Month: Jul 2015

Housework? I Say No!

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Mine is the sort of home where guests for lunch present – apart from menu planning – the added unspoken question as to whose job it will be to clear the dining room table of its drifts of paper, unopened letters and things that people dumped there on the way in from school.

And that’s the way I like it! (Mostly)

Thanks to Annabel Crabb for this eye opening, truthful, realistic and freeing article.

Lesson to my Daughter.

Dust bunnies everywhere – and they are – I salute you. I’m off to sprinkle glitter; sew Hulk costumes; read stories; watch tv; play Lego or any number of the thousand and four things I’d rather be doing than housework.

🐛

Sensory Overload

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I am utterly blessed. In the midst of an overload of senses; no, through them; God has blessed me.

I have a hot little hand on my face as I try to read. It pokes me and twitches at the entrance to my nostril, making breathing odd. If I turn over, I’ll have, instead, little untrimmed toenails in one of two choice spots: kidneys or buttocks.

A short reach away, I hear the thunderous roll of snoring. I prod and suggest turning over and for a moment, the storm abates. But only for a moment. Without any lightning to warn of its advance, the long drawn in breath offers new meteorological mysteries.

Further distant still, the irritating whine of machinery. It’s monotony is broken only by the insidious, regular alarm throughout the night.

Dogs, ours, bark at intruding nothings. Loudly.

If I leave this horizontal plane and venture out, I will likely find lines of light break through the darkness. Here and there, I will hear more cacophony to interrupt my rest. From one doorway, little light accompanies the pings and whirs of levels unlocked by a well known Italian plumber in overalls. From another, brighter light pops out, as unyielding as the so called notes screamed by a boy-man wearing more eyeliner than I ever have as he bemoans his newly single state.

Should I turn and retreat, my hapless tarsal structure is likely to be assaulted by weaponry at floor level. Possibly this time, I will encounter the string of a cheap bamboo bow. As I lightly sidestep the threatened trip, my other foot may find the arrow; or Danish building materials with spiked edges; or an assortment of miniature bovines cavorting without care near an enclosure of even smaller dinosaurs; or a shadowy feline hoping for food.

But despite this risk; this riot; this rude interruption of horizontal calm that I say I’d prefer; I am utterly blessed.

Little fingers and toes are not a blessing all who wish it share.
Snoring means he’s here with me.
The whir of machinery speaks of luxury others do not have.
Lights and music mean my children are home safe. They can be and do just as they wish without fear of persecution, despite my musical preferences.
Even the scattered hazards of a family hall shout freedom, safety and luxury.

I am utterly blessed.

Veritas, Eski

Creative Writing – A Journey Part 6

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“Hem, hem.” The wolf cleared his throat nervously. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here?”

“No, some of us are pretty sure we are going to make your next meal a little sweeter, really,” muttered a stout pig in the corner.

“Well, let me tell you a story. You may think you know how it goes, but I beseech you to listen closely. My reputation, such as it is, is on the line.”

“There I was, wandering through the forest, sniffing here and there, marking out my territory…”

“If it’s going to be THAT sort of story, I’m out of here!” A slender red squirrel twitched her sleek tail and made to leave, but those around her tutted as the wolf continued and she sat down again, clearly miffed.

“…red satin. Bright as a poppy flower it was, flashing here and there as this young miss skipped across all parts of the forest, leaving divets in the floor, ripping out wild flowers willy-nilly. You know the sort! Jolly ecoterrorism in a pretty dress, thinking they own the place. So I stopped her. Right rude she was too. 

      “I know your sort,” she said to me, snootily averting her gaze. “You’re trying to lure me off the path so I can be your next meal!”

Well, I was appalled at the idea, as well you can imagine! Eat her! I shouldn’t think of what that would do to me. Human-intolerant, you know. I have many eating choices, but she isn’t one of them.”

The wolf looked around the group gathered before him, smiling what he considered to be a winning smile. Unfortunately, he met the terrified gaze of a young rabbit whose second cousin had unwittingly crossed his path around lunchtime two Thursday previous and had not been heard from since. The wolf quickly looked away. Perhaps now was not the time to be persuasive.

May I buy a vowel please?

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I’ve been discovering that my anti – depressant medication is working well – That is:
I’m not crying all the time;
I’m not a screaming fish-wife;
getting out of bed is not ALWAYS as difficult;
I have interest in life;
I’m doing creative things for myself;
I recognise the goodness in my life;
I can get out and do the things that seem like a good idea in my head most of the time…… and much more that has previously been in the too hard basket.

However, I’m finding I’m still not as ME as I want to be, or think I ought to be. There are things I want to achieve; things I want to do each day that do not eventuate. And it causes me to question: Are these still symptoms of depression or am I just inherently lazy?

For such a major part of my life; for the past 22 years; I’ve been misdiagnosed and mistreated for depression. I have struggled with all of the symptoms above and the guilt of being ‘wrong.’ Finally, last year, I referred myself to a psychiatrist who properly diagnosed me and I have been properly medicated and improving since. As I said, though, I have certain expectations of myself and my accomplishments that are as yet unrealised. Is this normal? Does everyone, especially those who are NOT depressed, feel like this? Is it just me? Have I always been a thinker and NOT a doer of my wild and wonderful ideas?

I don’t have all the answers to the above. My hypotheses so far are: yes; yes; no and probably a bit, but I hope not.

So now, further experimentation is required.

May I buy a vowel please? I’d like an E. Are there any spare Es out there willing to be my friend?

