Midvale School for the Gifted

My favourite cartoon ever is one of Gary Larsen's. It's well known. (See below)

Unfortunately, this cartoon has often come to represent my life. Far too often do I find myself in "Midvale" moments.

I've had a few of these rather unfortunate moments over the last 24 hours.

Some background.

One of my least favourite memories is the day I started at a new school when I was in grade three. Before we moved to the Adelaide Hills, to the picturesque but badly named town of Myponga, I was just a normal school kid. I had a small group of friends, I went to brownies, I played with the kids next door - a fairly normal childhood.

Then everything changed. First up, my mother cut off my long hair to a rather dire bowl cut, telling me that all girls in the country had short hair. We moved to a place there the nearest kids were about a kilometre down the road, away from the suburban streets and the nearby friends.

Then a week after shifting house, I moved to the local primary school at the start of third term. I was sick to my stomach scared - I remember my tummy rumbling away with nerves - after all, here I was, this new kid, I kept questioning myself. Would these country kids like me? Was I going to fit in? Would my hair be the same? Was everything going to be alright? 

Mum tried to reassure me the night before.

Arriving at the school, I can only recall being horrified.  All the girls had long hair. Here I was with a bowl cut. Then sometime in the morning classes we had reading. Sitting on the ground, listening to the teacher, the urge to break wind came over me, as it does most people once or twice a day.  Then disaster. My turbulent stomach got the better of me - I burped and farted, concurrently, and loudly - so most of the class heard. 

The ensuing mayhem quietened after a few minutes, but I'd made my mark. Horrified, I tried to disappear in the carpet, humiliated, knowing that my chance of making a good impression had gone. It didn't help that a week later I went into hospital to have my legs fixed, spending the next three months on crutches and in plaster boots - and the rest of my primary school days were dogged being not allowed to play sport and being in and out of hospital for more treatment. It didn't make for a happy time.

So now, some thirty five years on, I still find myself dreading first days - with all the same concerns. Will I fit in? Will the other kids play nicely with me? Will I be smart enough? Will things all be too hard? Will the others find me too loopy?

Being a consultant, I've got a game plan. I go in to new roles as a professional. I try and keep personal details to a minimum for the first few weeks so that the natives don't get scared away. I try and make sure I follow the rules of the place - keep to the dress code, keep my hours in check with everybody else, make an effort to get on - and this generally works. By the end of a few weeks, my workmates will discover that I'm a holistic healer, run, look after cats, come from a town called Myponga, barrack for the Crows, dislike Oxford commas, read tarot professionally, have things on at night like dream group and masons and all the other quirks I possess that work mates will tend roll their eyes at. Over the years, I've noticed that my idiosyncrasies are tolerated more, or maybe, I just don't care that much - I'm me, bad luck, you'll get used to me in the long run. I don't hurt anybody - my life is just a bit full and a bit different.

Regardless, I started a new role on Monday at the telecommunications firm, Your Money Is Important To Us, Inc (TIMIITU). I was hand picked for this role by one of he managers and after a few hiccoughs with the contract, I fronted up to meet the team on Friday and started with them yesterday.

Thankfully, the team are a dream - lovely people. The work will be interesting. I have a been given a new laptop to work on, which I managed to configure with minimal help. Being a very large telecommunications company, it's expected that your LAN login, phone, door pass and email won't arrive for a few days, but with the help of a key drive, I got reading major documents and starting to get my head around what they want me to do.

By 5 pm, I was ready to go home. Dutifully, the new laptop was locked into a cupboard - and I faithfully put my new locker key on my key ring next to my car key. I remember this clearly. I was talking to to colleagues and I placed the locker key on my key ring next to the car key. I thought about it. I remember doing this.

Home was a long way off on Monday night. Walking home, first stop was at an office supply company to buy myself a notepad, mouse and keyboard for work (easier to bring your own, being one of the largest telecommunications companies, you're not going to get office equipment out of them - especially being a contractor). I went to masons early, setting up the hall (and didn't tell anybody about the freemasonry stuff - give that a month or two). Came home, had dinner, went to masons, came home again, went to bed, showered dressed, walked to work.

On arrival at the new office, I placed my handbag down on my desk, took my bunch of keys to the locker - to find the locker key gone - not there. Zip. Nada. Disappeared.

Hand on heart, I remember putting it on the key ring, next to my car key.

I proceeded to look through my handbag for the key. Like many women, my handbag is a bit of a tardis - I could live off it's innards for a week at times. It was upended, completely. No key. The project manager asked if there was a dalek in the bottom of my bag. Oh dear.

I checked the desk I'd sat at the day before. I checked everywhere I could thing of. No key. No laptop. No documents. No water bottle - all locked in the cupboard.

Second day in, I'm branded the project nufta. This won't be lived down.

It's grade three all over again.

I was asked if I could pick locks. I replied in the affirmative, but only Yale locks and car doors pre-1985. Something I picked up at university college... Opps, not supposed to admit to that either.

One of the team leads was taking a stationary order. It was requested that they got me a combination cable lock. Pointed jibes came from all directions over the day.

Thankfully, the problem of the laptop was solved quickly in five minutes. After all the blokes in the team had a try of picking the lock with a variety of safety pins,  paper clips and other sharp stationery items, with no luck, I went to see the facilities guy. It's amazing what a guy called Lennie in an Anthrax t-shirt can do with a letter opener and a bit of brute force.

Laptop liberated, I got on with the day.

The second "outing" came when in a meeting early afternoon. One of my colleagues, somebody I knew from the old consultancy was complaining of a neck ache. 

"Give me your thumb, I'll fix it."

She looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Just do as you're told. Like Jonella, I'm a reflexologist." This girl knows Jonella too.

"Ah." She gave me her hand.

Two minutes later, the relief was showing on her face.

And I realised that my vow to keep my "other life" quiet had gone out the window.

So much for keeping schtum, in the background and fitting in.

I suppose it makes me a little more memorable.

So tonight, the laptop was locked in a colleague's locker and I walked home.

 Arriving home, the first thing to strike me - the locker key was sitting in the middle of the lounge room floor.

