Puddles, Presents and Popping Cherries

As Friday go, this last one was superb.

After a week of reading, learning , training and finding the lay of the land at my new job at Your Money Is Important To Us, Inc, I was looking forward to this morning most of all.

See, Friday is running morning - and since I've been somewhat slack on the running front, I was looking forward to this all the more.

In my defence, the week has been hard going on a number of levels and the running has had to take a back
seat for a week, even though I know I have this Great Ocean Road Half Marathon coming up in a month. Starting the new job took a bit out of me. However, I've been making sure I've been getting a lot of walking in - around 10 kms a day knowing I wouldn't make the gym.

Thursday night I'd had a session with Pinochet, getting tortured in Pinochet's special way - which this time just happened to be reasonably heavy weights and some revolting abdominal crunches. The adult human body is not supposed to be able to support itself only on the toes and forearms with nothing else touching the floor. Add into this what I'll refer to as the 'horizontal hokey pokey'. Left foot out, right foot out, up on the right hand, up on the left hand, down on the right elbow, down on the left elbow, right foot in, left foot in. Repeat ten times, three times over. Not pleasant.

Pinochet's other favorites from Thursday night - hoiking a 12.5 - 15 kilogram dumb bell from the ground to over my head - one armed, 10 times each side, three times over. We were in the trainer's room with another trainer, a rather large, bald, intimidating fellow who would fit in well at a Hitler Youth parade a la Rolf from the Sound of Music. A middle aged man was being put through his paces by a stern looking Rolf. I looked at the weights he was pushing. He looked at mine.

"Your trainer's soft." I told him.
He replied in dulcet South African tones. "No, you're effing scary."
Rolf chipped in, "Would you say that to my face?"
I had to smile. "Of course. You're soft." And I continued shoving this mass the weight of a two year old child over my head.

Pinochet instructed me to play nicely with those less fortunate than myself.

I do enjoy this light-hearted brinkmanship. I know I push what's referred to as 'boy' weights. I like being strong...It's rather nice to stand there and be a little intimidating - not that I am - but I like the feeling.

The other occurrence which threw me out this week was dream group. My dream this time round. A dream of an old boss who would give David Brent a run for his money in the people management stakes, his only saving grace being he was very switched on when it came to computers. A dream where he and I were getting on well. There was a baby in the dream too, well fed but it wasn't really nurtured, and this guys plain, pretty accountant of a wife. Then this rather disturbing bit about picking large, ugly lemons rotting on a vine (or maybe they were custard apples) - but it was this bit of the dream that got to me.

Regardless, after an hour of some really intense conversation where a part of my life never discussed came up, I left dream group feeling like my psyche had been given a once over with an industrial cheese grater and the instructions to wear lots of blue and be nice to myself.

Wednesday night one of the rare nights when I come home from dream group and wished that there was somebody around to give me a cuddle - which considering the last time anybody held me was years ago, I had to find another way to cope and not dwell on this desire. Resisting ice cream, chocolate, alcohol - not wanting to numb the emotions, I just had to feel, and cry and weep and process. And feel, cry, weep and process I did. As dream group reactions go, this was a big one - but necessary - cleansing and affirming. I made it to bed well after one, cried out, but at peace.

On the Thursday, dutifully wearing a pair of blue knickers and blue top went to work - and went shopping at lunchtime for something I've been coveting for a while. This wasn't a compensation present. This was a reward for all the hard work. A gift to myself for the work that is being done. A gift to mark a milestone that came out in dream group the night before.

I'm a collector of Pandora jewellery - I have been since before it was really popular. I walked away with the Tree of Life bead and earrings, their power resonating with me as walked back to the office, wallet moaning, but happy.

Anyway, back to Friday morning and running. For once, I was a bit early - making the 7 a.m. tram. It had started to spit as I boarded, the morning warm and close. By the time I reached the office and dropped off my bag, it was raining. Al and Den, the old workmates from Bastard Bank came out of the building as I arrived at our meeting spot.

"Should we go?" asked Den.
"Of course, the rain might pass." I said, ever the optimist.
"Looks like it might be heavy." said Den.
"Don't be a wuss. It's only water," added Al.
"And it's not cold. Besides, I need this. Mush, mush."

Friday morning's run was one of the best runs ever. An eight kilometre traipse around the botanical gardens from the far end of town. It was pelting down. Very few people were on the footpaths and trails. I tucked my glasses down my bra, the water making it impossible to see through them, thankful I'm not so myopic that I'd trip up. This was warm, driving rain - rain that had made its way down from the tropics. If you're going to run in the rain, this is the rain to do it in (fine drizzle only just trumping this).

Best of all, the three of us, all in our late thirties and early forties, made a point of jumping in EVERY puddle we could find, of which there appeared to be one every few hundred metres. The more splash the better - with points given for if you got somebody else in the process. I made the mistake as we neared the office to jump in a puddle which was deceptively deep, saturating what was already damp and everybody around me. Even better, wearing a new pair of ASICs, I felt they were appropriately christened.