In case it sounds like I have actually lost it, I’m talking about Extroverts. I’ve been undertaking MBTI personality testing with one of my senior classes and in teaching them have learned a bit more about myself. I’m an extreme extrovert.

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This comes as no surprise to those who know me, but perhaps very few realise how far I swing in that direction. When I’m really ME, I need literally no alone time. During my serious bouts of depression, this flipped to barely wanting to see anyone. I would work when I had to – and ‘play’ at being my general happy self – come home and go immediately to bed. I would often pretend to miss phone calls so that I could either text people or call them when I could cope with it. This is NOT the real me. Nowadays, I ask my family members to follow me to the shower to continue a conversation in case I miss out on company time.

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Back to my experiment. My hypothesis is this: My motivation to do more will increase with the acquisition of an E friend who likes similar things and has/makes time for me. So I need an E please!

My family love me and do spend time with me, but all 5 (actually, uncertain about Theo) of them are I people and, after a day at work or school, scatter like cockroaches under kitchen lights. They know who I am and do spend time, but, short of a roster, there’s not enough company for me.

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All of my close friends are I people. That’s always been the case, now that I think about it. I make plans and my friends enjoy coming along, but they don’t NEED me like I need them. Not need like clingy for emotional support, but need in terms of time. I’ve always had I friends and they don’t think of inviting someone (specifically me) every single time they think of going somewhere. Not out of spite, you understand, just because they are happy to do things on their own.

So, I’d like an E friend who’d like to spend loads of time with me.

The idea I have is that I will have more E time and therefore more energy. More energy equals more things achieved.

What are your thoughts? Any other experiments? What’s your personality type and how has it affected you?

Tattoo – Semicolon Project

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It’s here! My semicolon is now permanently inked to the inside of my left wrist. 

  
I’ve attached the video I took of the whole process. I had the opportunity to share the story of The Semicolon Project while he tattoo’d my arm, so I’ll let it tell its own story. Aron from “Gothic Realm” does an excellent job,of both tattoos and listening! 

My Tattoo (This is the link to the video)
Please read back over my blogs to see the rest of the story and feel free to share.

As always,

Veritas – Eski!

Tattoo for the soul

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In just over a week, I am going to a tattoo parlour with three of my friends to be inked with my first tattoo.

Since writing this post, “Permanent Ink,” I have found, once again, that people need someone to talk to. Sharing such a tiny part of my story has opened the gates for friends and acquaintances to ‘feel ok’ to talk about their own emotional story.

So, for those of you who still aren’t sure why I would choose to get a tattoo; I, who change my mind about what I like more often than others change knickers; I, who have a needle phobia; I, who do not have a style and if I did, it wouldn’t be a tattoo that was the symbol of it; here’s why.

Today, I read this article and last fortnight I read this blog post and in between I’ve read about The Semicolon Project.

I want to start a conversation with those who need it; I want to let people (including me) know that it’s ok to not be ok and that you are loved; I want to remind people (including me) to “pause and keep going.”

And that’s why, next week, I will be voluntarily extending my hand for permanent ink.

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Part 3 – Creative Writing – A Journey

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Thanks to Grace, of “Practical Creative Writing” we used this exercise today:

There are ten exercises below and each one comprises a simple set of three questions. Each one should be answered as quickly as you can. Remember, there are no right or wrong answers – only ideas. It is up to you to decide whether the ideas appeal to you enough to make you want to develop them further. I suggest trying them all and see what happens.


One

1. Who is coming round the corner?

It is Lilly. Her green dress flaps wetly around her legs. There are flicks of mud stuck to her stockings at the back that show she has walked swiftly through the rain for sometime. She is hurrying and takes no notice of where she has headed. Fortunately for both of us, I do.

2. What is their secret? 3. What are they carrying?

Lilly is huddles over. She has her arms wrapped protectively about her chest. At first glance it appears that she is trying to keep warm, but her thick wooden cardigan belies the action. The day is not so cold. She is rushed and flushed, her cheeks unnaturally bright in the greyness of the dim twilight. She does not notice me, but, trained as I am to observe, I notice the gasp as I catch her shoulders to avoid knocking her into the street. I notice the gasp and the clutch of her hands to her midsection. Lilly is pregnant and I don’t think that it is what she wants.

Two

1. Why did Peter lose his temper with Joanna?

Joanna laughed smugly, knowing that this time the tables had turned. Peter would be the one to leave their home today instead of her. She sat back comfortably on the white leather couch, watching as he scrabbled for his keys and wallet in the African earthenware dish they’d fought over early in their marriage. She knew it was the right thing to have by the door; he felt it was worth the yearly income of the small African village it had ostensibly come from. Just like today. She knew that selling their home was a bad idea; he believed that they needed to downsize. Phhht! Downsize was only a word she wanted to hear in relation to her wardrobe or her waistline.

2. Where did he go after he stormed out?

Peter headed to the late night cafe only two blocks away. He knew he was in no fit state to drive. This latest argument with Joanna had left him in no doubt of the state of their relationship; it was over. A fact he should have known any number of years ago. He and Joanna had been at loggerheads even before they married. As he drank his mildly bitter, styrofoam infused beverage, he knew that they were best described in terms of the fashion houses Jo was so fond of. She was Dolce and Gabbana and he was Dollars and Sense. It was ill fated from the start.

3. What happened to him when he got there?

An hour and a half and three lukewarm cups of coffee later, Peter knew the showdown that he’d been expecting wasn’t going to happen. Wearily, he walked the now quiet streets back to the atrocious and ostentatious villa. It too was quiet. He turned his key in the lock and made his way to the crisp perfection of the spare room.