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

Bums and Boundaries

11.11.11.

A very large, very imposing full moon in Taurus hangs in the sky.

If the ether was going to crack, today was the day. Of course, it did.

6.55 this morning all was well. Contemplating getting up and going for a run, even though my right side gluteus medius had woken me up in the night, throbbing. Your bum shouldn't throb. Bums are for sitting on and keeping you upright when you walk. They shouldn't wake you up aching in the middle of the night.

7.20 a.m. I was under my duvet (doona) a howling, hyperventilating, sobbing, naked mess.

7.30, I was dressed in my running gear, loaded back pack in hand ready to leave for work where I was meeting Desi for a run, tears dried, breathing regulated.

8.15 a.m I was limping around Fitzroy Gardens at a half jog/walk. Not good. My bum is now hurts when I walk. I'm also smelling like footballer and sitting on a bag of frozen peas looking at my options to all sorts of things.

Lunch with Glen Waverley helped get through the day. A lot of good came out of crying on the shoulder of an engineer. Engineers will normally pat your hand if you cry around them (if they haven't run a mile in the other direction) The say, "there, there, it's going to be fine" before they try and fix the problem. Sometimes that's what you need. I needed that today.

Glen Waverley's nice and gentle as engineers go. He knows he can't fix things but he can soothe over a few of the frazzled nerves. He's quite good at that. And he laughed at my glute injury. But this is what men do when you mention bums and farts and things below the belt - and this is okay too.

So what is going on?

The injury first. About two weeks ago I went running with Trin and Desi - I went out too hard and fast and my right glute ached. It was fine by the following day. Last weekend I went and did pump and the 1000 Steps. The glute was a little twangy but nothing too bad. Saw Pinochet Monday, did Spin on Wednesday. No dramas. Last night I went to run for the consultancy in the BRW Corporate Relay.

Something in me was saying I was setting myself up for failure. Having the word "confidence" branded on my arse, there is a bit of me that says I'm setting myself up for a fall.

My team was well matched team - we all run 5 kms in about 30 minutes - no biggie. I was the second runner. Getting the timing tag from my team mate I started on my way. A kilometre in and the twang had come back. 1500 metres in and things were getting worse. I dropped my pace down to minute walk, two minute run intervals. Half way round and the ache abated a little, only to come back at 3500 metres, then it dropped off again. I reckon I got round in about 32 minutes - no shame in that at all - especially on a gammy leg. After chatting with a few of the folk from the consultancy, I made my way home - rump aching slightly, otherwise fine.

This morning, my right butt cheek felt like concrete, nurofen isn't touching the ache and I'm limping. I'm here sitting on my frozen peas. Great.

I'm checking in with my massuese tomorrow, but I think I'm going to be banished to sitting on this bag of frozen peas for a few days. Joy. I can't run on this now - it hurts to walk. I'm supposed to be running in the inaugural 14 kilometre City to Sea on Sunday. I don't see it happening at the moment. I don't want things to get worse. I like running too much - I think this is going to have to be nurtured - Kilometres in the pool, not on the road for a bit. Stick to weights and the bike. I'll see what my massage therapist says.

There, that's the easy one covered.

So what caused me to end up a sobbing mess this morning? An unexpected phone call.

I've done something big and brave and possibly slightly stupid. I've put myself back on an internet dating website. This has been done partly against my better judgement and partly in an attempt to restore my faith in humanity and the world in general. And yes, I know that my last sentence is contradictory. In a nutshell, it's me saying to the universe, "Okay, I'm ready for a relationship." The fact that the last time I was in anything that remotely like a relationship was twenty years ago in London is beside the point. The fact that all of this freaks a part of me out, well that is beside the point too.

Also, I'm willing to discount my history with internet dating and start on a fresh page.

This is quite a big thing for me. Huge. It's like disregarding Africa in an altas.

After meeting now let me see... hmmm, here's some of my internet dating history. Mr "I keep my nail clippings in a jar", Mr "Oh, you know, can you put on another 20 kgs to keep me happy (I've since lost 20 just to make sure he never comes back),", Mr "I have sooooo many issues, mainly to do with my Mother", he who had one leg and sort of forgot to tell me before I met him - not that it was an issue, but it would have been nice to know about before I met him, Mr 'I don't do intercourse - it's not for me' (Like, WTF... after six dates... and yes, I'm that shallow) oh, and the bloke who met me at the museum and his second words to me were," Oh, you're one of those brainy chicks, aren't you." Like that was going to go somewhere. You can take the boy out of Coburg... Oh, and Draenog - Welsh for hedgehog - egg bald - again nothing wrong with that. My friend, Alice, who was vetting my respondants at the time had him pegged as a probably on the Aspergers spectrum instantly. I should have listened to her.