I reckon the Gods of the Midvale School for the Gifted came to extract some brownie points or something...

Regardless, I'm still hopeful this contract will be a good one. If this is the worst thing to happen to me, I'm a very lucky woman.

Px

Front Running

So much has happened this week.

So much has happened today.

Where to start.

Okay, first thing this morning I went for a run with Desi - the last before the run for the kids. I had my annual flu shot on Tuesday. The ensuing dead arm and slightly snotty nose made the thought of running a bit of a chore. Desi was in a similar mood and health state so we settled on a slow five kilometres along the river. About a kilometre in this is what we saw.

A good omen I thought.

This is my favourite time of the day in my favourite time of the year. I had to slow down and take a picture.

See, in this funny week, I've had a heap of opportunities thrown at me.

First up, running. This Sunday is the 14.38 km Run for the Kids. I haven't trained enough for the race, but I know I'm more than fit enough to complete the course and walk home after and not do myself any injury. Last week I ran with a couple of guys from work - we did the normal 8 km lap from work, round the Botanical Gardens and back in 56 minutes - doing intervals. So my strategy for Sunday - long intervals. Run five minutes, walk one or two - and do that all round the course. Should get me in in under an hour and forty minutes - well, that is the theory. I have a tarot reading in Daylesford the night before, so this is going to be a bit interesting. Long drive for two hours. Might go to the hot springs before the reading. You never know.

On the running, I've also challenged myself to the Great Ocean Road Half Marathon at the end of May. 23 kilometres along the Great Ocean Road. I've always wanted to do this run but injury and lack of accommodation have always been an issue in previous years. Then the other day Gloria asked if I'd like a blow up mattress with the people from Gaynor's running club.

Gaynor runs with Melbourne Front Runners, a gay and lesbian running club.
"Are you sure they'll have me?" I asked Gaynor.
"Of course they will. You can be our mascot." she replied.
"What, a slow, chubby, silly breeder for a mascot?"
"Why not? You're not that slow, chubby or silly and as a breeder you're not too bad."

I'm actually chuffed that G & G offered me the blow up mattress option in their rental in Apollo Bay for the night. I was thinking of asking a mate if I could borrow his camper for the night and stay at the caravan park. But that thing is a bitch to drive.

So as of this week, I'm back in half marathon training - it's actually a bit longer than a normal half marathon - 23 kilometres. I'm not going to put a time on this - not even looking to run the distance - long intervals all he way will be great - I just want to participate. I'm not at my best running weight, but my fitness and technique are a lot better than they were. Just to run this road will be wondeful. Reindert says it's one of the most picturesque marathons in the world.  Must get some hills in and soon (anybody up for a few laps of the 1000 steps over Easter?)

After the run, showering, changing and going to work, I prepared for coffee with somebody who was courting me for a job.

My current contract is up tomorrow. It's been great. Interesting work, great people, learned a lot, but the project is coming to an end and the writers will be dropping off over the next two months or so - and being the last one in, I'm the first one out. 

In the last few weeks I've been shoving my CV around. My current consultancy said they had something for me - but nothing concrete had been put in front of me. My old consultancy put me in front of a company for an interview on Tuesday. Never before have I felt so conflicted. One interviewer was great. The other gave me the impression that they would be a nightmare to work for. The interview went well, but I had this sinking feeling in my stomach that if I ended up in this company and working for the nightmare, I'd be miserable.

I've also spent the last fortnight playing phone tag with somebody I know from the old consultancy about a third job. After having to postpone this meeting we finally met up for a coffee.

Push comes to shove, she's headhunted me. She's been doing a bit of investigation - grilling some workmates about me (Allegedly I'm flaky but really good at what I do. Me, flaky! Hmph.)

We had a good conversation.

45 minutes later, I walked away with a six month contract in a top Australian company working on one of the largest projects about. On more money. Working with people I respect. On a job that will be a challenge.

Stoked!

I've never been headhunted before. It's a nice feeling, but rather daunting as well. My reputation is fine. It's the reputations of the people who recommended me  that I fret for. What if they don't like me? What if I can't play nicely with the other kids in the office? I just don't want to let people down.

The one comment that sticks out for me is, "Well, I need a project eccentric. You're it. Only have room for one nut bag. You're it."

I've been tripping over my botton lip for most of the day. Eccentric?! Moi?

On skipping back to the office, we had a leaving morning tea for me. There goes the low carb diet. Never to mind.

Had lunch with an old podmate from Tin Can, String and Whistle - he was blown away at how happy I was. We talked about all the things we normally talk about at lunch. Who's leaving Tin Can String and Whistle, his kids, his parent's divorce, the joys of siblings,  my running and fluid job prospects.

But today we talked about hope and opportunity most of all. The two things left in Pandora's Box after she opened it.

Really, I'm just happy that I don't have to fret about work. I feel strangely at peace.

So now I'm here, staring down ten days of freedom.

And all I have planned for the next ten days.

Lots of running
Lots of reading
Lots of writing - get a bit more of that novel underway
Finish the Greek Writing job that has been irritating me for the last few months
Clean the flat
I might go visit some friends
I have to spend some time with Glen Waverley's cat (and Kitt's cat is coming over Easter)
See a few films

Sounds pretty good to me.

Five Days of Unemployment

I skipped out of the Bastard Bank data centre at ten past five this afternoon, a spring in my step, the weight of the world off my shoulders, looking down the tree lined tram line into the future. Though I am going to miss the people - I met some great ones there. I'm not going to miss fogey radio over the loudspeaker, the previously monotonous work (which did get better after a bit) and the isolation of being just that little too far out of town.

It felt like bliss.

The other good thing to happen today - it appears I've got myself a contract, starting on Monday with a new consultancy. The paperwork is on it's way, but the job is there.

So what am I going to do with my time off? Slep in? Relax? Go away?

No such luck.For the next five days I want to achieve the following:

Finish editing that book.
Get on top of the Greek Travel page I've got on
Clean the flat
Put some crap on Ebay
Train for at least an hour a day
Have a massage on Saturday
Go go to Blarney's tenth birthday party (Blarney was born on 29 February - hence she's ten)
Have lunch with my old Tin Can, String and Whistle team
Have dinner with some mates
Dream group
Go to the consultancy Professional Development session.
Finish my current novel.
Read the book for book group next week.

