Grey Friends

I’ve surprised myself by recent ponderings that all relationships are black and white: they’re not. For someone so ‘there are many greys in life’ to think that friendship was only defined by one, or the other, as discussed in my post Which Group? I realise that I didn’t think of the matter too clearly when I put fingers to keypad. I acted on rash impulse, or in response to a coffee burst, I don’t know.

I’ve written about life, death, marriage, and having a baby as being one of those major life-determining factors that tell you which of your family and friends REALLY care, and which don’t give a shit.

But, I think I was too quick to judge, and I was wrong. Before having my own child, did I really enthuse that much with parents-to-be about their own happiness? Before experiencing death within our family unit, did I really understand the earth-shattering changes and life-questions that instantly arrive at your doorstep?

No, to both. But what’s surprising is I’m not ashamed to admit it. A bit guilty, yes. But not ashamed. And that’s because, I didn’t know.

I can’t blame myself for not knowing back then, so therefore I can’t blame others for not knowing, just because I do now. Yes, there is a general moral decency out there, an expectance that people act in certain ways in response to certain events. But, it’s just not the same, until you know.

And you know what, that’s fine. It’s good to keep things in check, to not sweat the small stuff and let the trivialities of life overwhelm you. But if that’s someone’s life, and they’re complaining their boss is giving them a hard time at work, while their friend is worried about a family member’s illness, well, let them complain. We don’t all have to be worried about the serious stuff. If you’re fortunate enough to not have that many serious problems, embrace it. The day will come, for them, for you, for everyone. It’s a fairly pessimistic view I know, and one I don’t like getting too deep into, but it’s thoughts like this that keep me grateful, and grounded. Everyone has their own problems, and they shouldn’t have to feel guilty that their issues are not as important as another person’s. It’s their life, after all.

But it’s more than that. There are many relationships I’ve had, where people have gone out of my life, or become fairly non-existent in it, to suddenly making a surprise comeback and arriving back with a vengeance. Just because someone wasn’t around before, doesn’t mean they won’t reappear later. And just because someone is, now, likewise it doesn’t guarantee they’ll be right at your side forever.

I think we need to stay open to possibilities, fluid to change. Friendships change, relationships change, and I have to say some of my most meaningful relationships, have undergone a lot of change. Change is actually good for us, and we want our relationships to be evolving to our different life purposes and ever-changing needs.

Keep an open mind. Don’t write old friends off. Like you would a job you want to move on from, at the very least leave things on a good note. You never know when you may want to revisit.

It’s a weighty issue

I may not be very popular after this post – much like the rich man who cries poor – but, as I try so hard and so often NOT to say in blog-land, FUCK IT.

So, people who read this blog often, and all of my family and friends, will be very aware that I am now a mother. Almost 14 months on, and she is the best thing, the most amazing blessing, that has ever happened to Hubbie and I.

I’m very grateful, for a lot of things post-pregnancy. I’m grateful that we are starting to see her pull herself up, we’re grateful in hearing her babble and try to talk, I’m grateful that we’re becoming more social and heading out more… and I’m also grateful that my body has returned to its pre-pregnancy size. In fact, it did so pretty soon after having her.

That’s just the way my body is. I’m not going to act all proud, because I didn’t do anything for it. It did it, itself.

And that’s the thing. I’m so bloody sick of people, looking at me, and commenting on my body. Often it comes from a genuinely surprised/complimentary place “how did you have a baby?” or “it looks like you never had one!”

I don’t know how to respond to these remarks, though kind, other than to smile and laugh. What do I say? Sometimes I say thanks, other times I mumble something, or direct it back to the person and say that they too look amazing after having kids – which is not a lie, I won’t say it unless I mean it.

But then there are this other lot, who comment on me being so skinny, to the point that they’re not being complimentary, not a bit, not a little, nothing at all – but instead their words come off jealous, biting, and snide.

They look you up and down and all they say is “you’re too skinny.”

Or as you walk to the lunch buffet they comment with a smirk “oh, you’re eating?”

And then when they say their goodbyes they tell you to “eat more” with a laugh.