This run was seriously brilliant fun.

The three of us agreed that though our time wasn't great, that was the best run we'd ever gone on. Changing and showering at the gym ten minutes later, my running clothes felt like they'd just been pulled out of the washing machine. I can't remember being so wet in ages.

It set up the day beautifully.

Later that evening, I had Jonella and Teddy - a new friend of mine and an old mate of Jonella's, came over to mine for a quick dinner and an evening of cinematic cherry popping.

See, Jonella and Teddy had never seen Donnie Darko before this evening. When I found out they'd never viewed this masterpiece, my incredulous look had them bamboozled. Both of them had heard of Donnie Darko, but had never investigated.

Like how can you not have seen Donnie Darko? Superlative film.(Though saying this, Glen Waverley hasn't seen it either and we keep trying to make a night to see it) It's up there in my top five favourite films.

So after a meal at the local Italian pizza joint, the E Lounge - one of Melbourne's best kept secrets and home to some of the best pizza I've had out of Italy, it was back to mine for a viewing of this magnificent film, and some ice cream - being of the Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel variety.

All of this made for a wonderful day.

Jonella and Teddy left suitably perplexed and in awe of the magnificence that is Donnie Darko, their Donnie Darko cherries well and truly popped - with a view to doing this pizza and film thing regularly - the next film on the list, another favorite of mine - Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Three Colours - Blue". Another of my very favourite films and another one I can never believe when people say they haven't seen it.

All of this, the puddle jumping, the friends, the laughter, the great cinema - and of course the ice cream, made for a pretty good day all round.

Here's to more like it.

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.

I'm Blaming Dream Group

Okay, birthday has come and gone. The birthday was lovely. The birthday, which was really a birthday week rather than just a day, has been fantastic. One of the better on record.

So I am blaming dream group for what is going on at the moment. Sod Dream Group. I have to blame something or somebody, so I'm blaming dream group.

The theme song for this blog is Talking Heads, "Once in a Lifetime". More for the lyrics than anything, although Stop Making Sense still brings a smile to my face and a bop to my shoulders. The words, "and you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?"

I'm blaming dream group for the events of the last few days. Bloody dream group. It's dream group that stirs things up and expects me to deal with the fall out.

At least it was my dream that started the stiring.

For those new to the blog, Dream Group is where I go on Wednesday Night. The first rule of dream group is that you don't talk about dream group. The second rule of dream group is that if you go to dream group, you have to dream. Like Fight Club, just a bit more brutal on the psyche than the body.

It was my dream that got blooded the other night. A dream of a house that was mine. A house that I visit in dreams regularly. A house that I wanted to rent. A house that in the past was near derelict in places but is now whole and safe and well lit (although the kitchen needs remodelling and my bedroom needs an airing and complete redecoration). The right side wing, once in such a state that it was uninhabitable, has been completely renovated, the floors, once disaster areas, now secure, the staircase, once unmountable, now secure and painted white. The upstairs used to have a tree through it, is now all secure, freshly painted and carpetted.

The discussion rattled me more than I would have wanted. Discussions of how the right side, the side of primal wildness - was ready to be inhabited. I listened to the conversation going on about me. I did take it in, though I am rejecting outright the thought of going to belly dancing lessons once again - I tried that years ago and it threw my back out. Besides, I look like a refrigerator when I dance.

I'm and ex-Methodist. There are some things I don't do. Dance is one of them. Wild, uninhibited, monkey sex is another - not that there is anybody around to have wild, uninhibited, monkey sex with at the moment.

All this chat of my alleged base nature had me crossing my legs, feeling around for my worry beads (iPhone will do) and looking for a trapdoor to open up and get me out of there.

Thankfully, I got out of Dream Group tear and tantrum free and get home to the relative peace of my flat.

The following morning, I woke to a headache and the feeling that thing were stiring. Something's changing. The headache has been around for the last few days - nothing bad enough to take a panadol, but there. Lingering. Like the dream group conversation.

Looking about the place, so much appears to be happening. Friends are leaving relationships, moving houses, moving on. I have no idea what the hell is happening. Part of me feels like I'm stuck in an endless spin cycle.

Is this maelstrom just the beginning. It feels like it.

Okay, it's bed time - enough existential crap. I've had a lovely day carting my parents around the wineries of the Yarra Valley.

I also reconnected with somebody I haven't seen or heard from in over fifteen years.

Still wondering what the universe has in store. What ever it is, it appears I'm due to be severely tested yet again.

The Little Bucket List

It occurs to me that I am a month off my birthday and I feel like I've done nothing with my life in the last year. I'm sitting here, almost 43 and wondering when things are going to change. I want things to change. I believe things haven't changed - but they have - and in so many ways.

Stupid thing is,when I shove it down on paper, it looks like Ilve done a lot - but the classic overacheiver in me thinks I've done nothing.

