Midvale School for the Gifted

My favourite cartoon ever is one of Gary Larsen's. It's well known. (See below)

Unfortunately, this cartoon has often come to represent my life. Far too often do I find myself in "Midvale" moments.

I've had a few of these rather unfortunate moments over the last 24 hours.

Some background.

One of my least favourite memories is the day I started at a new school when I was in grade three. Before we moved to the Adelaide Hills, to the picturesque but badly named town of Myponga, I was just a normal school kid. I had a small group of friends, I went to brownies, I played with the kids next door - a fairly normal childhood.

Then everything changed. First up, my mother cut off my long hair to a rather dire bowl cut, telling me that all girls in the country had short hair. We moved to a place there the nearest kids were about a kilometre down the road, away from the suburban streets and the nearby friends.

Then a week after shifting house, I moved to the local primary school at the start of third term. I was sick to my stomach scared - I remember my tummy rumbling away with nerves - after all, here I was, this new kid, I kept questioning myself. Would these country kids like me? Was I going to fit in? Would my hair be the same? Was everything going to be alright? 

Mum tried to reassure me the night before.

Arriving at the school, I can only recall being horrified.  All the girls had long hair. Here I was with a bowl cut. Then sometime in the morning classes we had reading. Sitting on the ground, listening to the teacher, the urge to break wind came over me, as it does most people once or twice a day.  Then disaster. My turbulent stomach got the better of me - I burped and farted, concurrently, and loudly - so most of the class heard. 

The ensuing mayhem quietened after a few minutes, but I'd made my mark. Horrified, I tried to disappear in the carpet, humiliated, knowing that my chance of making a good impression had gone. It didn't help that a week later I went into hospital to have my legs fixed, spending the next three months on crutches and in plaster boots - and the rest of my primary school days were dogged being not allowed to play sport and being in and out of hospital for more treatment. It didn't make for a happy time.

So now, some thirty five years on, I still find myself dreading first days - with all the same concerns. Will I fit in? Will the other kids play nicely with me? Will I be smart enough? Will things all be too hard? Will the others find me too loopy?

Being a consultant, I've got a game plan. I go in to new roles as a professional. I try and keep personal details to a minimum for the first few weeks so that the natives don't get scared away. I try and make sure I follow the rules of the place - keep to the dress code, keep my hours in check with everybody else, make an effort to get on - and this generally works. By the end of a few weeks, my workmates will discover that I'm a holistic healer, run, look after cats, come from a town called Myponga, barrack for the Crows, dislike Oxford commas, read tarot professionally, have things on at night like dream group and masons and all the other quirks I possess that work mates will tend roll their eyes at. Over the years, I've noticed that my idiosyncrasies are tolerated more, or maybe, I just don't care that much - I'm me, bad luck, you'll get used to me in the long run. I don't hurt anybody - my life is just a bit full and a bit different.

Regardless, I started a new role on Monday at the telecommunications firm, Your Money Is Important To Us, Inc (TIMIITU). I was hand picked for this role by one of he managers and after a few hiccoughs with the contract, I fronted up to meet the team on Friday and started with them yesterday.

Thankfully, the team are a dream - lovely people. The work will be interesting. I have a been given a new laptop to work on, which I managed to configure with minimal help. Being a very large telecommunications company, it's expected that your LAN login, phone, door pass and email won't arrive for a few days, but with the help of a key drive, I got reading major documents and starting to get my head around what they want me to do.

By 5 pm, I was ready to go home. Dutifully, the new laptop was locked into a cupboard - and I faithfully put my new locker key on my key ring next to my car key. I remember this clearly. I was talking to to colleagues and I placed the locker key on my key ring next to the car key. I thought about it. I remember doing this.

Home was a long way off on Monday night. Walking home, first stop was at an office supply company to buy myself a notepad, mouse and keyboard for work (easier to bring your own, being one of the largest telecommunications companies, you're not going to get office equipment out of them - especially being a contractor). I went to masons early, setting up the hall (and didn't tell anybody about the freemasonry stuff - give that a month or two). Came home, had dinner, went to masons, came home again, went to bed, showered dressed, walked to work.