These are people within my family.

Are you fucking for real????

(Deep breath, for my rebuttal).

Not that I have to explain, ANYTHING to ANYBODY, but:
– I am about the same size I was before pregnancy. No one was shitty about my weight then. Why are people all up in a huff now that I’ve had a baby? Am I meant to have handlebars and be overweight to be acceptable?
– I eat whatever I like. Some days I am truly rushed, but make no mistake I make up for it, every chance I get, especially on weekends.
– I like to wear fitted clothes, and I always have. This seems to be an affront to these vindictive people now. I wore baggy, trackie, homely clothes for about a year, and I remember the first time I put on make-up and got really dressed up which was about 7 weeks after baby girl was born, I felt re-born. Like a new woman.
I wore those baggy clothes for so long, there are some I’ve actually now thrown out. I want to move on, and go back to the way I always used to dress, because that’s me. I like to dress up, make myself up, as it makes me feel good. I do it for me, not for anybody else, and I shouldn’t have to feel bad or apologise for wanting to make myself look good and consequently feel good.
– Is it considered morally right to stare at a person you think is too fat and say to them “gee, you are too fat” “stop eating” and “what are you doing to yourself?” People wouldn’t dream of actually saying that to an overweight person, so why is it deemed ok if the person is skinny? No person’s body should be judged, even if that judgment is veiled in a pretend compliment ( ”she won’t get upset, I’m saying she’s skinny”)

I am absolutely sick to my core of these judgments. It’s really annoying, as it is hurtful. No one should be subjected to remarks like these, least of all women, who are already to susceptible to media and societal pressure to look a certain way, especially women who have had children. Your body goes through so many physical and other-worldly changes, that to then scrutinise that woman’s body after she’s put on weight for carrying a baby, to then losing it (or trying to) and feeling so many different emotions and feelings and thoughts of “how do I look?” “am I good enough?” “will my husband still find me attractive?” – women’s own private thoughts about themselves are well enough without the added inspection of people who think it is their duty to inform others if they’re adequately sized. The number of times I asked my husband what he thought of my body post-pregnancy I cannot even begin to count. I know I’m skinny. That’s my body type, I’ve always been that way. I never wanted to look unwell, or sick, which is why I’d ask “am I too skinny?” I was breastfeeding for over a year, and that equals your baby depleting your stores in many, many different ways. Hubbie would always say “no,” and he continues to. I know I already know the answer, but it’s annoying people who think it’s their right to pass judgment, that unfortunately, make me question myself.

But no more, mother fuckers. Keep your stupid thoughts to yourself. Because your head is too big and your nose is too pointy.

Up in Lights

I just had a weird thing happen. I just saw the title of my yet-unpublished-bound-to-happen book as part of a title of a television series.

It was, without saying too much, only kind of, yet exactly the same as my title, though there is another section to my book title that wasn’t there, as simultaneously there was something in the TV series title that is not in mine.

Still. I just kind of stared, letting the image of the name burn into me, recognising that the name is there, out there, in television land, in this other medium, in a media form as such… it exists.

Just not as mine. Not attributed to me. Not yet.

Writing about Yourself

Writers are a bit of a self-indulgent bunch. I came across this realisation, properly, whilst talking to a work colleague. I was talking about the book I’m reading “Before I go to Sleep,” and in the same conversation was telling him that he MUST watch the new movie “Gone, Girl,” that Hubbie and I had watched over the weekend. Freaking trippy it was.

Anyway. It occurred to me. Here is the main character of Sleep book, Christine, who discovers herself to have amnesia to the point that her memory is pretty much wiped clean, bar some odd earlier memories, EVERY SINGLE DAY. In the part that I’m currently up to, she discovered on one such day, that she used to be a writer. Case 1 in point.

In Gone, Girl, both main characters are writers too. Case 2 in point. It got me thinking, and though I can’t recall any to mind I just KNOW I’ve read/heard other stories where writers write about a writer as one of, or their sole, lead character.

Other similar examples spring to mind. Stephen King’s Misery, where a writer has a car accident and is found in the situation to be held hostage by a crazed fan of his works until he rewrites his latest book to the ending of her choice. That is about a writer, albeit a writer’s nightmare.