That will do for a start.

So tomorrow morning, sleep in? No such luck. I'm off to Blarney's at the crack of dawn. One of the boys is in hospital with a virus (he will be fine, just has to stay in overnight, poor lamb). As luck has it, Blarney has a business commitment she has to make, Barney is staying at the hospital with Chance - so I'm off to take care of Lance and wait for the arrival of their grandfather, who's making a mercy dash from Tasmania to help out for a few days.

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to be looking after Lance for the morning, providing tubs of yogurt at regular intervals, pushing round trucks and reading books.

And being really honest, as much as I'd love a lie in, knowing I can help a friend feels good. If the shoe was on the other foot, I'm sure Blarney would do the same for me.

Well, at least it's something different - a change is as good as a holiday.

And this is a change with cat time attached - can't moan about that.

Px

Compare and Contrast

Amazing the difference a week makes.

As does the decision that you're going to be happy. It always gets me that once you make the decision to improve things, things really start to improve.

Well, things are on the improve.

First up, work. But I have to include dream group in on this one.

See, the day before I started out on this new venture at Bastard Bank I gave my dream at dream group. A strange dream where I was running a marathon in a velodrome on the banks of the Yarra around a maze. 42 times around a maze, up and down hills against one other. I knew I could do it, but I was running against one other, and I knew I was going to lose, but hey, I knew I could do it too. I had to get ready and get supplies so I visited a supermarket which was behind where the arts centre was, but it felt like the Carrefour in Chiang Mai, a place I'd ended up on holiday with a bi-polar Belgian in tow. Then I had to get back to the velodrome/stadium and I was going to take the tube. Coming in at what felt like London Bridge Station, I hopped on the Northern Line, and the train, carriages and all spiralled upwards - and nobody thought this strange. it seems I hopped on the wrong part of the Northern Line because I ended up at Waterloo. I had to get out of the station - the only way to do this was down a double helix ladder.

A strange dream.

What was more odd, Viv, our dream group leader went away for three weeks and I was left to stew on this dream for a full four weeks. Normally you get to close off your dream after a week - which is normally enough because the effects of dream group can either be subtle, or like in his case, have the whack of a bag of sledgehammers.

The day after doing the dream was when life took a turn for the worse, the job went southerly, I ended up miserable and having to fight back. Spiraling around the double helixes of life.

Dream group tends to force me to look at stuff that I rarely look - or that my psyche wants me to look at. This time round, it appears it was begging for me to take a good look at where I've come from. In this case, the back office of merchant banks, doing boring, repetative, tedious work day in day out, with people who appear to have little ambition, feeling utterly lost, hopeless and miserable.

Closed off the dream on Wednesday - and things suddenly look a whole heap better.

First up, after a few better days in the dungeons, they've let it be known that my contract is not being renewed. So as of the end of this or next week (depending on a few things) I will be out of there. For once, I'm thrilled. I've hated so much about this last month. Though the people are nice enough, the role has been filled with all sorts of not so fun challenges I was not been expecting - 60 decibel Phil Collins and Elton John over the loudspeaker included. Little support, tedious work and most of all, a crap environment.

I'll be fine when I get out of here - I always am okay. Never have I been so happy to be moving on. The consultancy will be happy to use me in the new year - and I get a few weeks off and I can start looking for work soon

All I know is that I had to go through this last month to get to the bottom of some stuff. Stuff I wish I knew ten years ago.

I deserve to be happy.
I especially deserve to be happy at work.
I deserve to be in a good environment.
I deserve to be around good people.
I deserve to be treated with respect - and I need all of these things in a job.

After a couple of full on meetings, the weekend was well received

Spent this last weekend working on an editing job and relaxing. Sunday was particularly lovely. Was joined on my 10 km constitutional walk by a friend, which was just great. Walking is best when you get to share it with somebody.

This was followed by lunch at the Abbotsford Convent. Collected a friend and we had lunch at Lentil as Anything.

Lentil as Anything is a cafe at the convent which serves up vegetarian Indian food. Rather than having a price list, you serve yourself and pay what you like on the honesty system. It employs a lot of recent refugees and migrants, giving them a start. It's an institution that MUST stay.

It's lovely to be able to wander around this little haven in the city.


My friend was amazed at the place - I'd been raving about the convent for years, but he never believed me - I just got my normal sense of peace that I always get from the place. Ran into Georgie and Tom there too. It's a fantastic way to spend the afternoon.

After dropping my friend off, it was off to see Blarney, the boys and the Maow Maow for coffee, then on arriving home, Emm popped round for a cup of tea, bringing round some banana cake - which was exceptional.

A really good day. Made me consider just how lovely life can be - for without friends, what do we have?

Then the real bonus for today. On collecting the mail, a non-descript envelope mailed from somewhere in Carton. My new driver's licence had arrived.

For once in my life I was speechless.

Compare and contrast.

The picture on the left is the old one. 20 kilos heavier, miserable, angry. This was taken nine years ago. I've had to hide away my driver's licence an obey the road rules  - who would admit to a photo like that?

The pictire on the left is the current one. I can live with this one for the next ten years.

Okay, other than noticeably slimmer, the anger and misery has gone from my gaze. Okay maybe because I've taken to wearing liquid eyeliner and I took a bit of care to put on a bit of make up (but I'm wearing more make up in the other shot), but my eyes look bigger and clearer. You can't make out that they're pine tree green, but they look okay. You can see through the gaze and see who I am.

The biggest bonus of all - in the photo on the left, there I am with about five chins.

In the new one, I have one and a bit, obscured by the fact that they've embedded my date of birth over the photo. This is so that the blind, stupid policeman who pulls you over can read your licence.

Comments have been made that I look ten years younger in the latter. A compliment  - but even through my ultra-self-critical eyes I can see it.

I don't give myself enough credit for changing over the past few years. You don't get much better chance to compare and contrast what you were and what you're becoming.

Now the hard bit. Blitzing the passport photo....