On arrival at the new office, I placed my handbag down on my desk, took my bunch of keys to the locker - to find the locker key gone - not there. Zip. Nada. Disappeared.

Hand on heart, I remember putting it on the key ring, next to my car key.

I proceeded to look through my handbag for the key. Like many women, my handbag is a bit of a tardis - I could live off it's innards for a week at times. It was upended, completely. No key. The project manager asked if there was a dalek in the bottom of my bag. Oh dear.

I checked the desk I'd sat at the day before. I checked everywhere I could thing of. No key. No laptop. No documents. No water bottle - all locked in the cupboard.

Second day in, I'm branded the project nufta. This won't be lived down.

It's grade three all over again.

I was asked if I could pick locks. I replied in the affirmative, but only Yale locks and car doors pre-1985. Something I picked up at university college... Opps, not supposed to admit to that either.

One of the team leads was taking a stationary order. It was requested that they got me a combination cable lock. Pointed jibes came from all directions over the day.

Thankfully, the problem of the laptop was solved quickly in five minutes. After all the blokes in the team had a try of picking the lock with a variety of safety pins,  paper clips and other sharp stationery items, with no luck, I went to see the facilities guy. It's amazing what a guy called Lennie in an Anthrax t-shirt can do with a letter opener and a bit of brute force.

Laptop liberated, I got on with the day.

The second "outing" came when in a meeting early afternoon. One of my colleagues, somebody I knew from the old consultancy was complaining of a neck ache. 

"Give me your thumb, I'll fix it."

She looked at me, eyebrows raised.

"Just do as you're told. Like Jonella, I'm a reflexologist." This girl knows Jonella too.

"Ah." She gave me her hand.

Two minutes later, the relief was showing on her face.

And I realised that my vow to keep my "other life" quiet had gone out the window.

So much for keeping schtum, in the background and fitting in.

I suppose it makes me a little more memorable.

So tonight, the laptop was locked in a colleague's locker and I walked home.

 Arriving home, the first thing to strike me - the locker key was sitting in the middle of the lounge room floor.

I reckon the Gods of the Midvale School for the Gifted came to extract some brownie points or something...

Regardless, I'm still hopeful this contract will be a good one. If this is the worst thing to happen to me, I'm a very lucky woman.

Px

Surrealism 101

sur·re·al·ism /səˈriəˌlɪzəm/ Show Spelled[suh-ree-uh-liz-uhm]

noun ( sometimes initial capital letter )

A style of art and literature developed principally in the 20th century, stressing the subconscious or non-rational significance of imagery arrived at by automatism or the exploitation of chance effects, unexpected juxtapositions, etc. (http://www.dictionary.com/)

Life's been somewhat surreal for the last 48 hours - actually, the last week has been something of a roller coaster. I'm blaming the huge full moon in Gemini, blitzed with and eclipse. It feels like I've been in the midst of a spin cycle of a wonky washing machine. I'm sitting here now, grounded, still pondering just what has gone on in the last few days.

Edna St Vincent Millay partly sums up the last few days:

Sonnet XLIII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

Somewhat mournful, but somewhat true. The last few days have been a blur of occurrences that have left me gasping, wondering, tearing up, contemplating, enjoying and generally going "What the Fuck! Has that just happened?"

Maybe it's the universe performing Ho'onponopono on me. Ho'onpononpono? It's a Hawaiian healing technique. By healing yourself, you heal the world. By looking at yourself, and others, you release the old pain. By saying, and meaning, the words, you begin the healing process. I love you. I'm sorry. I forgive you. Thank you. It's a simple, but incredibly effective healing tool, yet when I see it in action - or have it used on me - I'm left rather breathless. Like now.

A lot of the last year has been spent looking at myself, my relationships with others. Working on gratitude, forgiveness, apologies and love. It appears to be all coming back now.

First there was an expression of gratitude that I never saw coming. A friend said thank you for some stuff that I'd done for him. Not that I was expecting or wanting this to be said.

