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.

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.