Better get on with tidying up my CV. If you know of anybody looking for a hard working word nerd to tidy up documents, write web content and training materials or just generally organise and improve on stuff, give me a bell.

All these changes are quite exciting.

These are a few of my favorite things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with string
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog bites
When the bees stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simple remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel.... so bad.

The pall of the black dog has lifted and life appears a lot less gloomy. A weekend of reflection and strategising has meant that I'm back on track. Which I knew it would be. Being back exercising is also helping a lot as this is my escape, my pride and my health taken care of all at once. I'm going to start back running (though probably only long intervals) on the weekend.

Thanks to some very pointed help I've been lucky enough to get some reliable strategies to get me though the dark days.

The end of last week, things seemed dire. That seven a.m. phone call started the spiral last week. For those wondering, I contacted the git online the next day, said he was out of order, made me uncomfortable and I don't want to pursue any more conversation. Subsequently taken myself off the website - it doesn't feel right at the moment and there has to be better ways of making contact with people. I know there are a lot of people out there saying you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince - if the price is your self-worth and self-esteem then I think not. The experience told me that my self-worth, once nothing, is strong and healthy. I deserve to be treated with a lot more respect than that.

A couple of attrocious days at work piled on top of the internet dating glitch . By the end of last Friday I was ready to walk out of the place forever, feeling like I was a bit of dog dirt found under your shoe.

And I got sick of whinging - always a sign that things are amiss. I have a moan about things like most people. When I find myself whining constantly I know it's time to do something contstructive.

So what have we done?

Well, Monday morning I went and saw the office manager and asked that the radio be turned down. She said that somebody would only come and turn it up again. I retorted that this was on OH&S issue, didn't appreciate going home with a headache most nights, nor was wearing earplugs all day a feasible solution. The radio was turned down for a bit and I try my hardest not to focus on it - but there area number of people who've blocked off their speakers - I'm not the only one at least. And the earplugs block out most of the noise. Never again do I want to work in an office that has the music of a 1980's blue light disco.

I'm making sure I get some exercise in at least every second day. This is keeping the grumblies away too. Exercise means endorphins. Endorphins mean happy Pandora. The butt cheek is nearly there, grunting out an hour of weights with Pinochet makes me feel good. So that is sorted.

And using Maria Von Trapp's analogy of thinking about your favorite things - well yeah. That one works too. Think about and do your favorite things.

Indeed.

So, what am I thinking about when I'm not up to my ears in process maps and wanting to fire a 22-guage rifle bullet into the speaker above me? What are a few of my favorite things?

Here's a few of them that keep me on the straight and narrow.

Maow Moaw

Maow Maow belongs to Blarney and Barney. But Maow Moaw is one of my best mates. We've always had a bond - not one that normal cats have with strange humans. I'm round at Blarney and Barney's most weekends. The cat will normally greet me at the door, be put up on my shoulder - and he stays there for at least 20 minutes. I sit down, he comes and sits on me. He's coming to stay at Christmas for a fortnight - really pleased about this. Not so pleased about how he likes to wake me at five in the morning with a paw to the nose and that he likes to put his head on the pillow.

Christmas will be good for cat time. Looks like I'm on feeding duty for Leon, Archie and Betty - even better, Betty comes with a lovely large bathtub for my personal use.

Ice cream

Yes, ice cream is one of my favorite things, but I'm still doing this avoid ice cream for forty days thing. Actually, that's going really well. 35 days in, I've only slipped once and a bit in that time. Last Friday, beered up, in the doldrums and hungry, I stopped in at the local shop for a Magnum. Also, while out with Gloria, dessert came with a scoop of vanilla. I had a spoonful. Glorious it was. I'm not beating myself up about it - under the circumstances it's amazing I didn't buy a box of the buggers and wolf them down. Or find a tub of Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel ice cream.... and sit in front of vampire porn with the tub.

The worst of the cravings for the stuff has gone now - the experiment has worked. But I've made a decent, okay substitute. I'm freezing sugar-free cranberry juice in an ice block mould - like mum used to do when I was a kid. It's not ice cream, but it's good for the moment. I can pretend it's ice cream.

Films

Another escapist technique, but also a favorite genre of mine - love film. Saw Moneyball the other night with Emm. I love baseball films, and this was a better than average one - probably going to be up for some Oscars - even if they ruined Philip Seymour Hoffman for me - he should never, ever, ever have a crew cut ever again.

Does Moneyball beat Bull Durham? Nearly. Better story in some ways. Though a stalwart member of Team George (you're either into George Clooney or Brad Pitt - I find Brad Pitt about as sexy as a labrador puppy - unless you count the Thelma and Louise performance)

Moneyball also doesn't have have this...

Oh my. 20 years on and it still has the same effect. Oh my. It's like sitting on a washing machine in its spin cycle.

I still wonder how a woman would write that speech.

Theatre

Saturday is going to be a bit special. The Importance of Being Earnest - Geoffrey Rush as Lady Bracknell. Love Oscar Wilde.

Part of the reason I'd love to be back in London - the theatre is incredible.

I love the purity of theatre, the cut throat, pure adrenalin of an actor on stage - that you never know how something will be set, produced or interpreted (this goes double for Shakespeare), what the audience is going to be like... so many variables.

Heading off to Don Giovanni in a few weeks too - have only been to the Opera once before - it's my Christmas present to myself.

Planning an overseas holiday

Note to myself - renew my passport.

Some people play fantasy football. I do fantasy holidays. There's a few options, not that the cash is really available at this point in time. Gloria's planning a fortnight in India for her 60th - wish I could do that. There's always the Bali or Thailand option - maybe good for a getaway. I've got a real hankering to go to New York for a few weeks - and see Reindert and Corazon while I'm over there. And of course, the win the lottery trip - three months wandering around Spain - maybe do the Compostella de Santiago - learn Spanish the real way...

At the moment all that's on the books is a trip to Adelaide for my sister's 40th, Christmas in Ballan (if Malcolm's dad will have me in the house) and Glen Waverley said he'd take me down the Great Ocean Road again when his porsche gets here. Going to have to take my iPod and FM adapter plug - the porsche only has a tape deck. Not having him play the Discovery Channel song cranked up to eleven through Apollo Bay again.

