I’ve been dying for a rainy day during my time off. Why? Because there are few things better than waking up to a torrential downpour and feeling that warm, slow, smug realisation of “Hey – I don’t have to go anywhere or do shit today.” Continue reading “Affirmations”
As of today, it’s been 11 day since I’ve worn real pants or a bra. Shewwwww, to say it’s been awesome would be the understatement of the decade.
I mean, there’s been some shitty parts – see: gas pain from my shoulder to my bottom; being unable to bend down, bend over, reach up or reach over; stab wound pain; bladder filling to even the smallest amount and pressing against my unhealed insides (OUCH); gas pain; headaches; “chocolate” flavoured drinks designed to jumpstart your digestive track (the super fun bowel cementing side effects of narcotic pain killers- ew); more gas pain; PMS cramps on unhealed insides; being unable to roll over in your sleep; sleeping upright for 3 days; even more gas pain; needing assistance to get off the couch and out of bed (even when I had to get up 3x a night because of said slightly filled bladder pressing against everything causing pain); not being able to sneeze, laugh, or cough without sharp pain; it’s been fun.
Even with all that, it’s been a week and I’m basically up and at’em. And I credit that 100% to Joel, and his unrelenting post-surgery care. I’ve only ever been babied by two people- my mom and my sister, and I know Joel is great, but I’ve been blown away. Beyond taking care of all the shopping, cleaning, and cooking (and baking!), for a week straight I wanted for absolutely nothing – snack? Got it. Water? Got it. Medicine? Got it. It’s 3AM and I have to get up to go to the bathroom again? Got it. Spontaneous yet dire need to change my sweater? On it. Help washing my hair? Yep. DON’T REACH FOR THAT. LET ME GET THAT. He’s been nothing short of an angel. Or a highly paid, devoted nurse from a nursing home. I am the luckiest. If anything, the 8 (mostly) uninterrupted days I had with him have just reaffirmed that he is in fact, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
So even though I’ve been glued to the couch with a heating pad for the past week, I’ve had a nice time off. Besides all the hang times I got with Joel, Josien brought us burgers from Hub House and LEGO JURASSIC WORLD (aka the only video game I’m even kinda good at) on Monday, Craig brought us coffee and breakfast on Friday, and Hugh and Eddie came by after that with sandwiches – because our friends are amazeballs. And because I haven’t been able to move around much, I’ve been able to get a lot of reading and sit down work done – new blog header: done; art bag: done; outline and background work for novel project: done; new couch pillows: sewed. It’s not as much as I thought I’d get done, but then again, it never is. I have finally come to accept that my expectations of reality vs reality are farrrr loftier than they have any right to be.
Anyway – here’s what it looked like!
With that, I’m off to get some more writing done – you know, make the most of the rest of my time off and such.
Joel went to an arcade a few days ago and won me a prize that might be the best thing he’s ever brought home – DIG YOUR OWN DINOSAUR FOSSIL! Continue reading “I am Alan Grant”
1 – After another night of broiling temps waking us up every few hours, and walking into work looking like I’d run a marathon (how does it get so sweaty at 8AM?!) I walked out of the office today and I had to put my cardigan back on. And now I’m wearing sweat pants. AND long sleeves. I am content. Continue reading “Hodge Podge – Wednesday”
I got to work a little before 7:30 this morning so I could finish putting together a training manual. I thought it would be an easy day, since the day before was so hectic. But I was swarmed from the moment I stepped through the door. It was shaping up to be one of those maddeningly busy mornings at work, where every time I turn around someone was asking me to do something, or the phone was ringing, or there was another crisis to attend to.
It was one of those days where you blink and 3 hours pass.
I blinked again and 3 more hours had passed. And suddenly I was all “wow I’ve had 2 coffees and if I don’t pee right now I’ll probably die.” So I got up to go to the bathroom. I walked down the hall and through the atrium that separates the bathroom from the rest of the floor without noticing anything, totally on autopilot. It was when I was leaving the bathroom that I saw the little guy on the ground.
