It's actually really nice as far as garden ornaments go (shh, don't tell anyone I said that).

I am looking forward to hugging her tight. I want to squeeze love into her. I want to stop her pain. I want her sister Julie to come through the operation ok, to not be brain damaged or dead as a result. What are the chances of knowing someone with a brain tumour? In the 70's and 80's there were often tv movies about some kind of struggle with illness. A brain tumour would have been perfect. Sounds so dramatic. Actually, it really is dramatic when you look at how a person changes. How a woman can go from being able to work as a sharp tongued accountant, to not being able to do her own washing.

Speaking of changes, here is where you get to congratulate me! I don't know if you realised, but that awful depression I went through, well, it was triggered by shock and disappointment. The disappointment followed quite a long period of other stressful factors, and I suppose it might have been inevitable. Whatever the case, the symbol of this disappointment was The Painter. Lisa kept saying to me "but it's not really him. He's just a vessel."

Karen Reid, the amazing healer I went to, had said something similar, and also that he hadn't tried to hurt me, he just didn't know how to accept love. A lot of men don't evidently.

Whatever the case, I still had this sadness about it, even though I've healed from the depression. If I thought of him, I still felt humiliated. My mind would just turn in this never ending wheel of 'but why would someone do that?'. I came to realise that someone would do that if they lacked empathy and self love. I notice I have too much empathy for others most of the time, I soak up people's feelings like a human sponge. So it's up to me to find ways of stepping back. I find it really hard. I trust people so easily, and even when someone shits on me, I still look at them and think things like "well, they did have a hard child hood" or some such crap. Everyone has pain to deal with. Some are dealing, and some are in denial, but as long as we're human this is part of the process.

Now this is the hard part. Seeing the mirror or the the reason for why I would attract this kind of experience. How to be real about that without blaming anyone, without creating more guilt or fear. The only way I could really find any acceptance about being rejected in such a spectacular manner was to know that all my prayers were coming true. To know that the Super Soul, or God, or Higher Self was actually coming in to play this game. Perhaps angels were whispering "we're going to have to finish this one early, this is more than you can deal with".

What I perceived as rejection was quite likely a gift. With that in mind, on Saturday I had this clarity when I thought of The Painter. I wondered if he was ok. Yes, yes, I know, me and my empathy, where will it all end?

I texted hello, and the upshot is, we caught up with each other on Sunday. And this is the good part. I could see he was intelligent and funny, great to be around, but there was no 'krong'. Mum and I coined 'kronnggggg' as the term for when you really 'feel it' on an attraction level. If you did a cartoon, you might show the word 'krronngggggggg!' emanating from a person's genitalia to indicate a stirring of interest. I looked at him and pondered the fact that we'd had sex, yet it seemed like a lifetime ago.

So we had this perfectly lovely catch up, joyfully free of krong. I didn't feel the need to go on about how he'd hurt me, nor the need to know why his relationship had recently ended.

I remember writing in my diary that I'd give that one three months, maybe six at the most. I didn't laugh, but I wasn't surprised. I even imagine they might still give it another go.

It was just so good to see this person who I'd built up to some unreasonable level in my own mind, and then see him as he truly is. Just another piece of the limitless Love of the Universe expressing itself in Human Form. Stumbling along. Doing the best he can. Like we all are.

Must be time to put the jug on. ;)