I just need something to look forward to.

Time with friends

I do this anyway. Friends are my family. Friends are good.

Macarons

I miss working in the city. I felt it even more today on going in this afternoon to get the mail, seeing people and shops and life, of which there is little where I'm working at the moment - unless you like easy-listening radio.

On collecting the mail I popped in on Karen at La Belle Miette - my macaron shop. The macarons from here are the best in Melbourne (and for those who doubt it  - this shit all over the ones in the Lindt Cafe) What's better, being a regular, and at the end of the day, Karen occasionally donates a broken one, which is great, as everybody knows that broken biscuits don't have calories due to leakage. Today the Champagne and Cassis and Salty Caramel one went down a treat.

Sleep

Love sleep. Which is where I'm going now.

Only one more day before the weekend. This week has gone very quickly. Even with a sucky job, at least I'm busy enough to make the time go quickly.

Nothing worse than being unhappy at work. It will turn around.

Isolation

One of the first signs that I'm spiralling into depression is an overwhelming feeling of having no control. I want to run. I have no idea what to do with myself. I can't settle. I feel unloved, unwanted and alone. I become hypersensitive to noise and movement. I start having major sense of humour failures. Food and exercise regimes go out the window.

The sooner I catch it, the better.

I'm hoping that I've got this one in time. The longer it lasts, the longer it takes to get rid of.

Looking at the list above, this is what my week has looked like.

And I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm in one of my depressive cycles and now is the time to sort it.
Work is a contributing factor to all this. I've moved jobs, I'm learning a new role, one in which I feel somewhat unsupported - though I know I can do the work - I'm just without much guidance. The office is about two kilometres away from the last one just out of the city, where I'd made friends. My new team of three aren't particularly social, but this isn't saying they're not nice either - and there is nothing to do and nowhere to go at lunch, unless you take your sandwiches to the park. The local coffee shop makes coffee that tastes like mud - though thankfully the coffee machine in the kitchen provides perfectly drinkable espresso.

Most disturbing is the radio that plays constantly throughout the day. Our pod is directly under the tannoy. Set to MIX FM and GOLD FM, it reminds me constantly of the music they played at the Blue Light Discos of the early eighties. Here are some of the gems from yesterday:

Call Me - Blondie
Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen
The Wall - Pink Floyd
Who can it be now? - Men at Work
The Boys are Back on Town - Thin Lizzy
You Can't Hurry Love - Phil Collins
Dream Police - Cheap Trick
Maneater - Hall and Oates
American Pie - Don McLean
What You Need - INX
Your Song - Elton John
Young Turks - Rod Stewart
True - Spandau Ballet
Staying Alive - The Bee Gees
Set on you - George Harrison
Two Out of Three Aint Bad - Meatloaf
We Gotta Get Out of This Place - The Angels
Hot Stuff - Donna Summer
Simple the Best - Tina Turner
Crackling Rosie - Neil Diamond
Follow You Follow Me - Phil Collins
Can You Feel It - Michael Jackson
Hey Little Girl - Icehouse
Bow River - Cold Chisel
Heaven Must Be There - Eurogliders
I wanna hold your Hand - the Beatles
Tusk - Fleetwood Mac

I'm not sure what's more disturbing - the fact that I've listed these or that I know most of the words to these songs and the artists' names. Some of these artists I rather like - but I've heard all of these songs ten times over in the last fortnight. And yes, fine for a long drive in the country - but not all day, every day in a working environment.

This particular office environment has redefined purgatory for me.

Wearing earplugs is only an option for part of the day - you have to take them out when people talk to you. Shoving your iPod on with my music works for while, but having things shoved in your ears all day isn't a proper answer to all this. I really think that it's unfair to have to do this on a daily basis.

So my hackles have been rising for the last few days, my energy levels slumping, not helped by the injury (which is healing) meaning exercise has been scarce.

What gets me most is the feeling of isolation. I feel alone at work. I live alone. We have the 'C' thing coming up - which I am yet to have my Christmas freak out - maybe this is part of all this too. Though not a Christian, there is all the rigmarole around this time of year. It's overly busy, you eat and drink too much. In my case I try and focus on the fact that I'm alone and it's the time of year that I feel most alone. The "Oh, what are you and your partner doing?" questions don't sting as much as they did - but it's still not pleasant.

Stupid thing is, I think I have this year planned right. There's only one or two things on. Christmas day will be spent with friends and family (from the part of the family that I like) - it's not a drama. The Christmas parties I do have to go to can be either skipped out on early (the bank one - sod that for a game of soldiers) or really enjoyed (the consultancy one is an overnight affair - take thongs and sit by the pool). Half my shopping is already out the way.

Freaking depression makes me look at the not so good side of things, rather than the stuff I'm looking forward to at this time, like time with friends and a week off. I've got manicures, pedicures, a possible tree walk, a massage or two all planned and paid for - it's great. I'll have my favorite cat staying with me too - something I know I'll love. Christmas will be fine. Just in the state I'm in at the moment you'd think that I was about to join a leper colony.

The incident last Friday with the git from internet dating didn't help matters, if anything, it was a contributing factor to the spiral starting. Once again, dwelling on the twats I seem to attract online hasn't helped matters. Last night I took the decisive action of taking myself off the website. Anybody I attract in this frame of mind isn't going to be good for me. Pressing the delete button felt like a huge weight off my shoulders.

Okay, so now what. What am I going to do about all this? Seeing I'm not clinically depressed and not on medication - and refuse to take that stuff anyway, the plan is in place.

Exercise - now the bum is mending I'm back in the gym grunting out the grumblies. Just back from a session with Pinochet - sweaty hugs aside, bench pressing 30 kilos is good for the morale. He's onto my moods - and for a lunkhead, ketone freak - he gives sound advice. Five times a week - it's what keeps me in check. I've got it planned and it will be fine.

Watch my diet - out with the sugar, in with the fresh natural stuff. Done. At least I'm not out much this week,  that will help.

Get out of the office for lunch - so far I've got three covered next week - Alice, Brenda and Jonella are meeting me. Done. Get's me out of that awful environment, if only for an hour.