I mark it down:

I've travelled around the world.
I've run through some amazing places - the woods out the back of Boston being one of those places
I've gloried at some incredible art
I've seen some great films
I've found my spiritual home in Toledo, Spain
I've worked out that I could live in other places in the world - Boston, Massachussetts and London, England begin two of those places
I've had nearly four months off in which I've lost a lot of weight and gained a hell of a lot of self respect
I've got out of a dead end job which was destroying my soul
I've faced a couple of large demons and come out for the better the other end
I've learned the value of brilliant friends
I've overcome injury, surgery and illness
I've worked out how to bounce back pretty quickly
I've worked out how to let go of other people's dramas
I've realised that being a part of other people's dramas only takes away your power - valuable, valuable lesson
I've worked out how not to get involved in other people's dramas even when it may upset the person at hand.
I've worked out that being generous is great when you know that there is no cost to yourself
I've fallen very heavily out of love - and this is a very good thing
I've finally cleared my heart of a lot of excess baggage
I've worked out that sugar is bad for me and I shouldn't do it - but it's like a drug
I know now that ice cream has to be taken in moderation
I've worked out that preparation is often key too a good outcome
I've found confidence in my body after 40 years
I know now that walking to work is some of the best therapy around
I also know that having friends to coax you along the path to fitness makes exercise more fun and rewarding
I now know the value of being a grumpy cow - when required
I know that taking two nurofen after a long running race will make your legs feel better sooner
I know that training four to five days a week makes me feel good so there is no reason to stop
I have realised that trying to help people who wont help themselves is as productive as trying to milk a chicken .

I've finally, finally, realised that if I'm not nice to myself nobody else will be nice to me either

So maybe you do find the meaning of life at 42!

But there is a part of me that asks, "Now what?" What do you want now? Come on, what is it you really want? What do I want to acheive?

Well, I have to put it somewhere and in no apparent order.

I want to go a lovely restaurant and partake in a degustation menu - never done that before. Looks fun. Now to find the friends to do it with.
Maybe jump out of a plane - a tandem job. Was considering a tandem paraglide but have changed my mind in the last year or so.
I want to go to Thailand for a week or two again. Like Thailand. Thailand is great. $10 massages that make you weep. Brilliant.
I really would love to get a cat
But if I get a cat, I need a new place that will let me have a cat - and besides - where will the Maow Maow go when Blarney and Barney go away?
And if i get a new place - what am I looking for. Other than inner city, with a car park and a place for the cat to do it's business. No garden - hate gardening.
I need to get my finances in better shape. On the plus side, I have no debt and I have money in the bank - on the bad side, I don't have any assets - time to accumulate.
I want to run a full marathon next year - crazy yes - but I only have to do it once.
I really want to give a real relationship a try. Have no idea how or when this might happen, but it's my turn now. It's about time I got my own real family - though my own one in Adelaide is fine and my friends are my family, I would  love somebody to go home to at night, somebody who is kind and caring who I can take turns with to make the coffee in the morning.
I'd like to own my own home outright.
I want to take a change in career into something that makes my heart sing a bit more.
I want to make more money - lots more money - in an ethical way
I nnet to learn how to fully accept abundance
I want to replace my car with a new to me 2-3 year old five door, black Mazda 2 (must check with Geertt if he still wants Andrew)
I want to lose the last 10 kgs of excess weight I have on my frame. All in good time, but it's time to do this. I'm very much on the right track.
I want to stick to this hippy diet 90% of the time - it seems to be working well for me
I want to write a book - and make lots of money off it. Oh to be the next JK Rowling
I need to take Blarney and her bairns to Melbourne Zoo in the near future - I owe them a birthday present
Perhaps I could enrol to study Law in my spare time since the dream of being a Doctor is just a little too far out of reach - especially without a lottery win
I want to de-clutter my flat more
I would like to live overseas for a few months - every time I do this I love it - just putting it out there
Three locations - Macchu Pittchu, Wat Doi Suthep, Chiang Mai, Thailand, Santiago de Compostela - well a girl has to dream. Add Rajasthan, the Taj Mahal and Dharamsala to that list too.

Thing is - when I put this stuff out there, somehow things start to happen. I remember sitting at my 41st birthday with friends saying that I wanted to go to Spain, but I had no idea how the hell I ws going to get there. A few months later, I won a round the world ticket.

Nothing like putting stuff out there.

Balmy Daze

Setting yourself the task of blogging every day is a bit silly. You would think finding something to write about would be easy - but it isn't. Especially when you've been stuck at home coughing up a lung and the highlight of your day was a gentle walk down to Aldi half a kilometre away.

Pudding Cat has been keeping me company - I've changed his name to Pudding for he is a little on the tubby side and he loves showing off his belly. He's going home on the weekend. Blarney's confirmed that they'll be back sometime Friday and I'll return him the following day.

So today - on the agenda was an interview - that was postponed until tomorrow or Thursday. I'm thankful for this as I'm still coughing a bit - though I do feel quite well in myself. Fingers crossed for this one - that is all I will say.

Other things on the agenda. Put some stuff on ebay, fill in a few more applications, make some phone calls, cook lunch for the next two days (a very yummy roast vegetable and chick pea salad) and spend some time reading. All got done.