J.K. Rowling made Harry Potter’s birthday the same as her own. And in a different medium, the cartoonist Matt Groening, named the main characters of The Simpsons after members of his own family: his parents were Homer and Margaret, and his sisters were Lisa and Maggie.

There’s a little bit of a perception that writer’s shy away from the public eye, they don’t crave the attention or perform outlandish acts, dress in bizarre outfits and get drunk at the corner hotel only to take home a prostitute at 2am on a Saturday night and get snapped by paparazzi, like other entertainers out there. That’s not really the norm you see of people in this profession, and yet still, they’re putting their stamp, their mark on their work, in the most subtle and natural way they know how.

Through their characters.

I think it’s bloody fantastic. In fact you can expect to find me in all of the characters of my book.

Get Outta My Dreams

…But definitely, please, do NOT get into my car.

Dreams are a fascinating thing. From a very young age, I’ve spent a good portion of my life analysing them and trying to work out what they are telling me. Being of European descent, my childhood was surrounded by dream meanings and metaphors, examples being “teeth are bad” “flying is good” dream assessments. After all of this time, I am of the belief that dreams are not only an expression of our deepest fears and wishes, but an indicator of things that might, and in some cases, WILL come.

Not all dreams are so ‘meaningful’ though. There are those that leave me wondering “is it a full moon?” or “did I eat spicy food last night?”

Like the dreams where you’ve dreamt about someone, you don’t even THINK about, in that way.

I had that such dream the night before, and awoke going ‘what the?!’

It concerned a person at my work, someone I very rarely see, let alone speak to. Something had to do with me, and my parents, trying to get into work amidst traffic delay and car troubles at night. Then once I was there, this person was still there in the company of me and my parents. And for some strange reason, there was this escalating sexual tension between me and this person… to the point that when my parents temporarily left the room, this person came up from behind and grabbed me in a backwards thrust/hug.

Fortunately I still had my smarts on in this dream, and got this person to let me go because my parents were literally seconds from coming back into the room (even though in the dream I didn’t want him to let go).

I had to get up quickly that morning because of work so I didn’t have the normal luxury of staying in bed and trying to work out the dream for a bit longer; therefore I’ve probably forgotten little details about it. But most vivid, was the feeling I got. That didn’t go away so quickly.

Has that ever happened to you? You’ve had a dream so vivid, that the feelings of happiness/sadness/fear/excitement/lust remain long after your eyes have opened? Usually dreams are just moving pictures in your mind, I guess a form of entertainment while you’re asleep, giving you something to ponder during the day if you’re fortunate enough to remember them. But when your frontal lobe gets involved, and has you feeling the way you might in your everyday life, during your dream, well then it just goes to a whole new level.

It messes with your mind, and makes you question things. Now, don’t get me wrong here, I’m a very, very, VERY happily married woman. I’ve spoken to this guy a handful of times since I’ve worked here, and I came across a sex scene in the book I’m reading “Before I go to Sleep” last night, so I’m thinking that might have had something to do with it. But still, wow. Weird.

I’m so glad I haven’t seen him since. That would be utterly awkward. Looking at him with a guilty expression on my face, all for my mind playing out something I didn’t ask it to. I can’t look at him in the same way now. My emotions have now messed with me, and although I am NOT interested, that thing has happened in my mind, in absence of my will… so it’s still a memory, though a dream one at that.

I wonder if a dream-universe exists out there, that is tangible but only on a spiritual level when we are subconscious. It exists in our minds, and when we dream of others, they also dream about us, and it all plays out in this dream-world that ceases to be once we open our eyes in the morning.

I wonder, who has every dreamed about me like that?

Ew. No thanks, I don’t want to know.

However there is also the other side of the coin… for some there is no number of dreams that could make you think differently, or that way inclined about them, in real, or dream life.

You just wake up feeling icky.

Writers are doing it for themselves

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.
– Cyril Connolly.