No alcohol. Okay, this is a no brainer as it contributes to depression, though in saying this, rocking up to beer club last night for a couple of quiet ones was the best thing I could have done for myself. Just being around fun, intelligent, non-banking company who seem to like it when I turn up there did wonders for the mood. Greeted at the door by an old friend, I got a smile, a hug, a comment that my new glasses look good and was told to sit down while a bottle of Polish beer was arranged for me.

Maybe I should start looking for work back in Telecommunications - it appears to keep me saner than banking - the people, though just as mad, are a bit more down to earth.

And lastly, be good to myself. Accept what is, is. There nowhere I should be but here. There's no fairy godmother who can rustle up a loving husband, an interesting job sans GOLD 104.5 FM and the dullards who work there and a life free of stresses and anxiety.

It will be okay. It's going to be okay. I'm onto it. Some of my friends are aware of what's going on and they're being supportive.

Realising what is going on is the first step to fixing it.

Being good to myself and allowing myself to heal is the second.

Back and the Future

Much of my adult working life has been spent in offices.

More to the point, much of my working life has been spent pushing paper in the operations departments of financial institutions. Working with the distribution of dividends, corporate actions, cash balancing and reconciliations, data entry jobs in the back offices of International Banking Houses to be precise.

For me, after ten years of this sort of work, I was ready to slit my wrists. Then in 2003, after a large epiphany, three months on a Greek Island and a bout of deep depression, I made a change, found IT and began to discover that work could be fun, interesting and I could play to my strengths. Leaving the operations departments of these banks has been one of the best moves I've ever made - from financial, professional and personal standings.

So now, in my capacity as a Consulting Business Analyst for a second tier Business Consulting group (all this means is that I work with great people who drink lots of beer, have personalities and don't expect you to do fourteen hour days) I'm in a bit of quandary.

In my current role, I'm finding myself back in the thick of an operations area of a financial institution. Even worse, I'm in the thick of the operations area of Bastard Bank's Retail Operations Area.

I DON'T WORK RETAIL!!! Especially not after my first job was spent in the sub-basement of the an Adelaide department store sticking on price tags - two year of that putting myself through my final year of university part time.

Okay, I'm not in this Gormenghast of a place to WORK in operations - I'm there do document the procedures and processes, that is once I get through the air locks, find my desk, pass the forests of paperwork and rows of fax machines and try to let to foreboding sense of deja vu pass.

I left these kinds of offices nearly a decade ago.

Working in IT and telcos, I've been surrounded by computers and people in jeans - people with quick wits, idiosyncrasies and tendencies towards the autism spectrums. Working on projects, I've been among a mix of megalomaniacs with their own agendas, decent, bright, fun hard working people who strive for the best (these are the people I seem to make friends with) and a heap of very bright people who have tendencies towards the autism spectrums. Throw into the mix guys like Traralgon, Ah-Sole, Danger Dood and the Hot Scouser and every stereotype is covered.

I like project spaces. I get them. They can be fast paced and interesting at times. It's normally varied work. You meet great people.

I don't like Operations Areas. Business as Usual can be as dull as it sounds.

Yet, I'm sort of glad, as this foray into the world of Business Analysis a bit of a soft landing as I 'get' what the teams are trying to do. I get what they do on a daily basis. I get how they do it. It's all second nature. It's ingrained.

And it hasn't changed much in the near decade since I left.

Nor have the people.

Similar people, different office.

Middle aged women in slacks and jumpers who go and find  a cup of tea two hours by the clock. Younger women, seven months pregnant with photos of the kids framed on the desk. Young men in their thirties with Supercuts haircuts and short sleeved polyester shirts. Friendly management who try and make the best of the conditions. Same people, different office. Seen it all before.

And the killer for me - the radio is piped through the office.

ARGH.

I come from offices where everybody listens to music - it's what iPods are for! I've been known to bop along to the Pixies while fixing commas and parsing ("You are the son of an incestuous union..."). I do it regularly. ("Vamos, vamos, vamos") I used to have iPod swaps with my old project manager. ("I was swimming in the Caribbean').

In this new office, I've been subjected to GOLD FM and MIX FM. So far I've endured some really old favorites - Phil Collins, Bryan Adams, Mental as Anything - and a personal favorite - Meatloaf.

If I ever have to hear Meatloaf's "Bat Out of Hell" album again before I die, it will be too soon. Just as the CIA tortured Gitmo detainees with the Barney song, I have a similar feeling about Bat out of Hell. For two years, it was all I listened to as I stuck price tickets on department store items.

I know every word to that pharking album.

Hearing 'I Can See Paradise by the Dashboard Light' on Friday was enough to start my bottom lip quivering and the urge to run away to set in.

I'm back in an Operations Area. Joy!

It's only for a few months. I'm cutting my teeth on work things. I just have to remember this and remember this often. And go back to the mother ship of my old office when I can.

My earplugs will get a battering I reckon - that or I ramp up the iPod and play The Pixies, Florence and the Machine, The Rolling Stones and anything that is the antithesis of the easy listening crap they play over the tannoy.

On the good side of things, I'll go back to the project enclave after this stint, the people are friendly, its walking distance from home and the canteen is so bad I'll have to take my lunch in so I will get my diet back on track. And there may be a bit of travel attached to this job with the slight chance of being sent to Sydney for a few weeks.

On the not so good side of things, other than the persistent drone of easy-listening radio, I just have to remember that although this type of work started me on the route I'm on now, it's not what I do any more. It's not who I am. And I'm not stuck there, earning half of what I earn now, bored out of my wits with no way out.

Thank heavens it's not for too long.

I've had a weekend out from things. Went with Jay from the gym to see Rock of Ages yesterday - loved every minute of it.

As somebody who normally doesn't like musicals, this one got me to me. An old friend highly recommended it - and I'm so glad I went. The only musicals I tend to like are the edgy, slightly wrong ones - like Rocky Horror, Hairspray and Chicago. I think that Andrew Lloyd Webber should be publicly executed for crimes against humanity.