Then, when speaking to Kath from "Blurb from the Burbs" she made the suggestion of writing on the subject of a photograph. What a good idea.

After photographing my items for sale - some books, the odd CD and some trousers that are way too big now, I stumbled across this on the SD Card.

I remember this day. The shot was taken in Granada on a day not unlike the weather here in Melbourne today. The weather was balmy for mid-Autumn, with a hint of chill coming off the Sierra Nevada mountains. Being early November, the shadows seemed to get long early and stay that way for an eternity.

The lane way, like all the streets in Granada, are cobbled and narrow. Eliot put it well - "streets that follow like a tedious argument of insidious intent." These streets, in grid formation, were easy to get lost in - and to lose yourself in. The lefthand wall is part of the Granada Cathedral - a particularly underwhelming building, slapped in the middle of the town to show Christian might in a place that had been dominated by the Moors for centuries. In the shadow of the Alhambra, these streets existed in relative mediocrity.

Granada is also a university town. A place filled with students, unkept buildings, flyers for bands pasted to ancient walls, over flowing bins and young people, lethargic in the day, energetic at night. Like most Spanish cities, the place becomes alive around 9 pm. It feels safe, though where I was staying  I felt a small element of malice - I don't know why - nothing happened to me there.

Looking back at the photo, I see the busker slumped against the cathedral wall. the booted woman making her way home, the long shadows, the expectation of the evening.

I love this shot.

Then I remember how much I love travelling, how I have no idea when I will be travelling again and how I wish I could find somebody to pay me to be a travel writer. It's my one dream job.

Mind you, I'm pretty good at manifesting things like travel and I have to remind myself of this.

Dreaming big can be a great thing.

The Three of Swords

I only ever go to have a professional tarot reading when the voice inside tells me to. This only happens once or twice a year at most, when I trot off to Vivienne for a reading. Vivienne used to run the tarot guild. She's one of the best readers in Australia if not the world. She's also one of the more direct, tarot readers around. Another friend who sees her for readings calls a session with her "ripping you a new arsehole." Maybe it's not quite that violent, but it certainly gives you something to think about.

Unfortunately the truth often hurts. Oh, how do I know this one.

There were a couple of reasons why I asked for the reading today. Though I'm pleased with my time off, I was looking for some clarity around the work situation. Also, with all of the changes that have been happening, I want a bit of clarity on a few things. Friends have come, friends have gone, jobs have gone, opportunities are coming. Things are in a bit of a spin.

I've also been drawing the devil card a bit of late. When it come up often it's a sign to talk it out. The Devil is about looking fear in the face. Only I can't quite see what I'm scared of.

There was also another issue that raised it's head during the week which I needed to see a way through. The pain was raising its head again. It was time to address it once more - and not let if fester.

The pain, you ask. Yeah, I call it the pain. It comes when somebody touches a nerve and you don't quite know what to do with that pain. In this case, it was stirred up after reading a friend's blog.

My friend, Aim, is one of the most remarkable people I know. Her blog detailed her history, right through her childhood, through a miserable adolescence, into adult hood. Three years ago, Aim screamed  "Enough!" and started on a journey - the most incredible journey, during which she has shed 75 kgs and had discovered that life can be, and is, wonderful. She's one of my inspirations. She's a wonderful spirit - wise, funny, knowledgeable and brave.  I feel honoured to call her a friend.

Aim's story rang far too many bells with me. In her journey, she's also been addressing the hurt, shame  and pain that were a constant factor in her life. Everything she was saying I could relate to. I know that my story isn't as extreme, but I saw myself in her words.

And then came the 'aha' moment for me. What's going wrong with me in within?  Go back and chat to Viv.

What was stirring in me was old pain. Childhood pain. Teenage pain. The stuff that's been hanging around for what seems like eternity. The stuff that if you don't deal with it comes and bites you in the bum until you either knock it on the head, or die. Three of Swords stuff.

If Aim can look at her demons, so can I.

(Big breath in, big breath out)

So after this morning's massage client I take myself off to Viv. The normal pleasantries. The normal chat about the cat and the computer. The normal preambles. And then the killer.

"The universe has made it apparent that you are supposed to get out there and do this right now."
"Aha." I wanted to say "No shit, Sherlock," but I'm a little less crass than that.
"Everything is going to hinge on the decisions you make next."
"Aha."
"And you don't trust yourself because you've messed up in the past."
I butt in here, "But I'm doing a better job of things lately."
"I didn't say you weren't. But you need to trust every instinct you have from now on."
"Okay. I hear you."

I knew this. Sometimes you need somebody to spell it out for you.

We did a few more rounds. Seems my idea of going contracting is sound - but I know this. I'm happier when things are changing and I get to meet new people and do new things. I should also get a plan together, looking into setting up my own business - but doing what I asked.

And then, the obligatory relationship question. Has to be done. I'm just like everybody else when it comes to this question - what's doing with the lovelife? Everybody asks it. Up comes the Three of Swords. Old pain.

