This week's Sunday Stealing comes with the strict instructions to provide your answers in one word only.
This suits me as I've been feeling decidedly off-colour for the last day or so, barely leaving the couch. It's nothing too nasty - it's like all of my energy has seeped away. I think I need a doona day, as we call them here - a day where you don't get out of your pyjamas, nor leave the couch.
Not blah that there's a party. My friend is turning 50 and there is a lot to celebrate. However, I feel like I'm coming down with something, and the thought of socialising is not doing it for me. But, I also feel that I should go, even if only for an hour.
My next dilemma. What to bloody wear.
The instruction on the invite reads as follows:
"Wear something you never have the opportunity to wear.'
Bah!
This means making a decision, for which I have no brain space at the moment. Wear something I never have the opportunity to wear? There's a bit to choose from.
Bathers? I don't wear them often.
Or my Adelaide Crows scarf and hat - but it's not footy season.
High heels? Nope, absolutely not. I don't want to look like a bad drag queen - I walk like a bad drag queen in heels.
I've got this long floral dress that I've never worn out - but I'm not in the mood for that - especially as I don't think I'll be there for long and I feel like the dress makes me look the size of the Titanic.
All my nice winter clothes can't be worn - it's far too temperate for that.
There's a plethora of band t-shirts I could wear... David Byrne... The Pixies.... The Hoodoo Gurus.... The Whitlams.... yeah... nah. Though the party is in Northcote.
There is the lovely, drapey silk throw over I bought in Darwin from a local designer... maybe put some plain black basics underneath... that might be the go. With my Pandora bracelets - the three of them, which probably need a polish - I never wear them.
Then there's the perfume. Do I go Chanel No 5 - this last bottle has only been worn to funerals in the last two years - maybe I should wear it more often. Or do I go with one of the Juliette has a Gun scents - Lady Vengeance or Not a Perfume are my favourites.
Do I turn up in my white Birkenstocks or white trainers or put on my Doc Martens - I'm taking the train out to Northcote. It's easier than finding parking and it means I can have a drink.
I do like that my friend has provided a dress code, I'm interested in seeing what people turn up in.
At least, in writing this, I've managed to verbalise what would be the best outfit. I'll go the plain blacks with the silk throw over and my Pandora bracelets - with white trainers and yeah...
I still think turning up in bathers could be fun. Pity it's not warmer.
Just so you know, discombobulate is one of my favourite words.
This evening, I'm discombobulated.
I've been tired all day. It's been a big week. On signing out of my work computer, I went for a quick read before heading out for dinner with a friend. This was at 5.15 p.m.
It seems I fell asleep, as I was soon awoken from a dream. The cat was demanding his dinner. Not that this registered. I'd been dreaming. Looking at my watch, it was 6.25. I couldn't quite work out if it was morning or afternoon. It took a bit to work out that I should have left ten minutes before. I can't remember the dream, but I know it was intense.
The cat was fed. Knowing I'd be driving home in the dark, I cleaned my glasses, grabbed my stuff and went out, placing my sunglasses on my head. My sunglasses are the prescription kind and I'm light sensitive.
A pleasant night was had - but imagine my dismay when I looked in my bag to find that my glasses weren't in there.
Argh.
How was I supposed to drive home?
Fun fact - as much as I can get around at home without them, I will not drive without prescription lenses (nor watch a movie at the cinema without them). I'm only a little short-sighted, but you have to be able to see properly to drive.
I moaned to my friend, who said she's having similar age-related sight issues, having to put on glasses to read anything. I'm the other way - I have to take my glasses off to read or look at the phone.
Anyway - here was my dilemma. Drive home without my glasses, technically going against the conditions on my licence - or wear my sunglasses - see clearly, even if things were a bit dark.
I went with the latter, despite looking like an idiot, but being able to see the road. Thankfully it was only a short trip from Surry Hills.
How did we ever go into the office every single day of the week pre-2020? I mean, do you realise the energy it takes to get up, feed the cat, have a shower, get dressed, get medicated, put on a face full of make up, get your bag ready, remember everything from your phone to your keys, get out the door, make sure its locked, hop on a tram, then a train - dodging body odour, disease and loud conversations, then there's the quick walk to the office...