Rock of Ages has a Rocky Horror sense of fun, a completely wrong sense of humour and one of the best eighties sound tracks out there. And they give you a fake cigarette lighter to sway to the music with. I'm never going to hear  Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" in the same way again. I don't believe that I ever wore the clothes they wore - I've never worn acid wash double denim or gym lycra unitards. My hair's too boofy to have a spiral perm... And the last time I wore suspenders and stocking was to a "Shock Your Mother" party at college. Thankfully all the photos of me in a school uniform, stockings and suspenders in a shopping trolley have been burned.

If you get a chance to see it on stage - do it - though the movie of the stage show is coming out next year. Tom Cruise as Stacee Jaxx should be a hoot.

Other good things to happen this weekend - Pump class with 25 kilogram squat track, meditation, a quiet night on Saturday with a lot of Vampire Porn (True Blood). All good things.

On the not quite as good side - a not that interesting Mason's rehearsal, which was infuriating and insightful in turn and completely wasted Friday night. And lots of vampire porn has made me decidedly horny. But we can't talk about the last thing.

I'm going into middle age - I didn't think you were supposed to get horny any more.

I suppose the latter is a bit of compensation for the fact that tomorrow morning it's back to Gormenghast to look at operations processes which haven't changed that much in twenty years.

_________________________________________________

Days without ice cream - 15 (and brownie points for donating to Trin the scoop of vanilla ice cream that turned up in my skinny iced chai latte up at the 1000 Steps - like who puts ice cream in skinny iced chai latte?)

Unexpected

Sometimes I think of your skin
The unexpected smoothness found
At the base of your neck
And your chest's scent
Where I used to lay
Your chest, my pillow
Your arm, loose around me
Protective and calm

I can never go back
But you are always there
In the recesses
Where light rarely goes
Soft, smooth, scented
Imperfectly perfect.
Protective and calm.

Of Angels and Apathy

God bless Mack and his esoteric leanings.

Sometimes, when the world all feels a bit heavy, Mack will me a lead to let my brain start to soar in the right direction once again, even if it stops me from doing what I'm supposed to doing.

Today was what I refer to as a 'meh' day. Went into work early to go for a run, but there was something in me saying don't do it. I spent 45 minutes in the gym instead. Burned 300 calories doing a gentle cardio routine, which did feel good, but it would have felt better if I was schlepping around the Tan, wind in my ponytail, pink geek t-shirt flapping in the breeze.

As the project I'm on is ramping down and it looks like there's about a month of work left here, the atmosphere is pretty dire. Making it somewhat worse, I'm not sure what I will be doing for work after mid-October. The rest of my team have moved on - Jonella went on Friday back to the bench at the consultancy, May Chang is now upstairs on another project and Hot Scouser has moved on to new projects in other companies. This leaves me with the Project Manager, who's busy on other things and interactions with another manager, who has a bit of a "nails-on-the-blackboard" effect on me.

As I said. It's a "meh" day, so much so that there was some consideration to feign a migraine. However, the documentation is not going to go away. The manager with the voice like a broken beer bottle isn't going away either. And I need to get on with the next round of work so I might get moved on.

Added to this, I'm using every fibre of my being not to go to the honesty box and buy a packet of licquorice bullets and inhale them. So far, I've resisted and had one manky biscuit from the bikkie tin instead. Why do workplaces always supply milk arrowroot biscuits? They taste like cardboard.

Thing is, yesterday was marvellous. Had a great lunch with Alice, got my major document in for review, had fun on a training course at the consultancy. The icing on the cake was a text from another old university friend asking if I was free for coffee in the afternoon. Pip is an absolute marvel. It was a lovely afternoon and popped across the road for a chat for half an hour. Pip's done amazingly well for himself through hard work and a keen brain. Best of all, rather like me, Pip's dropped a staggering amount of weight and looks the best he's looked in his life. It was lovely to be greeted with a peck on the check and a mutual comment of "Where the hell is the rest of you?" Meeting up with him really made my day.

Today, on the other hand, really is one of those days.

So I'm left taking myself off to my happy places in between editing sections of these stupid documents.

Anything to make life a little more tolerable today.

A friend emailed me to tell me how he went surfing before work. The waves were dreadful but he reckons spending ten minutes a stones throw from a large pod of dolphins was pretty cool. That sounds pretty amazing to me. That was a nice place to go, sitting out in the ocean, cavorting with a heap of sea mammals. Rather like dolphins, not that I've ever been that close to one. The nearest I reckon I've been to a dolphin was when we went on the beer club fishing trip. There was one that kept hanging around the boat like a labrador at the dinner table.

I have my old and friendly ohrwurm to keep me company too. The "ohrwurm" or ear worm is the German term for the song that gets stuck in your head and drives you insane. Thankfully my ear worm isn't making me go batty - it's keeping me from going mad in the near silence of the office.

Today's song is an old favorite of mine that happily keeps me company. Deborah Conway's "Alive and Brilliant". Deborah Conway is, in my lowly opinion, one of the best female recording artists to come out of Australia. Completely underated. She's also responsible for one of the best taglines out of a song - another "ohrwurm". The lyrics to Man Overboard are known by most forty something Australians. "Your pubic hair upon my pillow" is the line - don't ask us what follows, other than the chorus of "What am I expected to do? Shout man overboard!" Nobody knows the rest of the lyrics. Nobody cares, really.

My tagline for today comes from her song, Alive and Brilliant. The lyrics are as follows.

One step forward
Two steps backward
I won't wrestle, you won't talk back
Three deeps breaths,
I'm still alive and brilliant

It's helping to keep me sane. It's that or shove the Arctic Monkeys on the iPod and crank up, "Mardy Bum". (Cos I'm....argumentative... and I've got the face on....)

There is the old favorite happy place to go to. This involves imagining a large bath tub, Clive Owen and a jar of nutella. I'd insert any other hot thirty/forty something, but Clive Owen is my faithful standby. He looks so filthy, throwing him in the bath is the only option. :oP

I also have to remind myself that too much nutella gives me migraines to not let myself go too far into the happy place.

But Mack came up with a cracker today which has kept me rather content.

Yesterday he had a picture of a hart (white deer)on his facebook page. We got talking about this. He said that this picture reminded him of times gone by - other other lives and other times. With Mack, you don't quite know if this means last year or five centuries ago - but this is a quandry for Mack to tell you about.