"Well, you're broken. You got broke."
"No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I sit in that dream group?"
"So you can see that you're not that badly off."
"Indeed."
"You're just as broken as the rest of the world. You just have to find a different way out of it."
"Hmm."
"It's time to start trusting yourself."
"Aha." I'm tearing up by now.
"You don't know what love is and it scares the shit out of you."
"Aha."
"So what are you going to do about it?"

I consider this for a while. I know she's right. I know I'm a bit broken in some ways. I know I've healed in others. But after all the work, the therapy, the courses and the tarot and navel gazing, I'm still broken, and I certainly don't trust myself in these situations - anything to do with relationships - I buckle and run.

"Well, I'm going to try and fix it. It's the elephant in the room." I say with resolve.
"The elephant in the room?" asked Viv.
"Yeah, the one in the corner you know you have to eat. And how are you going to do it - one bite at a time."

I might have to get myself another star calendar. I have one going for diet and exercise going. Each day I keep within my calories and take at least a half hour walk, a star goes up on the calendar. They use it for toilet training kids, why not use it as a reward system for keeping my health and wellbeing on track.

If only I could work out what I would get a star on the calender for on the other problem. You can't count calories and exercise sessions when it comes to matters of the heart.

Leaving Viv's place, I was a bit unsettled. Lots to digest. Lots to think about.

I'll do double job hunting tomorrow. Today I just need to let myself think and heal. And get to the gym, where I know I work some of this pain out and gather more self-respect with every push, row, step and pull.

One day at a time.

One step at a time.

(Big breath in, big breath out)

Looking fear directly in the face.

Pandxx

Fire Bad, Tree Pretty

There is an episode of Buffy, at the end of season three, in which after slaying all of her demons and saving the world, she is spent, unable to function, near catatonic. Giles makes the comment, "There is a certain dramatic irony attached to all this. A synchronicity that borders on predestination, one might say."

Buffy: "Fire bad. Tree pretty."

I so get this.

I rarely write about the rage.

As it’s now December, it’s time for the annual Christmas freak out, which I’m sitting in the middle of it at the moment. By the time I drive to Adelaide on the 23rd, all will be calm and bright. It’s best not to ignore the annual pre Christmas freak out. If I ignore this, there could be war at Myponga at Christmas with all the dramatic irony and synchronistic predestination. It won't happen though. I'm braver than that.

But for today, I will sit in a mire of green, flaming rage that has so far had me postpone an interview, indulge in junk food and stare down a guy at the traffic lights whose iPod was playing too loud. Oh yes, I’ve also shouted at an idiot from the other office – but I do quite a bit of that, so there’s nothing new there. This bloke irritates me at the best of times.

There is no make up on my face. I’m in my normal work comfortable clothes. To look at me, I appear quite normal – maybe a little quieter than usual.

It’s the storm inside which is fascinating me. I feel it in every pore of my body. The seething rage of betrayal and despair that lingers like a sooky cat which comes and goes of its own volition – I’m not used to owning it as my own. Now I have to face it. This crap is mine to deal with and I’d better get on with it.

Ah, it’s a hippy shit blog today.

Yep. Too right. This all started at dream group last night. My dream was given. Of course, the others laughed at my dream – they always do – but this is okay as well – its how dream group works. Dreams of trams and bile and babies and the best one, that of being prepared to be beheaded, shaving the back of my head in preparation, my hands tied behind my back, worried that when my head comes off that the head will be able to see and think and feel.

It was a bit of a heavy session. I came out of it feeling flayed. Not as skinned alive as I have in the past, but it felt like I’d had a decent going over with sandpaper. Matter of my absent family came up. Was I hurt? Yes. Was I being too nice about them? Probably. When will I own that this stuff continues to tear strips off me? Well, now.

And Christmas brings everything out into the open.

For the last few years I’ve avoided going home for Christmas. I hate it. For one, I’m not a Christian, and I don’t see the point in personally celebrating the supposed virgin birth of a Jewish carpenter/reprobate in a cow shed. I’m happy for other people to do it, but leave me out of it. I particularly hate that the corporates get involved and insist you turn up for a company sponsored drinking session, along with rarely seen friends who make plans to “catch up for Xmas.” I really don’t like the hypocrisy.

Then again, I do see the need to celebrate. Another year has passed. Look at your achievements, your losses and your gains, and celebrate them. I have a lot to celebrate this year.

Rather than not participate at all, I take a line of least resistance, going to some things, passing on others, turning up with a smile on my face when I have to and giving the impression that all is well.

Thing is, I think I’ve been damaged by this time of year too much to let it slide any more.

Memories of being in London, spending it alone, not talking to people over the days from Christmas Eve to New Years Day, having your grandmother challenge you as to why you “don’t have a fella?” at the lunch table, feeling like the spare wheel when spending time with my sister’s in-laws, who are perfectly nice people, but like me and my sister, have I have very little in common with and making the effort is tiring. I spend a lot of time talking to the kids and the dog at Christmas when I go home.