I've done this two days in a row this week. Normally I'd only go in one day. My team goes in on a Wednesday normally - it's our 'anchor' day - corporate speak for getting your team together.
Then you have to turn around at the end of the day, get on the said train or tram and go home and come back shattered.
How did we think this was normal?
Normal is rolling out of bed at around 7.45 am, feeding the cat, having a quick shower, medicating, making sure that you don't look too scruffy and firing up your computer at 8.30 am, ready for work.
And I don't resent going in for the second day this week - a colleague was down from interstate and we'd scheduled a lunch - about the only thing I miss about going regularly into town - lunch.
I just can't get over we used to do this EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK, EVERY BLOODY WEEK.
I had lunch with a friend today. We meet up every few weeks. Thankfully they work in an office just across the road from mine so it's easy. Also, the Japanese place in the food court next door is pretty good. We've bonded over bento boxes. Honey soy chicken for them, spicy Bulduk chicken for me. They were champing to provide some information.
"Well, I have news."
"Good news, I hope? All's well with the cat?"
"Yes, he's great, and I have a story about him, but I'll tell you my other news when we sit down."
We found a table and sat, stripping our chopsticks of their paper shroud, cracking our cans of Coke Zero.
"It's big news."
"Get on with it." They weren't looking me in the eye, but that was normal. Neither of us are that fantastic with eye contact.
"Well, with the encouragement and blessing of my partner, I went to seek a diagnosis."
"A diagnosis, I take it, for whether you're a match for the autism spectrum?"
"Yep."
Not so strangely, we clicked almost immediately at work a while ago. They were there when I was filling out the paperwork to get my diagnosis. We talked a lot at the time about they whats, whys and wherefores of searching for answers at the time. They mentioned that in your fifties, what's the point of getting diagnosed as you've worked most of it out.
"And? How did you go?" I asked, chasing some of the roast vegetables around the box.
"Umm. Well, I'm AUDHD. With a few other letters just for me."
"Like me, but with a few more bits to you, which you can keep. I'm very proud of you," I told them. "How do you feel?"
They smiled. "Vindicated. Heard. Stronger. I'm getting a better understanding of myself. It's like somebody's replaced the light bulb in a dark room."
"Yep."
"And looking back, all the patterns were there."
"Yep"
"And you work out that a heap of your good friends are probably on the spectrum."
"To paraphrase Lewis Carroll, the best people are bonkers." I smiled at them. "I've found this neurodiversity journey very rewarding."
"I know. You helped give me the impetus to seek out the diagnosis. Thank you."
"You're welcome. It's all a part of the toolbox. It helps that we're in our fifties, what the old guard would call high functioning, and self-aware."
And we talked more about the ins and outs of being fairly recent converts to this rather strange neurodiversity club, which gives us some superpowers, and some challenges - as well as a lot of understanding.
"Oh, one thing," I told them, "You might find that the people that you click with might just be in the same boat."
"I'm seeing that already."
"But how good does it feel that the strange little kid, that had few friends, and loved science and dinosaurs, and still thinks going out is one of the most difficult things in the world, and who only eats ice cream with a teaspoon..."
"You only eat ice cream with a teaspoon?" They were incredulous.
"You'll find out about neurodiversity and cutlery - it's a big thing. Actually, sensory stuff - you know your own quirks - not that you think there's anything strange..."
"Now, Pandas, don't tell me you're going to be watching Married at First Sight again?" whine Barney over a text.
Barney doesn't like MAFS. Barney thin MAFS is rubbish.
Barney is probably right.
My rebuttal came swiftly.
"Barney. I live alone. It is my television! I will watch what I bloody well like."
There! That told him.
MAFS is my guilty pleasure. My one bit of reality television that I watch religiously, more as a psychological and sociological experiment than anything else.
It's so bad, it's good.
I mean, where else do you get to see these things on your screen?
Veneers
Lip fillers
Fake Boobs
Tattoos
Sure, all of these things are a personal choice, and if people want to spend money on these things, good for them.
