[Miscellany]

I'm going to level with you;  I'm not doing too well.
I feel like I'm on the precipice of a nervous breakdown though I'm too aware of how unable I am to have one to actually ever let it happen.  Who would be there to pick up the pieces exactly should that happen?  I don't have the luxury of letting myself completely break down and decompose like I want to.  I resent that too, by the way.

The past year has been excruciating.  I'm now at the stage where I don't even look forward to weekends.  I don't even look forward to the long night ahead after work finishes.  What do people do with those hours exactly?  How are they filled?  I see them all before me and just get exhausted by the daunting task of navigating their emptiness.  I drive home, late with my fingers gripping the wheel and my stomach churning with pain the closer I get to my house.  I often take the long way home - sometimes driving close to 2 hours to postpone the inevitable nothingness that follows when I am here.

"What is the point of me?" is a question I ask of myself daily.  More than daily; perhaps closer to hourly.  It's a valid question.  What is the point of me?  I can see that I get up every morning, I pay my taxes, I work in a job that is giving back to the community, I love those around me, I am kind and giving (well, mostly), I am a good friend and a human that aims not to harm others but there is nothing there that actually has a point.  There is nothing there that makes being me actually worthwhile.  I'm not saying that I'm going to disappear any time soon - remember, who would be there to pick up the pieces and all that?  No, it's just - what is the point of all this emptiness?  I'm sick of sailing these seas.  I'm sick of being me.  I'm sick of getting up and paying my taxes and being a productive member of society.  I don't have the things that basic humans need - connection, hugs and love and so what is the point of me?  I keep asking - like as if I expect a disembodied voice to boom back an answer that makes sense.

But there is no disembodied voice.  There is no answer.  There is only that emptiness, stretching out before me tauntingly.

MVOR thinks this is productive of me; to be feeling so raw.  This rawness is new.  It's the repressed me that is now surfacing, that has to surface in order for me to peel it away and expose the new, I suppose.  But maybe not.  Maybe it's just me winding down, coming to terms with my supreme insignificance and a dawning of many more years of chaos and myself spiraling in a downward direction.

I wish I could say that I was having a moment of feeling sorry for myself but I'm honestly not.  I'm grateful for every wretched breath I draw.  I'm amazed by my ability to imagine beautiful things, always.  I'm inspired by the beauty I am able to find in every chaotic moment.  I recognise my unique qualities in seeing things that others don't and in surviving what others couldn't even imagine.  There is nobody I know that could handle the daily circumstances that I do and I wouldn't wish it on anyone either.  I'm amazing and all that.  I know.

But it's not enough for me to see what the point of all that is.  What is the point of me?  It's a question I'll keep asking until my voice grows hoarse and every silent beat that follows after sends me hurtling further and further into space away from everything and everyone.

What is the fucking point of me?

Labels: in treatment, musings, MVOR, pondering, psychos, wonderings

posted by M at 12:18 am 11 comments

Sometimes my conversations with MVOR are inconsequential, they float away into the atmosphere as soon as I leave the comfort of that cosy little room.  Other times the conversation has stayed with me dancing on my shoulder and poking me with a pitchfork like a little devil so I never forget.

The Archetypes conversation we had last week has lingered around me and refusing to leave.

Like all our conversations, this started somewhere rather remote and eventually meandered in that same way it usually does, past the inadequacies of my upbringing and taking a right through my lack of self esteem and stumbling somewhere near the babbling brook of discontent until we reached the fairytale discussion.

If you think about it, we are all in our consciousness and at the very core a collection of archetypes.  That is how our point of reference for ourselves and the way in which we size up and identify each other.  Every story has its wicked witch, its naive traveler, a caregiver, a Prince.  There are those that look one way and act another like our friend The Beast and there are those that without doubt are exactly who they appear to be, like Snow White.  Love it or hate it archetypes are important to us.  How else would you know what I meant by Perfect Mother unless you already had an idea in your mind of what that would entail?  Even if your own Mother wasn't perfect at all, you would still have a projected ideal in your mind of what she should have been.

The fairytale discussion began with an unflattering description of someone in my life as the wicked witch from Hansel and Gretel.  MVOR agreed that this sounded consistent with my observations about her in previous discussions and so if that was true when who was I?

As the leading lady in my own sorrowful story you'd think that this would be an easy question to answer but I couldn't reconcile myself as a Red Riding Hood, Snow White or Belle.  There is no heroine for me to project forward.  MVOR heard my silence, as she often does... and in her perceptive way eventually prompted;  I thought that would be obvious.  Aren't you Cinderella?  She gave a multitude of good reasons why I should be.

I considered it for a long while but ultimately had to disagree.

I couldn't be Cinderella because Cinderella, like all leading heroines, is a character laden with hope and possibility.  You go into reading her story knowing that she will prevail.  Despite her lowly and doomed status as a servant to her Stepmother and horrid Stepsisters, success is still a certainty for her, like it is for all heroines.  I can't say that anything is a positive certainty for me.  The jury is still out on whether I will turn these lemons into lemonade or even if I will manage to maintain this exhausting balancing act of my life that can at best be described as a "status quo".  No, though I may indeed be in the soot and cinders, sleeping with the outcasts and edging my way along the fringes like our old friend Cinderella I'm not quite as entitled as she to a happy ending.  Who is to say I am?  What's the guarantee?  Not everyone ends up with love, family, money, security, health or self actualisation.  In fact, not even having one of them is a certainty.

MVOR explained that our archetypes and internal schemas are part of the image we have of ourselves and that which we project outwards.  Is it indeed a self fulfilling prophesy to see oneself in a certain light and to project that outwards, therefore inviting others to see us thus?  And so what do you do if your internal archetype is not positive or constructive?  Well this is a question for the ages.  I'm told it can change with a lot of perseverance and adjustments to our internal narrative.

So if my archetypal fairytale character is not Cindy, then what do you suppose I said?
----

I bought an album the other day for the first time in a loooooong time.  I don't tend to buy albums anymore.  I buy songs. I suppose we all do that now.  But this one... this one I bought.  I seem to be listening to this song a lot.  It takes me somewhere otherworldly.  Exactly what I need.

Pontoon - Emma Louise

Labels: archtypes, fairytales, music, musical monday, musings, MVOR, questions, schemas, thinking, thoughts

posted by M at 11:52 pm 10 comments

I'm an idealist.
I wouldn't recommended it.

Labels: cynical bitch, idealism, musings, questions, yes I am taking politics

posted by M at 12:50 am 7 comments

I was supposed to be doing some work on the weekend but somehow ended up at the movies instead.  Movies are the vice I always give in to, even if there is a lot of other stuff that needs to be done.  The movie we saw was The Way Way Back - a vacation story about a blended family who takes a trip to the beach for the summer.  But really, this Duncan's story, an awkward 14 year old who is dealing with being bullied by his Mum's smarmy new boyfriend and trying to find connection in a world where he feels so isolated.  I suppose this is a typical teenage story.  Didn't we all feel like that at some stage?

To say this movie struck a chord with me would be underplaying it a bit.  I didn't particularly identify with Duncan but I understood him and he gave me something that I just love getting when I go to the movies; a realisation.

The first scene of the movie is the car trip.  A conversation between Duncan and his Mother's boyfriend Trent breaks the silence leading Trent to question Duncan about what score he would give himself out of 10.  When Duncan reluctantly gives himself a 6, Trent gleefully tells him he's a 3.   This is not a good beginning for Duncan.  He's 14.  His mother is going out with an arsehole. He has absolutely no power, no friends, no life and nothing to look forward to. He feels unwanted, alone, awkward and lonely but something incredible happened to Duncan on his summer vacation: He bloomed.

I like to think that everyone has a blooming moment.  Perhaps yours happened at 14 and aren't you lucky that it happened so early if it did?  Maybe your bloom happened as a senior in High School or after you left and got a job.  Perhaps it was meeting the love of your life that did it.  Maybe it was getting your license or going overseas or doing Tough Mudder.  I don't know - I guess there are no rules to this kind of stuff.   A time to every purpose...

Duncan's "time" happened on summer vacation while holidaying with a family whom he felt didn't want him.  One day, while at a cafe Duncan randomly connects with the eccentric and immature water park owner Owen, who offers Duncan a job for the summer.  Duncan is excited by the prospect of spending time away from his family and accepts immediately.  At the water park Duncan finds himself.  The mavericks who work there - whom you can also imagine may have at one time felt as Duncan does - accept him totally as one of them and Duncan responds in the only way that someone completely accepted can and that is, he becomes his true self.

Maslow had a theory of self-actualisation that somehow fits into this story.  Although the threory was widely contested in the psychological community I still love to this day.  There is something so Earthy and real about it.  It feels real and that's enough for me.  Basically, in order to be self-actualised there is a hierarchy of needs that must be met.  The needs are graduated like a pyramid each step moving away from the physical and basic and into the spiritual and emotional (from food, shelter to love, confidence and belonging).  It isn't until all your needs are met that you can be self-actualised.  I think sometimes people confuse self-actualisation with success.  You can be a 'success' and 'functional' and 'loving' and still not be self-actualised and I suppose if that's how you see self-actualisation the hierarchy of needs really doesn't make sense.  IMO Self-actualisation is a state of mind, a meaningfulness one finds in life that goes beyond the material and into the soul.  Successful and loving people don't necessarily have those qualities (though, they might) and maybe self-actualised people don't necessarily meed success as a material form either.   Do I think you can skip steps and still reach the top though?  Perhaps..

I was reminded of Maslow's hierarchy of needs while watching The Way Way Back.  Duncan had the basic needs but not the emotional ones.  At the water park he found a sense of belonging and connection among people who accepted and embraced him.  He let go.  He bloomed.  He stepped up.  He defied Trent's assertion that he was a "3".

I realised that apart from our basic needs there are a couple of things that might help us to become the best person we can be:

1) A place (no matter how insignificant) where we can be completely ourselves and accepted for who we are by other people.
2) A champion who will stand up for us when we can't stand up for ourselves.

Duncan's family saw him as a 3.  In their stifling presence he was awkward, shy, weird and moody but that's not who he really was.  At the water park, with Owen championing him, he became a 10.  He found his champion and his special place and he left that sleepy summer town behind not a better person (as that would suggest he needed 'bettering') but a person who was allowed to bloom, finally.  It was his time.

I guess I've been struggling with being seen as a 3, seeing myself this way too.  I hold out hope for a champion and a place to bloom and moving up that pyramid - don't we all?


Although it's not quite Monday anymore, this one organically came up out of this post and so it must be its time.  I love this brand of 60s folk rock and whenever I play this song it seems to always be the right song to play.  I guess that Old Testament is not all fury and hell after all.

Turn, Turn, Turn - The Byrds

Labels: 60s, cinema, film, friends, life, life and art, movies, music, musical monday, musings, self help, theory, thoughts, time, wonderings

posted by M at 1:32 am 6 comments

Sometimes a song gets stuck in your head, you know how it is.  This one has been swanning around in there for about a week now and I'm not sure why.  I *know* I didn't hear it anywhere because, quite frankly this song is nowhere to be heard.  It just appeared one day like a disembodied birdie voice singing in my ear and has been nesting there ever since.  Perhaps it's the catchy la la la and the lullaby quality of the tune but I played it until I fell asleep last night and it worked a treat.  I've needed a lullaby lately.

I know next to nothing about Cibo Matto.  I've come across a few of their songs but none I like so much as Sugar Water.  I never, never, never play it only once.  Never.  I first came upon it accidentally when seeing the video clip on Rage TV and loved it at first glance.  Love does happen at first sight... well in the music world anyway - even if it is your ears doing the viewing (though I suppose the line is blurred with video clips these days).  I can't think of anything I dislike about the song - even the slightly ESLness of the lyrics is a joy.  The lyric A woman in the Moon is singing to the Earth promotes very evocative imagery to me and after hearing the song I'm often left wondering why or who or what that is and why indeed Cibo Matto have taken the pains to include that particular line in there.

One of my favourite things about the song is the video clip and I was remiss not to include it in my favourite video clips of all time post because it truly is one of my favourites.  I would have seen the clip dozens of times but I still can't quite figure it out in my head.  It's supposed to be a bit surreal, I get that much but things get hazy with the mailing of the letter and the writing on the window.

Come to think of it I probably like not knowing.  Some riddles don't need to be figured out.


Sugar Water - Cibo Matto

Labels: music, musical monday, musings, pop culture, wonderings

posted by M at 11:12 pm 1 comments

MVOR and I talked a lot about self-worth in our latest sitting. Clearly it's a reoccurring theme in my life and we bring it up a lot.  I'd spent a good many years (my whole life) tearing myself down and so I wonder if now I have to spend the same amount of time building myself up?  MVOR brought up me needing to enjoy the soup of my existence rather than looking at my life as a series of individual ingredients.  She didn't put it quite like that - being much more eloquent and poetic than I - but this is how I remember it:

Take everything that you are and put it all together, heat, stir, let it simmer - sometimes for hours - and then you have the soup of your life.  The soup is a dossier of the important bits that make up our person(a). If you think about what goes into your soup it can be quite humbling - perhaps it's the loss of a family member, the love you had for your pet dog, the wife who left you, the happiest marriage ever, the love in your heart for your child, the brother who failed to emotionally check in, abuse, love, joy, bullying, family holidays down by the lake, illness that stole people far too early, being heartbroken and those whose hearts you have toyed with recklessly - it's all there.  Whatever they are, good and bad, all the flavours contribute to the whole.  The soup ceases to be simply the sum of its parts once it has been cooked - it is no longer onion, cumin, celery etc, it's something completely different.

MVOR pointed out that I am picking apart ingredients and judging my whole 'soup' on one little bit.  Cumin tastes like absolute shite on its own, but in the soup it probably adds to the flavour.  I'm looking at the cumin and giving the whole soup a bad review based on that singular flavour only.  It's true that sometimes when you take a spoonful of the soup you might get a mouthful of chilli, or cumin or whatever and it causes you to splutter and fail to swallow but still - the soup is more than this mouthful.  We are more than the sum of our parts, even though the parts make the sum.  Does that make sense?

My soup is an series of ingredients which I have thus far refused to enjoy as a cohesive meal.  I've taken this rather negative perspective on my life instead (as best paraphrased by a conversation in the movie Clueless):

Cher: she's a full-on Monet 

Tai: What's a Monet?

Cher: It's like a painting, see? From far away, it's OK, but up close, it's a big old mess.

I see myself in the microcosm - the Monet up close and as the list of ingredients rather than the whole soup.   According to MVOR I should start looking at myself as the whole soup rather than the sum of the ingredients and if I find myself spluttering on a mouthful of cumin I need to reposition that as part of the whole rather than as a defining part of me - yes it exists, yes it's bad, yes it's part of my history and therefore part of my now but I am not just cumin.  I need to acknowledge and respect those parts of me that are not that great but in no way should I be judging the whole on the sum of it's parts.

Aaaand now I'm hungry.

*no cumin was harmed in the writing of this post.  Feel that perhaps I was a little too hard on it. It's really quite a nice spice.

Labels: analogy, analysis, art, life, life and art, monet, musings, MVOR, psychos, thoughts

posted by M at 8:04 pm 5 comments

I've been thinking a lot about this blog and what the purpose of it is.

I wonder a lot if I should be locking it up and keeping it as a place to spew private and seedy bile only.  I toy with deleting all the non-musical posts and keeping it specific and I ponder living a life alongside a blog that has an identity such as "cooking blog" or "teacher tips".  Sometimes I have an overwhelming urge to just throw the address out to everyone I know and let them all feast upon me and then I wonder why I don't?

Clearly this is a public space - and yet it's so unbelievably private at the same time.  There are posts that are more private than others, of course, but some people (you) get to read them all - private or not they are there for you to read.  I've made the choice for them to be there.  So what am I hiding from those in my everyday life exactly?  What aspect of myself am I protecting by not being open?

This notion of private and public in the online world is very interesting to me - and not just because I'm questioning my role in it.  There are things that people who happen across this blog know about me that no one else knows and there are things that you will never know because they are part of my public profile (avatar? and now it is complete, the avatar is not only online).  I'm not sure which is more real, but often I think it's this person here - the one clicking at the keys right now... but perhaps not.  Maybe it's the person that attends parent/teacher meetings and lends a listening ear to a friend in need?  I especially wonder about my need to be noticed versus my need to feel private and protected and how that affects this public/private dichotomy of my identity.  I wonder if everyone or anyone else in the blog world feels like this too or if it's just me.

If I threw open the doors of this blog then what would it become?  Would it change?  Would I?  And is that a good thing?

Is your blog truly public?
How's that treating you?

Labels: blogs, friends, internet as village community, musings, Now I'm writing a blog post about it. Bizarre., private, public, questions, secrets, thinking, thoughts, wonderings, writing

posted by M at 11:07 pm 14 comments

I got called out on being the 'I know' girl the other day.  It's my go-to phrase: "I know".

I have this ability you see, and always have of just knowing things to be true.  I know if someone is going to be a right shit, even before I've met them properly.  I know and understand people's feelings often before they even realise them.  Sometimes I know how things will turn out.   I understand other people's emotional dramas.  I understand concepts, often before people even explain them fully (not maths *shudder*).  I guess I'm just perceptive.

I. Just. Know.

That is, to qualify this further, I am good at knowing things on an intellectual level.  I comprehend ideas and people very well.  It makes me a wonderful friend to have in your pocket.  I understand.  Yes truly I do.  When I was called out the other night on being the "I know girl" it was because I know nothing spiritually speaking.  I'm not talking about Jesus.  I mean as a base emotional knowing, I know nothing.

I guess that means that while I can be reflective, understanding, articulate and perceptive it rarely clicks over into a level so deep that knowing something changes my life.  I know for instance that I must live an authentic life, that is to honour my dreams, wishes and completely accept myself as I am.  However, despite knowing this, talking the talk and trying like buggery to live this way and thinking that I'm doing it right I'm still not.  I may even physically do things the exact same way as somebody else but still end up with a very different and unwanted outcome.  One can go to a million classes, a thousand doctors and many a positive talk seminar with the best of intentions but unless you are really able to be open it's just not going to work.  You see, I know this but clearly I don't or else positive things would be happening.

I've discovered that it's very hard for me to separate intellect from emotion.  I can think myself into or out of anything.  I am good at thinking.  I am a thinker and an philosopher.  I am also quite good at following instructions.  These skills get you nowhere outside of the classroom.  I am shite at the important stuff - that is at letting knowledge marinate so deep that it imbibes every cell and becomes the life I lead.  It's apparently not something you can learn through instruction - I've tried.

I'm frustrated about it because I don't know how else to be.
I know that I don't know and I don't know how I'm supposed to get to know.

Labels: about me, knowing, musings, oh I don't know, philosophy, the fact that I can write this entry proves my point, thinking, thoughts, truth time, wonderings

posted by M at 11:52 pm 6 comments

I bought a ticket to a play a while ago that has haunted me ever since I saw it.  It was called Constellations and it was produced by the MTC (as an an interpretation of a play by British playwright Nick Payne). The play tells the story(ies) of a couple but in a way that is not linear at all.  The whole play is one long piece of dialogue expertly ping-ponged (made up verb) between two actors on stage playing out different manifestations and realities of their life as a couple.   It brought up a lot of questions for me and the different realities of my own life.

If at any point, or at every point for that matter, we come to a fork in the road is the chance of us taking any of those branching pathways weighted the same as the other?  Is the homeless man homeless because he forgot to brush his hair one morning or ran the red light?  Can we at any point deviate and create a new life for ourselves regardless of what has come before?  Is there another, better version of us happening right now in this multi-verse?

I wonder a lot now about the Many-Worlds interpretation of Quantum Mechanics.  I am not a Scientist.  I am a dreamer who doesn't need or even want a theory to be proven true, the thought is enough for me.  Sometimes the thought itself is truth enough! This is the opposite of being a Scientist - a la people that forge their lives on proving theories.  I don't need proof.   In any case, I realise that Quantum Theory is riddled with, at best, uncertainty and at worst is an absolute lie.  I don't even know enough about it to make that statement properly but it's my blog and I'll pontificate if I want to.

Almost (...almost) certainly, you cannot have parallel lives existing simultaneously but certainly our actions and reactions do bring about certain responses in others and ourselves from which more action will take place.  That action helps to creates our future.  Even so, sometimes things happen that are a freak occurrence.  Sometimes life brings about things you cannot plan for and even the best possible response from you will not glean an equal and opposite reaction.  Or does it?  Perhaps all responses are simply 'meant to be'?  Perhaps it is as written and nothing more..which seems unlikely.  Or perhaps it's random and chaotic and nothing at all matters because we are just here to fuck, reproduce and die...but I can't believe that either.

If life is like a choose your own adventure and where at each point we come across a fork in the road, are the possible choices for us already written and we just pick the right path within a certain parameter or are all infinite possibilities at all times always open to all of us?

I wonder about the different forks in the road that I have encountered (I am old enough to know there have been a great many) and I wonder about who that 16 year old M turned into when she said yes that time when I actually said no?  I wonder about M who turned down the temporary teaching job she was offered and what she is doing now?  I wonder about M who actually stayed in London when I came back.  Who are these other Ms?  How many hundreds of thousands of manifestations and possibilities of her exist now and how many more are there to come?  What I wonder most of all is which of her is truly authentic and which of her am I (if any)?

I'm beginning to fear that the best manifestation of M disappeared somewhere down a fork in the road long, long ago and I lost her completely.

Labels: constellations, contemplation, it doesn't help that the main character shares my name, life, life and art, musings, science, theatre, thoughts, wonderings

posted by M at 12:07 am 8 comments

I've never thought of myself as a particularly fearful person.  In fact, I think that as a child I was quite fearless, possibly outspoken, perhaps even obnoxious at times.  I was a leader and probably not all that benevolent either. I was moody and had a temper (have a temper?).  I do remember being shy though, uncertain when it came to friendships (did anybody actually like me?) and even running and hiding behind the couch when strangers came to visit.

I don't remember when the fear as I know it now really crept in.  Maybe it was always there, holding hands with my shyness and playing jump rope with my uncertainty.  Perhaps shyness and uncertainty stem from fears. I don't actually know if that is true but there are many ways in which it affects my life now.

MVOR talks a lot about my fears and where they come from.  There is a family history (hysteria, rather) that runs deep.  I don't think it's genetic but instead something seeded and nurtured.  I remember being a teenager and being so surprised when my friends' mothers would say "have a nice time" when they left the house.  As I exited the front door my mother would say something akin to "someone with a blood filled syringe may stab you with it.  I saw it on Hinch.  Be careful".  This is clearly not an environment that fosters self-confidence, love for your fellow human or being carefree is it?

Fear has stopped me from living my life in a fulfilling way.  That is a big statement to make but it's true.  I live in the sense that I am a functional member of society.  My fear doesn't stop me from having a job or paying the bills (hmph!).  I'm much too responsible to break the law in any kind of significant way and I'm too empathetic and mindful of others to ever really hurt any living thing.  I'm a good friend.  I go out.  I can share a laugh and I can speak to a room full of parents and teachers without losing too much sleep.  It's just that I'm not living my life in a way that is authentic or emotionally satisfying and that's the problem.

I'm afraid..
-to take a chance and apply for other, better jobs just in case the situation is worse than where I'm at.
-to go part time, in case I can't pay my bills.
-to go on a holiday alone.
-to put myself out there, love wise.
-(in fact), to put myself in situations where I can be rejected in any way.
-to go back to my place because I'm afraid my nose will start bleeding again and I'll be on my own.
-to be on my own.
-to make decisions - on some days any decision can become a crippling one.
-to insist on treatment that is right for and worthy of me.
-to speak my truth in case someone disagrees or ridicules me.
-to write.

(just the tip of the ice-berg, believe me).

I hide this fear well.  Most people I know have no idea I live with an anxiety that I can sometimes (most days) feel physically in the pit of my stomach.  Most people wouldn't have a clue how debilitating it is not to be able to acknowledge yourself as the instigator of your own life and make decisions.. and I suppose that is why I don't share this fact with others.

I suppose that's what it comes down to at the end of the day.  I'm the instigator of the fear and of the solution but somehow I ...just can't do it. I know the only person that can change the direction of my life is me but I also don't feel as though I'm in the drivers seat in my own car.

How do I take the wheel?

Labels: emo, fear, jesus christ I'm crazy, musings, psychos, scared, wonderings

posted by M at 7:43 pm 18 comments

Now that I'm almost all recovered from the surgery I miss being looked after.

There is something so intrinsic about humans being looked after I think.  It speaks of safety, loyalty, support, love and survival and I don't think it's any coincidence between that notion and the fact that most of us end up that state of coupledom that we call 'love'.

For me, living back at home on my own I'm finding myself incredibly exhausted by keeping this machine running.  The machine is not so much my own body, but the machine of daily societal existence.  I suppose this is what we do, us humans, we keep this machine running.  We get the bins out on time, pay the bills, keep ourselves fed, washed, on time to various events and work.  We are in a constant state of "ongoingness" and that is essential to us being productive members of a society that is constantly watching that we make the right moves.  Right now, I miss all these things not really mattering.  I miss letting someone else taking care of it all.  I miss leaning backward precariously, knowing I would be caught by strong arms.  I suppose that notion (letting someone else do it) is very un-feminist of me.  Surely as a educated, strong minded, card carrying member of the bourgeois you'd think I'd just want to get on with it and forge my own path out of that big old granite mountain ahead of me using nothing but my wits - but to be honest, folk I can't be fucked.  I just can't.

Yes "ongoingness" is relentlessly difficult at the moment and I'm absolutely exhausted with the effort of trying.  I know that the moment one stops is the moment things fall apart and I, my friends cannot afford to let things fall apart again.  You cannot survive without keeping the machine running.  This much I know for certain.

I envy those who have a dashing (and sexy) co-pilot.  It must be nice to know that come what may you can switch off the main controls and just let someone else navigate that flight path while you get some well earned zzzzzzzzzzzz.  Sure, sometimes you'll have to man the controls but you'll be all the more rested coming into it surely.  Sharing the load is always the better option and makes ongoingness all the more palatable.

Labels: love, musings, sick, stupid events which highlight the obsession society has with pairing everyone up, wonderings

posted by M at 12:55 am 3 comments

For the past three years at the school I've enjoyed a very nice relationship with the parent community. My name has been bandied around the local kindergartens as a 'great teacher' and people come to the school knowing who I am and/or wanting their child to be in my class. This is very flattering for someone who has the self esteem about the size of a kangaroo fetus and for the most part of her life has felt like the girl in your class who wears braces and eats clag.

Next year at the school my role is changing somewhat. I'm going to be teaching a level of children that is a "hard sell" to parents - mostly because it will be a standalone class - but for other reasons too... I'm finding now, for the first time, in a long time I'm not a popular choice. Parents who I don't doubt would have followed me up the school with their children, are saying a polite "no" to this class and then coming to see me to apologise because, they assure me, they love me but ...no, this class no. I know that if I was faced with putting Guappo my fake adopted Somalian baby into this class I'd struggle too, so I really can't blame them.

This is the first time in my life however that I've actually had to battle against my Ego. I never thought I had one, you see - and it's a bit of a shock to find out that yes, yes I do.

In a way it's good for me to have my Ego checked by this little life test. It's good to be humbled sometimes and to have the shoe on the other foot.

But I want to make this perfectly clear: I hate it.

Labels: ego, musings, obsessive parents, stressed teachers, teacher dramas, teaching

posted by M at 10:44 pm 3 comments

Since I've purchased my own little slice of land (or rather, no land - all house) I've been subject to the rather strange phenomena on behalf of my female friends of the 'husband lend out'. In all things domesticated I have been offered a slightly worn 30-something to 'fix it' for me. I certainly haven't asked for it, complained about the lack of it in my own life or even secretly wished for it (okay maybe I have... they're just so damn handy around the house!) - even so, they have been offered seemingly out of nowhere.

The thing is, and this is what keeps me from taking up the offer... I'm doubting said handymen know anything about this deal at all. They're being lent out without prior consent. I got to thinking... Is this a normal occurrence? Do husbands/live in boyfriends and other strapping blokes wake up to lady friends randomly saying err..[insert male name here] I promised my best friend you'd go round and fix her leaking tap today. Hop to it! Is this something that happens often?

Girls, do you do this to your men? Does it happen via prior agreement? And do you accept the offer when it's laid on the table like that?

Guys, does it happen to you? What do you get hired out for? And do you resent it?

Labels: friends, ladies, lend out, men, musings, questions, what women want, wonderings

posted by M at 9:13 pm 19 comments

The 'officially old' birthdays are coming strong and fast now. I've celebrated (and commiserated with) quite a few in the last month. It's meant that I've had to come out of my otherwise rather comfortable hibernation and socialise with people again. I have to be honest and say that I'm finding it really hard to do this. Hiding away has been like a little blanket keeping me warm in an otherwise bitter winter. Socialising is all too hard because I can't be bothered making small talk with people who, when sober, never think of catching up with me.

It's also been a time of ..emotional spring cleaning I suppose. I'm wondering with great curiosity who my real friends really are. Are they the people that pick you up? Are they the people that ring you out of the blue? Are they the people that think about you before they go to sleep? Are they just the people who invite you to their birthdays or the ones who add you on facebook?

Maybe there's a lot going on with everyone else but lately I find myself wondering what it (friendship) means, and who they are. Maybe the problem lies with me, I don't ask for a lot. I don't actually ever ask for anything. Nothing. I don't ask people to step out of their way for me at all and I haven't done so for many years now. And I'm fully willing to respect the fact that it's my own trust issues that are on display here, not anyone elses. Maybe I'm not a good friend. However, I have to say recently I did ask a few friends to do something for me and it was something minimal (to be present at a dinner) and well... it didn't happen (the reasons I won't go into but were petty). This is beginning to sound like a teenage girl's dear diary but I've been there for birthdays, engagements, weddings, births etc, often arriving and leaving alone (though I have a rather severe anxiety about doing so) and going to places where I really don't feel comfortable at all and 100% of the time with a present in hand to boot. I've been the person that has been woken up at 3am by a crying someone wanting comfort. I've been the person who has said yes I'll be your crutch in any situation. But the same hasn't really come back to me or ...for me. The whole situation has forced me to evaluate a lot of things and also to evaluate myself and where I stand in the world. It's been ...difficult - made more difficult by not being able to hibernate to the extend that I need to at the moment.

Anyway, I just needed to get that off my chest oh dear diary. Now I'm going to go write bad poetry and rim my eyes with black eyeliner.

Here's a song - a long time favourite that has helped me to swim a little in an otherwise drown-worthy situation. God knows that when the chips are down I can always turn to music. Always.



Maps - Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs.




(I was talking to someone the other night about the song Let's Dance to Joy Division by The Wombats. He was saying how much he liked it and I didn't really know that much about The Wombats but said that I loved Joy Division. He said that he thought JD were ohhhkaaay but hadn't really listened to much their stuff. I immediately made the loud proclamation that he was not allowed to like a song with such a title if he didn't have an extensive knowledge of Joy Division first. Am I being too harsh? I stand by my statement though I must also point out that I was a little tipsy (read: obnoxiously drunk and pissed off with the world and didn't really mean to take it out on the poor guy).

Labels: friends, music, musings, the mean reds, wonderings

posted by M at 11:47 pm 22 comments

Something interesting is happening in the Big Brother house (yes of COURSE it's interesting!) - the boys have all gotten together and created the "Spa Mafia" - a men's group based on bitching about others, getting away from the girls and being a "real bloke", (whatever the fuck that means). The thing is, though the group is a "men's group" it has a notable absence:




For those not watching Travis is the guy who has a high pitched voice, wears heart shaped sunnies, is a self-confessed virgin, sets off every gay-dar within 100km radius off and yet insists he is straight.

The poor guy has been COPPING it from the blokes (and Brigitte) left right and centre. He's not a member of the Spa Mafia because they just can't trust him not to run off and tell the girls about all their secret business. On the flip-side, half the "Mafia" have admitted they don't trust Dave (the cult escaping fireman) either - but hey, there he is - creating his own bubbles in the spa with the rest of them. Very interesting.

Practically every day since they entered the house, people (mostly the other guys) have reacted with aggression towards Travis. His sexuality has been questioned straight out. He has been told to his face by a few of the guys that they would not associate with him in the outside world. His choice of fashion has been bagged both behind his back and to his face - and the guys have really seemed angry when they ask him why he would "wear something like that" (ie: his heart sunnies and hat). I've found it a little disturbing to watch actually. Who cares what he's wearing? Why do they hate him so much? He seems like an nice person who doesn't go out of his way to annoy others. He's just a guy. He's just a person like anyone else. It annoys the crap out of me that they would judge him based only on his looks. It's pathetic. Yes, that kind of thing is pathetic coming from anyone. I wouldn't associate with you because of the way you dress/weight/sexuality/attractiveness is pretty much the same as I wouldn't associate with you because you're Aboriginal/Asian/Italian/Indian/Sudanese in my book. It's so judgmental and a horrible attitude to have about someone else.

Last year when Zak (flaming gay, God love him) was in the house there was an initial reaction but no real aggression towards him. Did the housemates accept him more because he was gay? Is it because "gay" is a label that suggests a point of "difference" from the other men and something from which they could distance themselves from? He wasn't offensive because he was not like the rest of them. Personally I also find this attitude ridiculous but that's how I saw it being played out last year. This year however, we have this guy who has many of the mannerisms of being gay and yet he insists he is not. Maybe that is dangerous because it's subversive - because if he's not gay and he's ALSO not acting like the other blokes then ... what does that mean for the other straight men? It puts that whole idea of "real men" into question, doesn't it?

For the record my gay-dar is going off uncontrollably whenever he comes onto the screen however maybe he isn't gay at all, maybe he hasn't really explored that side of himself, maybe being deeply religious has something to do with rejecting potential gay tendencies (if there are any). In any case though, if in Travis' mind he doesn't believe he is gay then that's good enough for me. Who cares if he is or isn't? I MEAN WHO THE FUCK CARES? Jesus Christ! It's not like he's going to cop a feel of the men in the shower one morning is it? And yet, first night in, we have some of the other guys saying that they refuse to sleep next to any of the other men in the house ..god knows why, maybe they think that if your leg accidentally touches another man's leg then you get the gay disease or some shit.

So, in the BB house it's been all this AND keeping Travis out of the "Spa Mafia" - just because quite frankly (and this is what it's coming down to) they do not see Travis as a real man - as one of them. Why don't they see him as a real man? Well, because he wears heart shaped sunglasses and has a high pitched voice and doesn't admit he's gay. And yet, being homophobic, racist, sexist, shallow dickheads with more muscles than brains is okay because that's what they would define as characteristics worthy of qualifying entry into the "real mens" club.

WHAT THE FUCK? I can't believe these kinds of attitudes still exist.

What do YOU think makes a real man?
I'm all for being judgmental about people based on their attitude to life, based on their attitude towards others, based on their morals or values or how mean they are - but why are we so judgmental about other people based on their "look" (chosen or otherwise)? Is it okay for us to be like this?

Labels: big brother, crap reality tele, gender stuff, generalisations, gentlemen, mean men, mean women, musings, questions, TV, wonderings

posted by M at 4:23 pm 16 comments

My friend B lives in a old Jade coloured farmhouse in a large-ish town in Northern Victoria. It's a grand old home sporting a patched tin roof with a sharp rusted peak and an imposing chimney rising up from the back. The dry patch of front garden is carefully framed by fragrant flowers in various blushes of red and littered with brightly coloured children's play things. She's standing on her front porch, right hip jutted, holding the baby expertly in one arm and waving with the other as we pull up into her gravelly driveway. Her own smile is mirrored on the face of the pixie-faced 4 year old clinging to her side (inside a 2 year old awaits, sans pants but singing rather loudly).

It's been a while. A lot has changed.

B is as comfortable in her role as mother now as she was holding a cocktail glass and a flirty smile back in the day. She calmly sails across the cluttered rooms gathering this and that, chatting away happily and creating order where there once was chaos. Pants are put on, presents are opened, children are placated...tea is offered. Hubby comes in and gathers the jellybean shaped child from her arms and rocks him from screaming to sleeping within 40 seconds - all the while asking how the drive was. This is a couple in control.

B takes us on the tour of the labyrinth-like house. Across the scratchy but beautiful old floorboards and into the study which is more like a library, with floor to ceiling books decorating all walls except one - reserved for the well loved upright piano. I look closer - the piano is labelled, the desk is labelled..the door, window, etc - all labelled unapologetically with brightly coloured pieces of paper. Obviously we have a young reader in the household. B and hubby are showing her teaching roots. Immediately I love the house and somehow this small act of inclusion of the children makes me love it more. The house belongs to everybody.

Brother and sister begin fighting over the crayons and all of us adults offer an easy solution that involves sharing. You might as well give up now says #2 with a laugh looking at the children You're surrounded by teachers. The eldest gives us a quizzical look and we all laugh. The terrifying truth has been told. B and hubby look at each other and smile.

They are in absolute bliss.

The old farmhouse reminded me a little of this video. Really a gorgeous song - almost a lullaby. For those not familiar with Badu, she is worth getting to know.

On and On - Erykah Badu

Labels: house, houses, kids, marriage, musings

posted by M at 10:29 pm 7 comments

Why do street revelers always look so carefree? Is it the alcohol?

Knowing something about someone without them knowing you know the thing you know is pure agony. A lesson in how to feel the effects of a relationship shifting without push or pull.

Does anyone else ever look at their friends and wonder whether they have anything in common anymore and if not, then what am I doing here?


At first glance she looked capable and strong but the high pitched shrieks and giggles gave her away. She was a promise, broken.

Can babies see into your soul in a way that adults can't? If a baby doesn't like a particular adult then is that a marker of a bad person?

An ex colleague asked for her child to be in my class next year. This is one for the "too hard basket". It's a lot of pressure. She is not the kind of woman who could take 'no' any other way than personally and badly.


Can I really afford to go back to school? If nothing material comes of it, can I just put it down to a really expensive but worthwhile venture?

Two people in my extended family had a dream about my father this week. One had a message to tell. All I can say is that the right person had the right dream. She didn't look happy at all. The other (her mother) also had a visitation. An omen. We've been waiting for one for a while. So now, we shall see...

I was also "visited" but that's another story. Message - rather hard to take, but understood nevertheless.

I hate when people are passive aggressive. If they have something to say, they should just say it. Hiding behind snark is so unbecoming.

I can feel myself pulling away from everyone I know (and they are equally pulling away from me). I'm walking around in a haze. I'm not sure where the blurriness came from but I feel tired all.the.time.

What makes things "worth it"? Is it something as small as 'the smell of fresh coffee' or does it have to be something big like 'love'? What keeps people going?


Do you believe in signs (meta-physical ones)?


Last week I wrote about one of my favourite albums by Weezer and so speaking of wonderful albums, Moon Safari is beyond doubt one of the best albums released in the last 10 years (soon to be re-released!). Strictly only for lovers of moon music, modernity, space travel, French stuff and of course - good taste. I have played Air a couple of times now and each time it divides people equally. They are not 'typical' which tends to polarise opinion about them.

This song is sublime. I wish mornings really did sound like AIR. Instead it sounds like the alarm clock jackhammering through my dreams and into my brain. If mornings really felt like AIR sounded, I think I'd get through the day a little easier.

Ce Matin Là - AIR


And for night time - strictly for stargazing and wondering about living on the moon.

Kelly Watch the Stars - AIR

Labels: melancholy, musical monday, musings, questions, thoughts, uestions, wonderings

posted by M at 11:07 pm 23 comments

It was last night's appalling "Britpop" episode on Idol that had me on my knees reaching into the darkest corners of the second bottom shelf of my cd library and blowing dust off those old cds looking for something to listen to. In my world you can't call The Beatles Britpop and I stand by that even if Noel and Liam disagree (oi!). In my world you also can't sing anything by Amy Winehouse while looking like you just stepped out the front doors of church on Sunday. No sir. It's only about Rehab if even the gentlefolk are calling you a crack-head, honey - and they ain't, no ma'am.

So, anyway I dig out the old mid-90s feel good albums and make my way through the ones that tickle my fancy - which of course instantaneously takes me back to better times. I'm not quite sure why they are better exactly but I do know that nostalgia plays tricks on old minds - maybe that's it. I come across a couple of songs I haven't listened to in years. I feel the excitement that I felt then - about life, love, learning etc building up in my heart and pounding through my veins. Music is wonderful isn't it? It's a time machine for emotions and memories long since buried.

I'm smiling even now at the lyrics to End of a Century: the mind gets dirty as you get closer to thirty remembering myself back then, wondering whether that would ever be true of me, wondering indeed if I'd ever get there - close to thirty, in this new century - and yet here we are: 2007. It seemed much too far away to be true back then.

Indeed, funny that the young girl I once was seems too far away to be true to me now. The ribbon that binds us together is now grey and fraying dangerously along the edges. I'm desperately tying knots to keep her close but she's all but disappeared that one. She was so untouchable and so ready for life to happen. She was ...unaware, and that's good - that's a very good way to be says the present older me, who knows a little too much to be so objective about life's little surprises now. The lesson has been learned.

I'm listening to the song and remembering her blissfully dancing at the Blur concert (for it was always blissful this kind of dancing, completely self absorbed) - some time in the mid nineties - and suddenly looking upwards and laughing as a turret of water is poured into the overheated crowd - indeed over her, drenching her to the bone in a shock of cold that is quickly enveloped and turned steamy by the dancing masses. She looks over at her friends and they all laugh and clasp hands and jump into the air, shaking wet hair everywhere and screaming whilst not missing one beat.

I wish I could get her back. I miss her.

End of a Century - Blur



This MM wasn't going to be about this, but I'll just leave it there anyway.

Labels: memories, memory, music, musical monday, musings, nostalgia, wonderings

posted by M at 8:56 pm 11 comments

Being a girl with very refined and classic tastes, the other day I treated myself to an interesting little documentary at the cinema called Air Guitar Nation. It followed the stories of two men hell bent on being not only the best air guitar errm..artists in the US but also THE WORLD! Yes, apparently there is a world championship for this kind of thing and yes, it's serious business indeed.

I'm an air guitarist from way back. I think that most people who learn an instrument from a young age (me: piano: 5yrs old) don't have a choice. When I hear music my fingers immediately twitch along with the notes. In fact my first instinct is actually to air piano even the guitar based songs. Indeed with that in mind, maybe the best air guitarists are those that have not been sullied by keeping time with the metronome and learning major and minor chords at the hands of Madam Piano Teacher who used to slap at my fingers if they went the wrong way. Is air guitar inbuilt in all of us or is it something that only people so into music that they can't help it partake?

Before the lights went down in the cinema I thought about the vast number of Air Guitar CLASSICS I know and came up with one main contender should I ever find myself in an Air guitar showdown with the devil. Not Stairway to Heaven (though it's a good one) or Rebel Rebel (though it's one of my favourites) and not Back in Black (though it rocks all colours of socks). These songs were all too much about the "music" and not enough about "the cock" for my liking. Let's face it folks, if I'm going to be playing a fake guitar I might as well go all out and go the full fake cock stroking bonanza! I can't think of any other time in musical history when it was more about the cock than 80s hair bands.

So since I am also a girl of impeccable taste regarding "the classics" my mind went to one place and one place only.


So clearly the choice for me had to be Play With Me by Extreme. Which happens to be featured in the scene (Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure) where all the famous historical figures go wild (wyld!) at the mall - beating up on each other and sampling the goods (Genghis Khan seen perusing baseball bats at a sporting goods store..of course, what else?). If you haven't yet heard this song then I have to prepare you by saying that the GOLD is in the guitar solo (about 3/4 of the way through) and while I find this song infinitely amusing it also happens to be a guilty pleasure of mine. The solo is just a little bit on the awesome side, I promise.

Play With Me - Extreme



^-^

Is this what guitar solos and indeed Air Guitar is all about? Self indulgent, theatrical, masterful and technical? Or should it be something more meaningful?

As it turns out the main "guy" in the documentary C.Diddy agreed with my choice. He rocked Play with Me to the likes of which the world has never seen before and probably won't ever seen again. The other guy Bjorn Turoque however did not agree that Air Guitar should be quite so funny. His style was more punk rock, tight and with street cred.

The movie was funny, interesting and rather thought provoking. While I don't know if it legitimised Air Guitar the doco certainly made me think about how I engage with guitar rock and indeed think about why people air guitar in the first place?

So with that in mind - I have some questions for you, if you wouldn't mind.

1. I know what Bill and Ted, Beavis and Butthead and Wayne and Garth would say but what say you: What is good Air Guitar? Should it be funny, theatrical and preferably penned by bands sporting big hair and tight spandex or is air guitar something anyone can to do any song at any time depending on ones tastes?

2. Is air guitar in the soul or in the crotch?

3. You certainly can air guitar to Nirvana, The Saints or The Ramones (etc) but should you?

4. Can one air 'other musical instruments'? Is it right to air piano, air violin or air flute (Jethro Tull anyone?)

5. Can you air guitar to acoustic guitar?

6. Can girls air guitar as well as boys or should we just stick to being air groupies?

7. Can one Air Guitar to Sweet Home Alabama or is it better to make the twangy twangy sounds using your voice instead?

8. In a song like Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones do you go Air Guitar or Air Tamborine or BOTH (are particularly good at multi-tasking)?

9. Are there some songs so sacred that air guitaring (made up word) shouldn't be allowed?

10. What songs give you the urge to air guitar?

11. Why do people air guitar?

12. Is there anyone out there in blog land who does not partake in the art form of air guitar?


And now songs* (which are not necessarily the BEST air guitar choices but I like 'em):

Paradise City - Guns and Roses



White Riot - The Clash



The Stroke - Billy Squier




Rock N roll Part II - Gary Glitter




Smoke on the Water - Deep Purple




Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin




I love Rock N' Roll - joan jett



20th Century Boy - T-Rex



Are you Gonna Be My Girl - Jet




Aneurysm - Nirvana




21st Century Digital Boy - Bad Religion





And Because it's got my name in it

More than a Feeling - Boston






I <3 "Brown Bear"

* All songs have been through vigorous Air Guitar testing by yours truly and are safe for the general public to air guitar their little hearts out to. Having said that I hold no responsibility for anyone who strains their groin, fingers or neck while "performing".

* I wanted to include Evie - Stevie Wright (which is a TOP guitar song) but couldn't upload it for some reason).

Labels: air guitar, movies, musical monday, musings, questions, weird things

posted by M at 4:54 pm 31 comments

As a child I spent a lot of time playing by the windowsill. I remember rainy days with my head pressed against the glass, breathing onto the window to make it fog up and then drawing happy faces, flowers and houses into the condensation there. Drawing idyllic domestic scenes was a favourite past time of mine, besides it seemed like it was always too wet to go outside.

I remember autumn days sitting by the windowsill, reading a book while the wind whipped the brown and orange leaves into a whirling frenzy outside. Pulling my too big jumper over my knees and right down over my toes - stretching it until it hung low and baggy. Too cold to go outside and who could be bothered anyway?

I remember setting up house by the windowsill for my dolls and lego. A windowsill is a perfectly straight bench with finite parameters and perfect for a temporary toy laden lodging. I'd play there while the sun shone outside, or even if it didn't just playing and always keeping my eye on the outside world, just in case.

I remember being a child waiting by the window, with my chin resting on the windowsill watching the sun disappear behind the rooftops of the houses opposite ours. Waiting for Dad to come home from work - always wondering whether he'd make it - always thinking that he wouldn't. My view from the windowsill a reminder that things don't always happen on time.

I remember sleepless nights, as a teenager awake way past the witching hour. 2am, 3am, 4am, 5am would see me with headphones in, and my cheek pressed firmly against the coldness of the glass as I watched the street light illuminate the corner block. Indie music on an obscure AM radio station blared into my open eyed dreams as I wondered about the sleeping world outside my window.

Spring now, a kaleidoscope of sunlit hues playing on the windowsill and tinkling brightly into the room. I'm still keeping my eye on the outside world from this windowsill. I'm just not quite ready to go there yet.

Labels: memories, memory, musings, stunted, window

posted by M at 11:24 pm 18 comments