The last two years have been better. Xmas Day 2008 was spent riding elephants in Thailand. Last year I stayed in Melbourne and was out all day with friends, breakfast with one person, drinks with Gloria and Gaynor before heading out to Blarney and Barney’s where a lovely lunch with the whole of Barney’s family who are well cool, then went out to my bosses place for a dinner with other Christmas orphan workmates, which was also also lovely and chilled. Glen Waverley, Geerrt and I ended up playing Mario Carts until midnight.

It almost took away the sting of not having somebody special to spend the days with – something that society appears to feel is mandatory and the media throw this down your neck with the full force of a tsunami. Hey, I’m alone. I don’t have people to spoil me rotten around the place. I wish the media would stop telling me this is what’s supposed to happen and start extolling the virtues of being good to each other, patience, kindness and love – which is what I see Christmas as really being about.

As to owning the anger, well, this is all mine. At least I don’t turn it in on myself as I used to. I don’t try and dampen it with food or drink. I don’t lash out at others (stupid workmate aside), nor abuse anything, nor cry myself to sleep. I’m allowing myself to feel this in all its intensity.

It isn’t comfortable, but it’s the only way through it.

That, and I have an appointment with a kinesiologist this afternoon, who might be able to help bring things back into balance. I have the offer of the use of a bathtub the other side of the suburb, which I might take up – soak out the anger. I’ll get to the gym on the weekend to grunt some of this out, and of course, I will go and cuddle Blarney’s babies, who can dissipate rage with a gummy smile and a grab of your finger.

Fire, bad. Tree, pretty. For now.
 
Pand

Taming the Inner Control Freak

I am a control freak. There, I've said it. It's out there for all to diseminate, masticate and digest. I, Pandora T. Behr, have that most annoying of modern conditions, that being the need to control everything.

This is something that I am learning to deal with, sometimes well, other times completely unsuccessfully. I am aware that there are times that I have to relinquish control, and I can say "Okay, you take the reigns for a bit. Go for it. I will let you have your will. I have stated my preferences, you make the decisions, there will be no reprisals for bad judgement. I trust you."

Other times, there's such a nagging hatred of having no control. I feel like this about the nagging pain in my stomach. I am having another ultrasound the week after next. After that it's back to my doctor, then off to a specialist, then who knows what. I just want this fixed NOW! I'm over being woken by the dull ache in my side at four a.m..I'm angry that I can't run because it makes the pain worse. At least all the blood tests have come back negative - something to be very thankful for.

The opposite of this is the sabbatical. I'm taking six months off from my normal work - I have no idea what I will be doing, where I will be working, how much money I will be making or when this will occur. And I love this feeling. I have control over how I look for work, the rest is up to the universe - and this I love. I have the confidence I can get work. It's all a bit of an adventure and I very much have the control over how I go looking for work, making plans etc. I also have enough money in the bank to know that I can survive six months very, very frugally if I have to - but it will not come to that.

It was pointed out to me rather bluntly on Wednesday night at Dream Group that I have not been enjoying the journey so far, expecially with the gifts the universe has bestowed on me over the last few months. Who else wins a competition that gives you two tickets to anywhere in the world? Who else works for a company that gives you paid sabbaticals? Who else do you know can travel around the world and have a bed in every contintent?

Okay, well my cousin Mal won a trip to Europe about fifteen years ago - never a more deserving person won that trip. Mal currently works in a hospice and she's been working the cancer wards of Canberra as a nurse for nearly twenty years. Hats off to that one. And I know lots of people who have mates all over the world. One of the joys of living overseas and working for international companies and people an expat for a long time is you have friends all over the globe. As for the paid sabbaticals - yeah, well that one is a bit of a find.

It was a bit hard to hear. It was my dream that we picked over on Wednesday. Here I am, standing at a crossroad, watching Ngaire Dixon-Smythe run around in her underwear, moving house in a complete strop. Ngaire Dixon-Smythe was somebody I went to high school with. She's now a QC with three kids living the life amazing in an ultra posh Adelaide suburb. Anyway, Ngaire Dixon-Smythe was in the moving house competition in which she stood to win a million dollars. There I was sitting with some wise friends having coffee, watching the world go by. In the end, the moving competition ended in a tie and both the movers, and a rather stroppy Ngaire both won a million. Finally I sit in my third floor flat watching the sun go down and the sunset is AMAZING. The other dream I was playing the piano, freestyle, no music. It sounded incredible.

I don't play the piano. I've never had a lesson. I can pick out scales and a tune at a basic level, but that is it. I did music in my leaving year at high school - you can do things like this - but as I kept stressing to dream group, I did the composition and theory option, not the practical one. They scoffed at me.

Dream group put it too me that what ever happens now, it's going to be amazing, incredible - and I have to start enjoying these blessings, rather than running around like Ngaire in my dream and just pissing myself and others off. It was time to slow down and enjoy. Stop fretting. Stop trying to control everything.

I suppose they're right.

I'm trying to keep my "Let's control the world" moments to fifteen minutes a day. In that time I can send my CV off to job agencies, plan my railway journeys through Spain, organise my week, plan the shopping list, wonder what I will do for my birthday....