Throw in the narcissistic personality disorders, the traumatised, undiagnosed neurodiverse, the little princesses, the men who are too close to their mothers.... and what do you have?
Oh yeah, him. What's the bet he smells like tuna?
Anyway, I worked late tonight, and MAFS was my little reward.
I've been wanting to do this for a while. Once a month, report back on what I've read and what I thought. Being a new year, it's time to have a look at what I got read over January. I'll go in finishing order.
Book One
The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley
4 stars
This was our January book for book group - and the second time I'd read this. Instead of a paper copy, I listened to it on the way back from Adelaide - and it stood up to the second reading.
It's a genre bending novel, a little bit of science fiction, a bit historical, with a bit of romance mixed in for good measure. You end up sort of falling in love with one of the main characters - Graham Gore, who was an actual person. It made me want to go out and learn more about 19th century polar exhibitions.
Comes recommended.
Second book:
The Correspondent by Virginia Evans
5 Stars
Loved, loved, loved this book. Again, I took this in as an audiobook, and it was flawlessly produced.
And epistolary novel, you follow the life, family and friends of Sybil von Antwerp, a lawyer, judges clerk, a mother and grandmother as she ponders her later years, her life and the things she wishes she could to over.
It's extraordinary. I was so sad when this finished.
Highly, highly recommended.
Third book:
By Any Other Name by Jodi Picoult
5 Stars
Okay, my Shakespearean biases come out here. I'm not normally a Jodi Picoult fan, but I loved this as it took in two of my favourite things, Shakespeare and Theatre, and turned it into something great. Split into two different stories. The first of Melina, a playwright in New York in 2019. The second story looks at Melina's long lost relative, Emilia, a courtesan and writer who was working in the time of Shakespeare. Themes of a woman's role in creativity, sexism, family and friendship are all contained in here.
I loved it. As a revisionist history, it's the absolute bomb.
Book Four.
Babel by RF Kuang
4 Stars
I was reticent to read this after reading the author's well-known book, Yellowface - which I really did not like at all. A friend gave me this to read in England, saying, "You'll like this."
I did.
For fans of Philip Pullman, Babel tells the story of Robin Swift, a boy rescued from the slums of Hong Kong to become a student at the School of Translation in Oxford, where they are housed at the Tower of Babel, which is a part of an alternate Oxford University - just like Pullman. With themes of racism, bettering oneself, fitting in and doing the right thing, this is a long and wordy book, but well with the effort. At 550 densely packed pages, this took me six weeks to read. Rather than race through it, I read a chapter a day and let it permeate my being.
I can see why it received a British Book of the Year award. It's worth savouring every page. And thankfully, it's nothing like Yellowface.
Fifth Book
A Guide to Berlin by Gail Jones
4 stars
I picked this up last year, then worked out that one of the things this book was about was the writer, Vladimir Nabokov, writer of Lolita. I got about thirty pages in before working out that I really should fill that reading hole and read Lolita before finishing this book. Which is what I did.
Lolita is amazing - very disturbing, but the writing....oh my goodness!
Regardless, I came back to finish this.
It's a slow burn, but Jones' writing is remarkable.
Recommended for more literary readers. It's a gentle novel about travel and friendship in strange places.
Sixth Book
Horse by Geraldine Brooks
Stars 4.5
Okay, I've always been a huge fan of Geraldine Brooks, and this is up there with her best. (If you haven't read her Year of Wonders, what have you been doing?)
Like By Any Other Name there are a number of converging stories. In modern times, Jess, a scientist working at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. becomes involved in the hunt for answers over some horse bones found in the attic. Bring into this Theo, a Fine Arts PhD candidate who is looking for answers about a painting he found on the side of the road.
In the 1800s, we meet the slave Jarret, and his foal, Darley, who becomes Lexington, the most famous racehorse in pre-Civil War times, and what happens to this incredible duo.
My only small criticism of this book is that it closely follows Brooks' formula which she's used on a number of other books - The People of the Book being one of them. However, her fastidious research and wonderful writing shines through.