For me, this picture brought something up for me to ponder.

The Wilton Diptych.

Possibly my favorite painting on the planet.

Eh? You ask.

Imagine this. A cold winter's day in London in the early nineties. A girl in black opaque stockings, large black jumper, short skirt, Doc Martens and a scowl enters the Salisbury wing of the National Gallery. Her long, dark, wavy hair is a little damp from getting caught in a rainshower without an umbrella. She never carries an umbrella. Her glasses are foggy.

On embarking on the long staircase to the second floor, she has no idea what she will find. She just knows that she has a bit of a hankering for pre-1500's religious art work and the Sainsbury's Wing of the National Gallery has this in buckets.

Yes, this girl is a nerd.

Turning left, in a glass case in the middle of the first room on the left there is a small exhibit. A diptych. Or a two panelled painting with a hinge keeping both panels together. This one was allegedly a travelling altar piece. Both panels are about seventy centimetres high by forty centimetres wide.

And it is the most beautiful thing the girl has ever seen.



You've worked out I'm that girl. And I still never carry an umbrella. I get caught in the rain all the time. Love it.

Whenever I'm in London, I make sure I go and visit 'The Girlies'. When I was there in November last year, I dragged Lachlan, half-cut on too much beer, to go see them - then he dragged me to the other end of the gallery to look at a couple of Turners. Which were nice, but they don't really float my boat.

I could stare at the Wilton Diptych for days on end. In particular the eleven angels that surround the Virgin Mary. Knowing that this painting is made of a wooden board, the paints are pigments ground into egg yolk, the fact that the artist has been forgotten, the gilt work is incredible - the whole thing, in it's entirety, takes my breath away.

But on the back of the Diptych is the picture of a White Hart - a large deer, with it's neck in a crown, tethered to nothing by a thick gold chain.



My quandry to think about as I'm avoiding these Training Needs Analysis documents - why is there a crown around the neck of the White Hart? How did it get on there? And why is it tethered not nothing - the chain runs free.

Amazing how something so throw away can keep you entertained for hours.

Whelmed

 Isn't it strange. You can be overwhelmed. And you can be underwhelmed.

But you can't be whelmed.

Well, I'm going to take this word and use it. I'm currently whelmed with my day job. I'm in a true state of limbo. The joys of being a word nerd at one of the big banks, I'm tired of the bureaucracy, sick of not being able to get traction. The repetitive nature of the work is starting to get to me. And there is no way out at the moment. It pays well. The people are nice. I've made a new friend who I reckon will be around for ages - Jonella is great for one. However, the thing that makes my day is the run in the morning with Desi and lunch with friends. It's not complete purgatory, but it's not ideal either. I'm not overwhelmed (except with the bureaucracy), I'm not underwhelmed (except with the dry nature of the content).

I'm just whelmed.

So, being whelmed, it leaves me wondering about my next avenues of employment after this contract, which has a while to run on it, allegedly. Depending on what gets de-scoped, run through the mill or cut for budget reasons. Dunno.

And when I think of this I go into a blind panic.

Thing is, though I have a number of skills, none of them keep a roof over my head, food on the table or petrol in the car if I leave corporate Australia.

Okay, I look at these skills.

I'm a trained massage therapist, aromatherapist and reflexologist. Portable skills. However I did my training in London some fifteen years ago and my quals aren't recognised - or at least need topping up. I did these papers when I was working at an investment bank in London. The logic was that when I got married, I could have an income while I had kids about that house. Okay, the second part of the plan never happened, but it's proved a good beer money spinner and it seems I have half a talent for it. My regular clients keep coming back - but as I'd have to shell out to requalify, it seems like a waste. Besides, the way I do reflexology is a little different to the way more conventional reflex practitioners work - I'm a bit more "out there" - I think those were the words Jonella used - she's a reflexologist too.

Keep these as a hobby jobs, I reckon. Besides, working in these trades would mean having to work with the general public.

I'd rather drink bleach than work with the general public.

Same goes for the reiki. I've got my Reiki Two certificate - I don't see the need to get my Reiki Masters. I like working with it, but it's not my passion.

There's the tarot reading. Again, something I'm trained for, but there isn't much need for straight talking readers. I refuse to get dressed up as a fortune teller and do festivals or markets - it takes away from the integrity. Most people who come for readings know I read lying on my lounge room floor, cup of tea in my hand often saying thing like, "Nah, what do you want to do that for?" Pandora the Tactless Tarot reader. Joy.

And that's about it. I'm good with kids and animals, though sometimes after twenty minutes with the latter I want to run them through a blender. Better not risk that one.

There is a part of me that says go back and re-train in something. Personal Training has come up in the mix  few times - but personal trainers are a dime a dozen - lots out there, shrinking market - thought the good ones can make quite a bit - and I know some great ones. It does sort of appeal to my sadistic side - ask poor Desi and I demand she sprint up Anderson Street of a morning.

Besides, who wants a chubby personal trainer?

More of a possibility is going back to university on a part-time basis and studying Law, Creative Writing or Journalism at a Masters level. It's thought. But it needs to be funded, and unfortunately a corporate job will be the only way to do this.

I suppose my dream job would be to be a travel writer - getting paid to swan around the world - though who would want my opinion? I love travel writing - just I don't think there is a market out there for my views.

And writing the novel to turn me into the next JK Rowling. Well, again, I need to keep a roof over my head. Rowling, though magic - was a fluke of the gods. For every JK Rowling and Eoin Colfer and Lemony Snicket there are millions of wannabes. Rainbow Robertson needs a few more rainy Sunday afternoons to get off the ground.

There must be plenty of things that a reasonably intelligent and resourceful woman can do with her life outside of working in a bank.

Just have to work out what that is.

And in the mean time, remain rather whelmed, find joy in the little things, like running along the river in the morning, lunches and other times with friends. Look at the hobby jobs as a bit of a portfolio career.

Or maybe I just have to work out what it is I want exactly. At the moment all I want is sex and ice cream. These are not relevant when it comes to careers.

On that note, I'm going to take my whelming glumness to bed.