And this has left me second guessing everything. If this is what I attract, why the fuck bother.

I've also had some really pleasant evenings out over the years as well - met some interesting people who you cross paths with for dinner and that's it. Nothing more happens, and that is cool. Evenings of good conversation and that's where it ends. Fine.

So, with some trepidation, I put myself online not expecting anything and not going chasing either. So after ten days, this fellow gets in contact. We chat a bit online - a bit - my time is limited. I feel okay about giving him my mobile number. Numbers can be blocked. I was okay about this. Fine. Chat some time over the weekend.

He calls at 7 a.m.

A few small facts about me. I hate talking on the telphone. There are a few people I can talk to on the phone. Most of them are overseas or interstate. I'm particularly dreadful on the phone with people I don't know. I'm happier meeting somebody blind for a coffee in a public place. I prefer to look at somebody when I talk to them - I pick more up that way - as aurally, I take everything at face value and it's normally to my detriment. When I know people, I don't have to judge what they are really meaning. New people in the phone just don't work with me.

Secondly. Until I've had a shower and a cup of coffee in the morning, I'm really not nice to be around. I can't function without getting wet and a triple ristretto with some steamed milk. Constructing sentences is a chore. I need to ease into the morning.

Okay, and before you say it - yeah, probably a mistake picking up the phone at 7 a.m. This I realise. My family call around this time - but being family, they understand that I'm going to be grumpy. I call them before eight - but I know they're going to be up, and being family, we tend to grunt at each other anyway.

And then the killer - his first question, "Why is a gorgeous and intelligent woman like yourself single?"

And here is the rub. Caffeineless, night grot ridden, naked, groggy - how the hell do you answer this?

And I don't have the sense to say something like, 'Can you ring me back at a reasonable hour, you halfwit.'

But how do you answer a question like this?

I haven't met the right person? I've been out of a relationship for a year? I move around a lot with work? Up until three years ago I though all men were stupid, abusing, raping arseholes and I've been encased in an extra thirty kilos of blubber to try keep people away. I dunno - just hasn't happened for me.

The hackles rose.

Then a half accusatory tone - how dare I say I'm bad on the phone. My voice says that I'm articulate, intelligent and sexy.

What bullshit!

It's 7.05! I sound husky as Mrs Krups is making my coffee. I sound husky until after the coffee has been drunk and the shower steam takes the rasp out  of my voice.

After about five minutes of trying to get out something that consisted of "Look, it's not a good time, I need to get out the door, I don't the fuck know what to think about anything, now go away and let me go for a run." I put the phone down, ran into my bedroom, jumped under the covers and started to howl.

Something inside felt violated - not that he said anything bad or nasty or the like. Something broke inside me.

More to the point, my boundaries had been violated, whether he meant to do this or not - these boundaries I've spent so much time cultivating got smashed in a five minute phone call.

I gathered myself quickly and got on with things, not dwelling too much on my reaction to all of this. Yes, I did ponder why is it I don't meet nice men to fall for who are like my lovely male friends. I thought about how it was the best times I've had have been with people I've connected with over time, making strong friendships through learning about each other slowly. Then there has been the occasional dalliance where chemistry takes over. But these have been rare. Lots of fun, but fleeting.

Trin gave me some bits of sound advice - and sent me something that made me think. It read, "You are too intelligent to be the thing that gets in the way of your dreams." Too true.

So this crack in the ether left a pall on the day. I got quite a bit done at work - the rest of my team being in Sydney I was left on my own to crank up the iPod and get on with things, drown out the best of Sherbet, Phil Collins, Billy Joel and every other dodgy 80's hit with The Pixies, Nick Cave, Florence and the Machine and PJ Harvey. This worked to keep me half sane. Lots got done. I skipped out half an hour early, needing to get away and get some air and sunshine.

The question that darted in and out of my mind all day - do I call the half wit back. Does he deserve a second chance? Do I take myself off the site or leave myself on it.

Ah, it's all too hard. I'm not even going to throw in the fact that I've lived alone for the best part of ten years, I can't remember I last woke up next to somebody, let alone anything else remotely intimate and comfortable.

A couple of macarons, collecting the mail and a trip to my favorite witch shop I felt somewhat restored. In Spellbox, I spun the wheel - just to see what was around me. The little note the wheel delivers read as such:

Adventure.  Take a risk. Follow your bliss. From fear now depart, connect with the heart. Prepare for an amazing adventure to start.

Bloody universe.

____________________________________________

Days without ice cream - 19 - though the temptation to go get a litre of Maggie Beers Burnt Fig Jam and Butterscotch ice cream nearly did me in today.