It meant a lot. It meant a hell of a lot to me - not that I didn't know that he was thankful, it's just not something I though I would ever hear verbalised. At the time I was doing the stuff for him, things that I thought pretty minor and things that anybody else would do for somebody in the same predicament, especially when you had feelings for the person involved. It felt good to be acknowledged. That is all.

So this started the week on a good note.

Work has got a little better. I'll be finishing up where I am at the end of January - and this is fine as long as the ear plugs keep working and my friends keep making sure I get out for lunch a few times a week - I can cope. I've forgiven myself for ending up back where I am, able to see that I'm truly no longer who I was, or where I was when I was working in these area - a huge call.

Book Group came and went. The books have been chosen for the year. A lovely meeting was held. I was a little disappointed that the books I put up didn't make the list - Ian McEwan's 'Atonement' and Anna Funder's 'All That I Am' - but the rest of the list is wonderful, so I am not complaining in the slightest.

Dream Group, as always brought up some stuff. It's good like that. Maybe not so strangely, themes of loss and atonement came up. I really have to read that book again.

Thursday, Pinochet got his birthday workout. I stupidly promised him birthday chin ups. He got twenty of the buggers. I hate chin ups (assisted of course) almost as much as I hate burpees. But I will do chin ups. I won't do burpees. He was also presented with 3x20 100kg leg presses, 3x20 40 kg dead lifts, 3x10 22 kg clean and presses and a whole heap of other heavy weight lifts. Pinochet was delighted. I was a little sore the day after.

Friday had me motoring down to the Mornington Peninsula for the consultancy's Christmas Party. As somebody who takes a minimal participation view of Christmas, I was rather looking forward to this one. The company hires out a resort for the night, we all stay the night, get fed, drink up, party on and get breakfast, on the company. It was fantastic. Sharing a suite with Jonella was great too, as being friends, there was none of the formalities you have when sharing accommodation with those you don't know that well. Wandering around in our dressing gowns, putting on make up, borrowing cosmetics and hair goop - it's was like sharing with my sister or a very old friend. Even nicer, Jonella took the fold up couch, leaving me with the bedroom for which I am grateful. (as I was hoping to leave early in the morning and Jonella was intending to have a late one, it was very much appreciated - and I'm very glad she got a good night's sleep on the fold up).

The only downer was having to drive through a major thunderstorm - the wipers going full bore and still couldn't see where I was going for about ten minutes. Never to mind, the car is clean now.
Also, being a corporate do - I decided to get the 'dead ant' out the way. Do it in the privacy of my own room rather than three sheets to the wind in the middle of the dance floor. (Note gleeful expression on face - and nice ankles...photo courtesy of an incredulous Jonella.)

See.

The whole evening was sensational. The company prides itself on its people and with good reason. A lovely crowd, great food, plentiful wine. A great night was had. Got to bed about one. I registered Jonella coming in sometime later before a great night's sleep.

Coming home the next morning, I had about an hour before I was due out again. This time, a large gathering of the Elks for a special ceremonial meeting. It was something I was looking forward to and dreading in equal proportions.

Problem one. Already ratty from a night away, a day of housework and gyming would have been wonderful - but I had to turn up to this event. I had a job to do. I planned to sneak away for a nanna nap before dinner after the ceremony - didn't happen.

Problem two. It was tropically hot in Melbourne last week. 32 degrees with 90% humidity. It felt like Bangkok. Being stuck in an airless room with 70 others with only the humming of ineffective fans for relief wasn't that great- okay - uncomfortable and exhausting are better words for it. The ceremony, however, was lovely. To top it off, there was one of the members who gave a small recital on her harp.

This is where the really surreal stuff happened. She played a couple of songs, the last being the "Skye Boat Song". During the song - some of the group started humming along. It was ethereal.

I lost my body!

I'm not kidding. For a few moments, my physical self disappeared. All I was aware of was my inner self, and the music.

Losing myself to music is something I'm prone to. I can't feel my body any more. It's a rare and rather special feeling. The last time I remember feeling it was at a Jeff Beck concert. "Brush with the Blues", a favourite song of mine came on, and I was gone.

 

My friend who was with me at the time has always commented on how easily I lose myself to music - allowing my body to disolve - well that's what it feels like.