Cyril was an English writer that penned the above quote, which I can’t help but wholeheartedly agree with. Although the task, the goal for a writer is to have his writings read, it is not necessarily the same as having his writings AGREED with.

Once you are concerned with the public, and what they think, and what they will like… your voice is lost. This is one of the hardest realisations I’ve had to fight against since beginning this public blogging process. Before this blog, I had an anonymous blog that was quite frankly, fantastic. I wrote about whatever I wanted, with very little censorship, because I knew out there, no one knew me. I didn’t promote it and I didn’t care. I had 3 followers, and I don’t even think they followed me all too passionately – it suited me just fine, knowing I could say whatever the hell I liked.

It’s a very different ball game now. I think of discussions and ideas and issues, and some sadly have falled to the wayside over my fear of ‘what will happen when I press the publish button?’

Fiction isn’t as hard to stay true to. Because you are creating a pretend world, even if you are expressing your thoughts through your characters, the end product is that your protagonist thinks that, not you.

In bloggerville, your blog = YOU. There’s no getting around that fact.

The answer? I don’t think there is one truth for all writers. It all depends on what kind of writer you want to be. Do you want to please the masses with your safe expressions, or do you want to be revolutionary and in the process be slaughtered for your frankness?

Or do you wanna dance in the middle, giving them all some pleasure, and some pain?

I’m going to try my damndest to not give a shit, all while dancing away from the pitch-forks…

Her Anthem

They start off so well.

Well, maybe not ALL of them, the babies. Our baby girl did though.

Settling herself to sleep, and then sleeping through the night.

She still sleeps through, when the teeth aren’t hassling her… but for a few weeks now, she just won’t be left to fall asleep on her own.

Hubbie thought of the idea to just stand in her room and wait until she dozed off, and then quietly creep out. This is a great idea, because it saves me the back-breaking task of rocking her to sleep, which I never used to do at the end of the day. She may be petite, but she’s still 13 months old, and a growing toddler (though she’ll always be my baby girl).

As great as the idea sounds, and yes it is effective…. It is effective EVENTUALLY. Because of her game.

I think she’s not settling due to some developmental thing. She’s recently discovered that she can pull herself up into a standing position, and is crawling right all over the place. And when I put her in her cot for the night, she sits up, and then pulls herself up so she’s standing against the cot railing.

I stand there, side on to her, staring at the space above her cot, not making any eye contact.

She might make some noise, or laugh at me because she thinks we’re playing peek-a-boo, and I quietly pry her hands off the railing and lie her down, tuck her blanket around her again, and resume my wall-staring.

Again she stands, this time her teeth gnawing at the railing.

I wait a while, and then frustrated that this going-to-sleep thing isn’t progressing any faster, pull her off the railing and tuck her in again.

She starts playing with the bars of the cot. Out of the corner of my eye I see her stand up again – I ignore it. Her intention is play, but it’s too late in the day, and her tired legs give way and –

PLONK.

“I get knocked down.”

I try not to smile. She temporarily lies down, sucking her fingers. I think ‘good, she’s become discouraged.’

Within seconds she’s sat back up.

“But I get up again.”

Standing up again, leaning against the cot, chewing on the railing. “Ehh!” she yells out in protest. Play with me Mum! is what she means.

I sigh, promptly lie her down, tuck her in firmly, and say “Shhhh.”

That’s all the motivation she needs. After all she just broke me: I spoke.

In no time she’s at it again.

“You’re never gonna keep me down.”

I ignore her and stare at the wall, closing my eyes, wondering why she can’t fall asleep while I standing there think I may soon become a sleep-stander.

“I get knocked down.”

Over she falls once more, and she swings her legs from side to side. I hesitate – is she settling in?

“But I get up again.”

Nope.

“You’re never gonna keep me down.”

Tubthumping indeed.

Take a walk in my shoes, Baby

Today I’m tapping my fingers together in cheeky anticipation, Montgomery Burns of Simpsons-fame style:

Excellent.

While I’m at work, Hubbie has the entire week off, so he is doing the looking after baby girl duties.

Changing nappies.
Feeding.
Cleaning up.
Preparing meals.
Rocking to sleep.
Amusement and Play.
EVERYTHING.

🙂

My happiness is two-fold. One is attributed to the fact that I am so comfortable in the knowledge that she will be at home with her Dad, bonding with him, and because he is my Hubbie, of course as with many things he and I do things the same in our house, and I don’t have to worry about other people coming in to look after her and doing things different.

It’s a comfort thing.

The second has to do with the ‘let’s see how you do it’ approach. I am so fortunate to have a husband who is truly understanding and accepting of how hard it can be to get anything done during the day, even though at times I’m ‘just’ at home, all day. He won’t ask, but I find myself explaining why –

dinner is late/the house is a mess/I haven’t burnt the cds he’s wanted for 2 months/the laundry is drying all over the house 2 weeks after the fact

again and again and again. And the most common phrase out of my mouth is “be quiet, I don’t want her to wake up,” more common than your everyday usual “hi’s” and “bye’s”.

I am gaining so much satisfaction sitting here at work, wondering how he is tackling the looking after baby duties whilst getting everything else done.

Tee hee hee.

Just yesterday we had this convo:

Me: “You’ll have to do the grocery shopping tomorrow.”

Hubbie: “But I’m looking after baby girl.”

Me (with raised eyebrows): “so does that mean I don’t ever have to cook and clean when I look after her?”

(Another moment later on).

Me (breaking down baby girl’s schedule): “And then you feed her, and change her nappy…”

Hubbie: “So when do I do the shopping?”

Me (smiling with obvious glee): “in between changing her nappy and lunch. Everything you do has to work around HER.”

Excellent.

Despite my clear joy at Hubbie doing my usual job today, I am truly rapt with the arrangement, and I think to myself that this could really work: me working, while Hubbie looks after baby girl.

I don’t know if I’m looking forward to the end-of-day report from Hubbie (mischievous anticipation), his holiday vibe rubbing off on me (because who doesn’t love time off), whether it’s the recent re-introduction of alcohol into my life (last night’s red wine still in the system) or this morning’s coffee (coursing through my veins), but, all things considered, life is feeling pretty freaking good right now.

🙂 🙂 🙂

The Happiness Project says that one instance of happiness derives from the state of learning, discovery, growth. It’s the journey, not the destination, and boy are we on the journey of a lifetime right now.

This is life, and we’re living it.

Ahh. The over-analytical life of an aspiring writer.

Things that shit me… #4

Staying with the car theme… people with big cars, that can’t drive. Add to that also, people with small cars, who still can’t drive.

Two cases in point. 1.

The other day as I was leaving my local shopping centre car park, a huge tractor-type thing pulled out in front of me, rather annoyingly I might add. Knowing she couldn’t drive, she should have let me go before blocking my path. I watched, unimpressed, as she reversed out of her park, having a metre between the back of her car and the car parked behind her, and then moved forward again. And then again she moved back, turning her car… and then leaving that whole metre (maybe more) of space behind her, she stopped, and then moved forward again.

She did the whole thing AGAIN, before finally managing to take off.

Some advice lady. Firstly, know how long your car is, so you don’t have to resemble the stupidest (and also funniest) scene in Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery.

austin

Secondly, just learn how to freaking drive.

2.

Randomly, cars that are turning right into a street, that have to veer widely around to the left forming a semi-circle, before making their turn. Just drive straight, then turn right. You are driving a matchbox after all. It’s not hard.

Also small car drivers that *gasp-shock-horror* perform the above case 1 scenario, unable to get their car out of a park and having to do the back-forward dance a zillion times… and they have a small car.

(Shakes head).

Of the feline variety

And now folks, for a picture of something that ISN’T food related.

This pic, is all me.

cat-humor-funny-i-want-to-be-let-out

I have it stuck on ‘my’ desk at work (it’s a shared space). I love it because not only do I love cats, but I love the indecisive/want-it-all nature they encapsulate, which I am prone to as well, being of the feline nature.

I want it ALL.

“I want to be let out. (But I also want to be let back in immediately afterwards, and then maybe out again).”

Smiling so hard right now 🙂 🙂 🙂