And then, after this, I can sit back, relax, and try to let the universe do what it has to do.

Well this is the theory.

All I can say is that I know the universe is supporting me. And I also know now, as it was also pointed out to me on Wednesday night, that just because things were one way in the past, doesn't mean they have to be like that in the future - and for this I am truly, truly, overwhelmingly grateful.

Watch this space.

Pand

Silence and Dreams

Just back from dream group. I know that something will be said to me about my silence in the group tonight. There are times when I can talk. There are times when I keep my tongue. Tonight, I kept quiet and listened.

I can't say much about what goes on at dream group. It's not mine to tell. Being in a Kabbalistic Dream Circle means tha the confidentiality of the group must be kept. It's a bit like Fight Club. You can't talk about it. And when it's your turn to give a dream, you know you're in for it. It's called blooding. you're like the fox in an English hunt being dragged through the hedgerows, pursued relentlessly until you give up. The strange thing is that dream group has been the best thing I've ever done for myself. It's made me strong. It's brought me out of myself. It's allowed me to face issues I never thought I would ever do.

Tonight, as the dream was being disected, I kept quiet. After the emotion released last week where a maelstrom of emotion was released, tonight I had to keep schtum.

I know the pressure cooker has it's lid on. It's going to be a little while before the valve releases.

Why?

Well, let me see, what's going on a the moment.

The Grounded Dutchman is coming back to Australia.
Tin Can, String and Whistle isn't the greatest.
I'm unable to run as I'm injured (though that's coming good)
Lachlan has gone quiet - but that happens.
I've got a huge trip to plan.
I'm wondering what to do with my career in the next year or so.

And these things, and the thoughts around them, have to brew.

Sometimes it's just best to sit and keep silent.

Please can I kill a Bogan?

Rather than bore you with the intimate workings  of the Pandora life and brain of late, I'm going to be brief. I've been doing a lot of stewing in my own juices. Best kept to myself I think these raving thoughts. Navel gazing gets boring. Pandora on the rampage isn't interesting at all either.

I'm blaming my latest state on dream group from two weeks ago. The session, which dealt with my dream for a change, had me bawling my way through half a box of tissues on the night. Since then, I've been working through the anger that the night released. That evening really did open a virtual Pandora's Box, pardon the pun.

That was ten days ago.

So, since dream group, I've wanted to kill / torture/ pillage everybody and everything in some shape or form - from bogans who whine when you suggest if you are staying an extra hour at a tarot job that payment is required and take offence at the suggestion that you're not a charity (this last bit wasn't said to the client, but it was thought), to booking the October holiday, to Glen Waverley, the work husband, who is stressed to the point that I'm staying away from him, to Popeye, to the guys who are trying to organise the Integration Engineering Barbeque. Just give me a cricket bat, a can of petrol and a match and I'll sort the lot of them out.

Thankfully I've been able to run a lot of this out and dive into work with a vengeance after a new project has given me some pretty harsh deadlines and interesting work. It helps keep me from doing anything too silly.

Oh, and Eddie is joining my lovely team. Just to add insult to injury. Popeye and the Banana Splits we are no more. With Eddie onboard we're going to be more like the Addams family (I hope that makes me Wednesday!)

It's been pretty harsh. But good. I know that some issues are coming to a close, difficulties of forty years are being put to bed. It's okay. It just means I'm a bit quiet for a while.

The running is going well. The pinged hip is not troubling me much any more. Yesterday Kate from the gym came for her first outside run on my 10 km route - and she did very well. That was cool. She did well, though I wanted to run more - but it was great to have somebody to talk to along the way. It also rained gently for a bit - a gentle, warm rain - that was magic. I have today's run to do tomorrow morning before work - this morning's Pump class did me in - tried running after - it just didn't work. But in all - things are coming along.

It's just taken a bit of time to come to terms with what got dreamed about three weeks ago. On a sinking boats in a turbulent sea, with only an old gramaphone to talk into. Who knew it could be so cathartic?.

I'll just keep low for a bit and keep on running. It seems to be working.

Oh, one last thing - Pandora's Box - when all of the turmoil and pain and destruction and evil had gone from box once it had been opened, two things remained.....

Hope and opportunity.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 215 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 144 km
Currently reading: Ice by Louis Nowra, Marathon Running for Mortals
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.7 kg
April Kms: 59/220

What is in a name?

I'm used to Thursday mornings after dream group. I'm used to not knowing how I'm going to feel, the wonderment of waking up angry, hurt, tearful, bemused, crying, laughing - you don't know what's going to happen. All you know is somehow you will process the events of the evening before, whatever went on. Sometimes nothing happens. Sometimes it feels like you're facing the full force of a rugby scrum. There are days after dream group when you are reaching for the Prozac and others where you skip out of bed all content with the world.

Rule four of dream group - one dream at a time.

We did my dream last night after a few weeks of me trying my hardest to avoid being up for scrutiny. The dream itself was innouous enough or so I thought. An hour later, after relating some of the less savoury and painful parts of my past, I came away with a few gems.