It left me a little shaken. It's never happened in such a public arena before. Or so completely. It took a bit to get myself back again.

I spent the rest of the afternoon staving off panic attacks by standing outside with the smokers - trying to hide my panic. Little old lady induced claustrophobia isn't fun. Eight hours after arriving, I walked the short distance home -arriving to the really surreal stuff.

A few months ago I told of how I "found" an old boyfriend on facebook. That was a bit trippy.

To have three more significant people who I've heard nothing from in years contact me in 24 hours. It's just a bit too surreal for words.
All of these men have had a lot to do with shaping my life in one way or another.

First up, after a virtual absence of a year, Lachlan sends an email. Like the proverbial bad penny, he comes back for a chat every so often. This one is under control. The heart is clear - it's just funny that he chose yesterday to get back in contact.

The second person sent my life off in completely different direction - for which I am indebted to him, even though he has to be kept at arms length and little attention given to him.

Terry got me to Greece. Terry was the one who organised for me to go work on a Greek Island for a few months. Okay, so the visa situation was stuffed up. So I dismantled my life because of this 'opportunity'  - one, which, in hindsight, was one of the formative of my life. It let me learn how to take risks. It got me out of my rut - and even though I was back in Australia in four months, it got my life moving again in a much better direction.

Terry will be kept at a distance. He can be more trouble than he's worth - but I do hope he knows that I'll always be grateful for the three months I spent in the Greek Islands in 2003.

The third person to contact me is another "Never, ever, ever going to have contact with this person again" people. Another very significant person who I pretty much never talk about, to nobody.

Of the men in my life, Lucas has a significant place. Like one other before him, he's somebody that I've occasionally thought about how things could have been if things were different. There's no point regretting what happened. There's no point even asking, "What if?" But I look back on my time with him, know he was put there for a reason and let it go.

Looking back, he's somebody I would fight for now if he was to come into my life at this stage of proceedings. I wasn't capable of fighting for myself back then. I was capable of existing and that was about it - nobody wants a serious relationship with a shell.

Lucas was around for a while, on and off. Geography wasn't  going for us - as he lived in Cardiff for most of the time I knew him - I lived in London. Me pondering being chucked out of the country at any point never helped the formation of serious relationships. Not a great base for anything.

Lucas - whip smart, an engineer, played concert violin, with a silly, geeky laugh, lank hair and a gentle nature that was hidden by walls of shyness which came across as arrogance. Appeared to fall for my gormless "Fancy a shag?" line when I came back from the pub pissed one night - first and only time a chat up line worked.

Neither of us were up for anything serious. I treated him poorly at times, but then again, he wasn't that great to me at times either. He fascinated me. Soon after things went pear-shaped, I moved back to Australia. I'm in loose contact with a good mate of his - but I've never asked about him. Water under the bridge and all that.

We've had a brief chat online. He's still in Cardiff. One of his first questions to me was 'Are you still writing?"

Thing is - I thought he'd have forgotton me. Like the other one before him, I though they'd have just moved on, met somebody, got on with their lives, married, kids and the like - and I'd be forgotton. Just one of those fleeting people you meet. In my case, I was that pernickety woman who shared a flat with a mate of his.

It's just been a strange weekend for people getting in touch. I'm not sure what the universe wants me to look at. It's all just a bit surreal. Three getting back in contact in 24 hours! I'm blaming the full moon.

This afternoon I grounded myself with a lovely, brutal Thai massage, a cup of tea with Blarney, a cuddle with Maow Maow and the throwing around of Blarney's boys - it appears I give good airplane to toddlers.

For this week - hmm - tarot client tomorrow, Opera Tuesday (Don Giovanni - yay), dream group Wednesday, Pinochet Thursday and some friends are coming round for pizza and a viewing of Donnie Darko on Friday.

Yeah, it's a bit busy. It will help stop me pondering just what the hell the universe wants from me.

I'm sorry. I forgive you. I love you. Thank you. Repeat.

Maybe it's to find Summer singing in me once again.  Unlike Millay's poem, I'm not sure that part of me is as dead as I like to think it is.