He was a little lizard, laid out on the tile between the two doors of the atrium. He was almost the same greenish brown colour as the tiles, so I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t see him on my way in. I was surprised that he wasn’t moving at all, in my experience lizards are either skittish, or dead. And this one wasn’t moving when I got near him, or when I opened or closed the doors. So I assumed he was dead. Poor guy.
I walked out of the bathroom and told some of my coworkers that I found a dead lizard in the bathroom. I’m not sure why, maybe they would want to see it? It was pretty weird thing to find in the bathroom, considering how far away our second level bathroom is from the outside world. And it was such a busy day, and I was on such autopilot that seeing a lizard in the bathroom basically stopped my brain in its tracks. They asked if he looked stomped on. Fortunately, he looked like he died of natural causes.
I went back to clean up the lizard and give him a burial. The idea of flushing him crossed my mind, but then I realised a) he might get clogged, and b) flushing an animal is pretty fucked up. I opened the door to the atrium, and he once again didn’t move. I decided to gather him in some paper towels and put him outside – circle of life and all. As I got closer to him, I decided to check for one more sign of life. I stomped my foot near him – and there! His head moved slightly to the right. LIFE, HE IS ALIVE!
I got so excited that I ran out of the atrium looking for something to corral him with. I found a little takeaway container with a lid in our staff kitchen and ran back to the bathroom. He was still lying there, but when I gently shoo’d him into the container, he made almost no objection. It’s like he knew I wanted to help. Or he was just too freaked out to put up a fight. He crawled into the tub and I put the lid on without sealing it so he wouldn’t be able to jump out. I showed him around, named him Blinky, and then took him outside.
I made sure to look him in the eye, and then I wished him well and let him go in the grassy/mulchy landscaped bits in front of our building. He quickly crawled under some mulch, and disappeared.
I don’t know why, but finding and freeing that lizard was absolutely the high light of my day. It was exciting and awesome, and I felt like I had done something good for the world. And I couldn’t stop thinking – how the fuck did it get in here?
I imagined him crawling up all the steps and in a moment of perfect timing, making it through both sets of automatic doors. Or what if one of the kids found him on the way in and lost track of him when he saw the toys in the lobby? I thought of him slinking around unnoticed through all the rooms, narrowly avoiding being crushed under foot, hitching a ride on patient’s bags, living off crumbs, and trying with all this might to get back to his world as he became sick and dehydrated and cold. I thought of how something told him to go to the bathroom, like maybe something told him that’s where he would find water. But there, almost on the brink of death, he passed out in the atrium. And then I found him. And I put him back in the outside. And maybe it wasn’t his world? Maybe he still couldn’t find water. Maybe he was eaten by a huntsman.
It was a bit of perspective. Yeah, my day is so busy that I forget to eat lunch or go to the bathroom, but at least I’m not lost in some gigantic, terrifying and frozen world with no food and no water, where 900 ft tall creatures can’t see me and almost stomp me or chase me or otherwise try to kill me, where one of those giant creatures in a big yellow dress traps me in a plastic box and squeals to her coworkers that she “caught a lizard!” before releasing me into a world that’s just as scary and huge and different but equally as terrifying. Like seriously. That lizard has seen some shit. My day was cake compared to that.
At least I didn’t step on him.
On Thursday night, the weather promised nothing but thunderstorms from Friday to Sunday. Halloween weekend + thunderstorms + desire to sit in and write? It’s like a perfect storm of Fuck Yeah. And as we walked home from dinner on Friday night in the rain, I was pumped for a weekend of making shit happen.
I don’t know why, but I like, need it to rain. As in, I feel like my emotional welfare depends on whether or not it storms all weekend. Probably because we haven’t had a really good rainy weekend in a long time, and I wanted to watch scary movies while curled up with hot chocolate. I miss the rain. As the deserts do. (and I miss you)
But, as it turned out, my perfect storm was short lived. It was blue sky t-shirt and shorts weather from the time we woke up on Saturday until just a few minutes ago. Blue skies and heat is basically my hibernating weather. So I spent Saturday making 1 sweaty trip to the post office, and then either napping, draining the battery on my phone from looking up memes, and writing a single paragraph before getting distracted by Googling whether or not Farrah Abraham has butt implants #important. I made us greasy hamburgers for dinner, ate too much dessert, and fell asleep around 1 AM, crossing my fingers for a stormy day.