According to the dream, it's time for me to get out from my self-imposed shadow. And it's time for me to find a new name for myself.

Not so much a name to function by, but a name to write by. My pedestrian, Anglo-Irish real name is as common as muck. My middle name is even more bland. - I was born in 1968, for pity's sake, you only got a choice if Anne, Jane, Marie or Louise for a middle name if you were a girl!

According to dream group, my "Pandora Behr" nom de plume sounds too much like a porn star - though I love writing under it - I've been known as Pand for years. I can't use my porn star names - Soxy Mitchell and Sheba Blockers really do sound like women who frequent the adult content films in the straight to DVD aisle. And if I were to write a book,  if I were to have a proper, grown up, pseudonym, what would it be? I'm open to suggestions.

Being of Cornish and Welsh descent, Myfanwy Trevellyan or Rhiannon Trelawney could be goers, or there is the Spanish vein that runs through me from my Dad's side - would I make a decent Soledad Lopez or Graziela Rodriguez?

I'm going to have to ponder this a bit longer. Not that I've ever been completely happy with my name but I'm used to it. It's a big deal to change it.

(And before you ask, dream group sometimes demands change of you - I went blonde for a bit and wore a lot of blue for a while. It can be challenging, especially when you look like Myra Hindley, the British child murderer, when you've gone blonde)

My other news - I have a houseguest. Blarney and her partner Barney have gone to Tasmania for a wedding - and they have left me in charge of their youngest for a few days. Maow Maow is nearly two years old. He comes with all the accoutrements of a two year old - security blanket, toys, food, scratching post (though he still uses the couch), poo collector (litter tray). Like a two year old child, he sits too close to the television, gets under your feet and lays awake until all hours until you give him a bit of attention. He would eat you out of house and home given half a chance.

The best thing for me - I have something to cuddle in the morning, which makes me happy. Cat trumps pillow any day.

Only sad thing for Maow Maow, other than he can't go outside for three days, his favourite chew toy isn't about. Maow Maow loves the Grounded Dutchman, known to the lad as "Uncle Bite-his-nuts". Maow Maow's just going to have to make do with blue teddy, the scratching post and the couch for the next three days.

Card of the Blog: Page of Cups : The starts of emotion. An affectionate youth. Forming thoughs and feelings. An emotional fresh start.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 73km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 44 km
Currently reading: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg

The Fallout from Dream Group

Another one of those little things I do - Dream Group. Sounds innocuous enough.

Well it isn't.

What is Dream Group? First rule of Dream Group is you don't talk about Dream Group. Second Rule of Dream Group. If it's your first night at Dream Group, you have to dream.

Actually, the second rule isn't quite the case. Normally when new people come to dream group, a closed circle of women who share their lives through their dreamscapes, they won't give a dream until they are settled in the group. It takes a while to 'get' what dream group is about. You listen to others in the group, you take in what their dreams are saying. Sometimes you come out and it's like you've been asleep for the hour and a half you are in there.

And sometimes, like Wednesday night, you come out feeling as if you have had the payload of a F16 deposited on you. Dream group can lead to you being grumpy, elated, paranoid, schizto, depressed, happy, sad ... or all of the above, all at the same time, for a week.

Wednesday night the dream was given. Lots was spoken about. All of us were impacted. We walked out looking a little unsettled. I had trouble getting to sleep. So much was going around in my head.

Woke Thursday, grumpy. Went to work, grumpy. Nearly called a few people incompetent, moronic buffooons - most unlike me. Then went for my lunchtime run with the boys.

Here was the rub. I'm getting a lot better at this running lark - but yesterday, I made it two kilometres - 8 minutes in, before starting to hyperventilate. It was shocking. All I could do was sit by the Yarra, cry and try to settle my breathing. I blamed Pinochet for making me do so many squats on Tuesday. I blamed the hot weather. I blamed Tin Can, String and Whistle Ltd.

Then, when the breathing had normalised it came to me what was upsetting me. Dream Group. A few words from the evening before kept going around and around my head. The bomb that got let off the night before. I walked back to the office, defeated, but pleased to have some resolution.

And who says running isn't mental?

It was noted that I was quiet. One or two know what I get up to on Wednesday evenings. Work Husband asked me if I was okay. I just shoved some music through the headphones and got on with things. I also spoke to another member of the group to see if they were okay - they were in the same state as me. Sometimes you can only talk to others in the group about what's going on. It's a closed circle, they are the only ones who understand.

This morning I completed my allotted run over eight kilometres and it was fantastic. the noise in my head wasn't there. The angst planted there the night before was over. Enough wounds were opened on Wednesday - running should have smoothed over some of these scars yesterday. It's great I have this release.

Card of the Blog: Ten of Cups. Happiness, happy families, feeling joy, knowing peace.

This is what we all wish for.

Pand

Kilometres walked since 29 January: 37 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 23 km
Currently reading: The Elegance of the Hedgehog bu Muriel Barbery, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg