The Round Room

My father, used to tell the odd Irish Joke. A favourite was “How do you confuse an Irishman?”

“You put him in a round room and tell him to piddle in the corner.”

If my father was still alive he’s would have turned 73 yesterday. He died when he was 55. It’s been a long time.

Yes, my dad was a casual racist – but most people of his era were casually racist, mostly through society, breeding and just not knowing better. However, he was also very kind and generous to everybody who came into his path. My uni friends from all over the globe he was kind and considerate to. I never say him say anything hateful to anybody. It was just in his make up to tell the odd Irish joke, a product of the old White Australia policy that our current Federal Government appears to be hell bent on bringing back in (along with work choices, conscription, prayer in schools, working til you drop dead, death duties, coal fired heating in homes, corporal punishment and the adoption of sending dissenters to gulags on Manus Island... but we don’t want to give the mongrels any ideas now do we)

Me – well I find myself in the Irishman’s round room at the moment. No idea where to piddle at the moment.

Here are the things that are confusing me:

1.       Work

      I’m doing temporary contracts at the moment looking for something a bit more stimulating and longer term. Confused about what to do next and where to go next. I’m putting a lot of applications in. I know when the right thing turns up I’ll jump at it and all will be fine. It’s just a load.

      Study

2.       Starting a Masters of Arts in Writing. A huge commitment on time and finances, if I get in. I’ll admit to being a bit of a frustrated academic on the inside and the Masters, through the Open University and Swinburne Institute of Technology appears to be up my alley. It's a huge commitment. Part of me wants to go and do the cap and gown thing, as I never got to do that when I graduated back in the early nineties. I was at the ceremony, but circumstances and a very low self esteem saw me watching from the sidelines. There's the proper criticism, the drive to do better, the thought of working with peers... there's a lot that could take my writing further. Also, I might not get in... we'll see what happens. Jay is certifying copies of my transcript on Monday, I'll send it off the application then. Not in yet. Who knows where that might take me.

      Cats

     Can somebody please tell me why a visiting cat needs to be held like a teddy bear all night? Mrs Squeaky Puss goes home on Tuesday. I love having her but I wish she didn't sleep near my face.

     Men

     Why the hell do they say one thing and mean another. I'm a literal critter. Just say way you mean and follow through. Not hard. 

     Phah.

      

      With all this confusion, I did what was available. Got a migraine. Just before lunch the kaleidoscope came over my eyes. Couldn't see a thing, couldn't concentrate. Ran home, took drugs, went to bed and managed to miss the most of the pain thanks to a dark quiet room, Panadeine Forte and some peace. The cat also sat by me a looked after me for the afternoon. Maybe cat saliva can fix migraines - she gave it a  red hot go. Thankfully I was fine by the evening and made my tarot job that evening. Also, surprisingly, reading for a group of sixteen-year-old netballers was a refreshing experience - really lovely, charming, intelligent girls. As tarot jobs go, this is what you want. Easy. School. Balance. Boundaries. Boys. Not hard. 

     I haven't looked at my cards for a while. Too confused to look at my cards. The cards aren't going to get me out of my round room.

     Looking at the migraine yesterday was it confusion? Probably not. I think it was more the fact of my father's birthday. I rarely think of him. 15 years on, it doesn't cut me any more - then you get a migraine, nothing too bad, but enough to take you out for the day for some quiet contemplation with the cat.