Today, though, was one of those mornings that make you believe you’re a morning person. The sunlight was glorious, there was no humidity, and it was quiet and lovely and inspiring. I sprang out of bed early and made coffee, read in bed for an hour, made breakfast, Skyped with my family, reorganised the closet, did some shopping, made chicken and rice soup for Joel the Unwell, finished the laundry, put together some notes/plans for my stories, and I even vacuumed. I’m telling you, I was inspired.
It’s slow and steady, but I’m crawling out of the hole I’ve dug myself in. And it feels good, man. I’m working my way out of bad, depressive habits, which is huge, and makes me feel really optimistic. There’s a lot to look forward coming up, like Friends-giving, getting my Australian driver’s license, beach weekends, good books, outings and adventures, and The Crown on Netflix and Teen Mom UK, which should satisfy all my trash TV needs (for the time being), and far off into the future, almost 2.5 weeks off for Christmas.
I stood in our bedroom this morning, and the same thought kept running through my head:
If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.
I love our place. I love our life. And it feels like everything is getting better.
Happy Sunday, everyone!
I saw this on Instagram today –
And instantly, my first thought was, “man, 9 year old Audrey would think 32 year old Audrey is pretty lame.”
And then I thought, wait – 9 year old Audrey’s day during the school week consisted of
- taking an hour to wake up in the morning
- fiercely debating cutting her own bangs every morning
- sneaking her mom’s coffee
- taking too long to pick out clothes because she was too busy fantasising about clothes she didn’t have
- going to school where she was equal parts I CAN DO THIS and help me I’m so overwhelmed
- walking home through the woods so she could act out little stories running through her head
- typing out said stories on her typewriter while listening to music; or making elaborate plans to do or build or create something; or drawing killer whales, researching killer whales, becoming a killer whale, basically engaging whatever I was obsessed with at the time
- staying in the bath (never a shower – thanks Psycho) until the water turned cold
- falling asleep while watching a movie
- waking up to go to bed and reading books or comic strip collections until she passed out with the lights on
And I was all “that’s basically my same routine now.” So I’m basically living like my 9 year old self was watching. And my 9 year old self thinks I’m pretty rad – I mean, I can take showers without the fear of a cross dressing schizophrenic with PTSD stabbing me to death. I mean, I’m sure she’s disappointed that I’m not a marine biologist/killer whale trainer by day, novelist by night, actress and movie director on the weekends, married to Brad Pitt and living in a log cabin with a herd of dogs, but hey. You can only do so much in 23 years. Plus, now I can stay up late watching movies whenever I feel like it. Fuck yeah.
Hey inner-child, high 5!
How would your 9 year old self judge you?
To-do lists? Fuck yeah. I love making a to-do list and scratching off items. It’s fantastic because I get to be all YES I AM THE MOST PRODUCTIVE PERSON EVER and it makes me feel like I’ve made the most of my day and consequently, my life.
But when I haven’t finished everything on my to-do list because I got distracted Googling Jenelle Evan’s latest pregnancy (confirmed via police report!) or by something else equally important I feel twice as worse, 1) because I didn’t finish the list and 2) because I didn’t make the most out of my rapidly slipping time.
Making the most of my time. Time. You bitch goddess. When I’m sitting at my desk trying to make it through a day so painfully bad that I’d skin puppies alive just to go home, the clock almost moves backwards. When I’m at home and it’s raining and we’re just lounging and having a good time, it’s goes from 11 AM to 8 PM in the blink of an eye. The relativity kills me, because I’m obsessed with the idea of making the most of my time, trying to live each day to its fullest, trying to live each day in a way I would be proud to look back on.
Notice how I said “obsessed with the idea of” because I definitely don’t practice it. Well, I mean, I don’t practice it in the way that would typically mean “living life to its fullest.” I’m not out sky diving or skinny dipping in shark nets or travelling the world or exploring every knook and cranny of my new country. I’m sitting on the couch with Joel eating an amazing dinner and watching a great movie. I’m hitting publish on a blog I’m particularly proud of. I’m thinking of projects I would love to do one day. I’m making crafts or plotting re-decorating strategies. I’m meeting friends for dinner and then coming home at 11 PM to sweat pants and bad TV. I’m obsessively cleaning or re-arranging. I’m looking up animal videos and comics on the internet. It’s not sexy and it’s not glamorous, and most of the time doesn’t even add up to good blog material, but it makes me happy.
But it’s this constant battle of “I’m totally happy – but since I’m not doing more, I don’t feel like I should be happy.” Because regardless of how you define living life to its fullest, happiness is the end goal. Yep, I’m a pretty lame home body who enjoys an occasional adventure or weekend night of too many glasses of wine. I want to do that stuff and I want to write. That’s basically all I want to do, what makes me happy. If, at the end of the day, I can say I accomplished something, I feel like I’ve made good use of my time. And when I can look back and I don’t hate myself, I feel like I’m making good use of my time, and living life to its fullest. Double whammy.
That being said, I’m on the fence of how efficiently I’ve spent my time off. I made the mistake of falling off the deep end with my goals and decided I would read 3 books and write 2 stories and 14 blogs and attend 5 meet up events, keep the damned table cleaned off every single day, completely rid myself of every bad habit ever and get myself on a schedule that includes daily writing, posting, and washing my face 2x a day, deep clean every square inch of our apartment, make a quilt, and catch up on seasons 5 and 6 of Downtown Abbey.
While I didn’t completely rid myself of every bad habit ever, I did wake up at 7 AM almost every day. And I didn’t get myself on a schedule, but I found work, read most of a book, started free writing again, stayed on top of the laundry and dishes, found a writing group and a book chat club, had two hair appointments, re-organised my closet and our desk, had phone chats and skypes with my nearest and dearest, made an earrings board, did lots of grocery shopping, made lots of meals, deconstructed a dress for it’s fabric, and I’ve taken like 5 bubble baths.
But because those few boxes are left unchecked, I feel like this has been a wasted opportunity. Forget that I actually decompressed and had a lot of “ah-ha!” moments and some hard talks with myself and some good journaling time and got lots of inspiration and the re-charge that I desperately needed, because I didn’t come out of this holiday a well-read, published author with 100 adventures documented and a finished quilt and a completely clean house, I feel like a failure.
You know what though, fuck it. I started writing this entry yesterday, and today, I don’t feel like a failure. I take it all back. This has been a great, much needed resting period. I’ve gotten a lot of my shit together. I may not have accomplished as much as I expected, I did accomplish. And I don’t hate myself over it. Just because I didn’t do everything doesn’t mean I won’t ever have the chance to do it another time. The hardest part of getting out of this depressive stint is not beating the shit out of myself when I don’t perform as well as I want to, as well as I expect myself to. I really wish there was a way to pause my notion of “expectations” until I feel like I’m capable of meeting them, but them’s the bricks. And in the mean time, I’ll just have to try and manage those expectations as well as I can.
And we get to have burgers and ribs for dinner last night because Joel is awesome.
And as of this morning, I finished that book I thought I would have finished last week. Sheeeeit. Time well spent.
I couldn’t have been happier with the SCOTUS news yesterday.
I could write for days on the politics behind LGBTQ discrimination and how it angers me — but I’m not going to. This is such a happy day, and such a huge step in the right direction. I was raised in a household that didn’t give a fuck about race or sexual orientation. There are lesbians and gays in my family tree, and it has never been a big deal to be gay or have gay friends in my family. It’s just thrilling for me to see these people start to get the human treatment that they deserve, that they were so inexplicably denied in the first place.
I’m so excited now that my nieces and my nephews and the kids of all my friends will grow up in this new kind of world. I’m excited that they’ll grow up in a world where sexual orientation isn’t a big deal, where it’s just another check box on a census poll, when it’s just another section kids learn about in history class thinking, “wow, people actually behaved like that?”
Or, at least that’s the kind of world I’m hoping for. Maybe things will change in Australia in the next few years. *fingers crossed*
Congrats, to the entire LGBTQ community!
Ever have one of those days?
You know those days when you wake up with a start from a dream where Megan Fox has turned you into a vampire and gotten you addicted to heroin and is keeping you hostage in an old farm house and forces you to hunt for meat, except the farm house is on a barren space rock terrain and there’s no animals or meat to be found, so everyone starts eating their hands with glee over finally getting to eat and you’re eating your ring finger and decide that this isn’t the life you want so you tell Megan Fox this while plying her with compliments like “You’re a baby Angelina, you know that?” and she’s cautiously ok with you leaving but then she tries to stab you with a rusty machete as you’re walking out the door? You know those dreams? Yeah.
And you wake up and it feels like an Arctic chill has swept over your body? So you pull the blanket off the ground and the second you cover yourself, you have never been hotter. And you have to pee. And you can’t go back to sleep because Megan Fox, heroin vampire machete welding Megan Fox ruined your dream life and now you’re asking yourself things like “what would I do if I really had to eat my own fingers?”
So you toss and turn restlessly, sweating with the blanket on and shivering with the blanket off, until you fall into deep REM 10 minutes before your alarm goes off? You wake up again, in a shitty mood. You force yourself to shower because you didn’t last night because you got caught up watching Friends. You pick a corporate looking outfit from your closet because the big wig is in town. Tell yourself, “I’ll just tuck in my shirt when I get to work.”
Then, you catch your bus and sneeze about 47 times, using every available square inch of tissue you brought with you? And everyone stares at you like you’re a diseased fiend, and you just want to shout I’M ALLERGIC TO YOUR COUNTRY, OK?
So, then you get to work, and you realize quickly that a) your shirt is vaguely see-through and you aren’t wearing a camisole; b) your pants don’t fit at all, that the waist is too big and won’t keep your shirt tucked in if you raise your arms; c) your air-dried hair is pulling a weird Jared Leto and that it’s high time you corral your trashy lion’s mane; d) why are you wearing mustard colored shoes when they don’t go with anything you’re wearing? So you stare at yourself in dismay, thinking, “this is happening.” Promise yourself things like this will stop happening when you finish your clothing project. So you fix your outfit with a cardigan, and you start work.
And your boss is all, “Please scan this book.”
And you’re like, “Ok! That’s easy.”
2 hours later, half your lunch period gone, the damn book will not scan. It is 65 over sized pages that crash your mail box when you send them out.
Later, while you’re covering reception, the phone system crashes while a co-worker from another location is on hold. You let her know that the system is having issues, and she gets seethingly snippy, and it rattles you. By the time her issue is resolved and she’s done yelling at you, you’re shaking with anger–mostly angry at yourself that someone on the phone who you don’t even know and who has no control over you made you fall apart. Spend the rest of the reception period forgetting how to transfer calls.
You whinge to Joel. He re-assures you. It’s nice.
Back at your desk, you try to scan book again, still can’t get it to work. Boss says don’t worry about it. Instead gives you a 700 page book to hand bind.
You decide to drink scotch after dinner.
You get home, and Joel runs out to greet you. He’s laid out your favorite sweat pants and lounge shirt and tells you pizza will be here in 20 mins. And that he ordered meat lovers with a fat crust, just for you. You feel so incredibly touched, and instantly all the dumb of the day melts away. It wasn’t the worst day you’ve ever had, but these little gestures kept it from becoming so much worse. It’s the little things that hold everything up.
You know, those kinda days? The days when you realize you chose a keeper? And how happy you are that that keeper chose you, also?
“You’re a keeper.” You tell him.
“I’m a Quiddich keeper.” He says.
And it’s love.