Droopy

Love Chunks and Sapphire have gone camping. Because it was booked a while back when it was assumed that I'd be well into my full-time job and not have any leave, I wasn't part of the holiday package.

When I quit, I decided to remain a non-camper because the thought of spending six nights in a tent in a crowded caravan park at the height of summer and having to queue for a shower and make sure I didn't drop my knickers on a wet floor festooned with pubes and tissues wasn't going to convince me otherwise. Plus, it'd give me a few luxuriously-empty days to do a bit more work on The Novel.

And I have done some work, the emphasis on some rather than heaps. None of it is particularly literary or engrossing but the effort right now is just getting it down; sometimes an entire chapter and other times a mere idea or line destined for another section of the story entirely. I'll then sit outside with a coffee and Skipper the rabbit in my lap and wonder if it's interesting, realistic, funny, heartfelt, compelling, page-turning enough.... The trouble is I honestly haven't a clue. Like everyone else, I know a good book when I read one but am finding it impossible to distance myself from the words that are flying out of my fingertips. All previous knowledge of structure and character and plot have escaped me.

Vomit it out, get it down and only think about logging off when you're happy with the word count for the day has been the modus operandi.

But all this free time has made me a bit droopy for my two favourite humans when the computer is turned off and my mind has to focus on what to cook for dinner. No, I'm not pining for Love Chunks because of his cooking skills but am sadly aware that, on my own I degenerate straight back to the carelessly slapdash meal preparer that used to live in a one-roomed bedsit off Baker Street in London twenty years ago.

How does home made potato wedges and tomato sauce sound? Okay but a bit plain? Well I then followed it up with a 'salad' that consisted of half a cucumber and a small head of cos, both eaten separately and whole. Dessert was half a bowl of orange-flavoured jelly and a blackberry yoghurt with a use-by date of December 29th.

Dinner the previous night was a pasta disaster that consisted only of a tin of chopped tomatoes, four mushrooms, half a green capsicum and an ancient tin of mussels in barbecue sauce. It tasted as bad as it deserved to taste, the crunch of each poorly-cooked capsicum a direct contrast to the rubber of the oversized sultanas that were masquerading as seafood.

Monday was the highlight - pea and prawn risotto with a fresh salad (in a bowl and everything) with balsamic and smoked garlic salt. But that was only because my friend Amanda was over for dinner; the following morning it was back to saladas for breakfast, Cadbury creme eggs and coffee for lunch. While she was there we each had a glass of good and earthy McLaren Vale cab sav and, three nights later, the bottle beckoned to me.

Hell, I needed it to wash away all lingering tastes of the mussel mess. Tennis was boring, the computer was off and my shoulders hurt from being hunched over it for too long and 'Are you being served?' was not an option. It was time to bring Skipper in to play on the rug.

Milly licked his ears and let him sniff her in turn, an impressive display of self restraint and generosity for a dog who chases birds and cats with automatic vengeance and no willingness to be called to heel. The wine was flowing a treat and, the merrier I got, the funnier I found it.

The evening was warm and it was time to get up and refill my glass. Skipper was stretched out on the floor, his legs behind him which meant that he was feeling comfy and not worried about predators. Milly's nails clicked as she trotted into the kitchen with me. Wine, boredom and loneliness meant that it was time for a song.

Grabbing her front paws so that she'd dance with me, I began:

Her name was Milly she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
Milly merengues and does the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star, Skipper always tended bar
At the Copa - Co! - Copacabana
The hottest spot north of Havana
At the Copa - Co! - Copacabana
Music and passion were always the fashion
At the Copa....they fell in lo-o-o-o-o-ve......

"Er, Barry Manilow? Um are you there, Kath?"

Oh staple my butt to an anthill and smear my cheeks with chocolate: I'd left the bloody front door wide open to allow the non-existent cool breeze to flow through the screen and Kerry from next door was on the front step having just been treated to my loud and rather enthusiastic performance. Sheepishly, I walked up the passage. "Er, hi. Yep, it's me. What can I do for you?"

A couple of minutes later I shut both doors and went into the bathroom. Spots of red wine were all over my white Che Guevara t-shirt and my teeth and gums were black from the tannins. Several fine rabbit hairs were wavering from the tip of my nose, catching the light just so.

It was the only time in my life that I hoped someone could tell that I was drunk.

Twang

"You're biased, Mum, you're always biased. I'm crap at running, it's really hard and I bet there's no-one else in my class that's doing it."

Sapphire jumped off the treadmill and stormed inside. Her words hurt. I'd heard her worries about being called fat that were unreasonable and untrue and wanted to help her get physically fit, get strong and feel positive. I'd made up playlists of songs that would inspire her and would stand beside her, swinging my arms in time with hers, aching to be able to run too.

After loudly bellowing on this blog that it is my Achilles that is the regulator of my moods and events, it twanged again for the third time. Sleeping that night was an impossibility for my leg bones felt as though they were being boiled and grated in hot water with hammering nails in the heel. Luckily the night time agonies disappear during the day and it doesn't kick up during a brisk power walk or a long and boring session on the exercise bike, so I could pedal away as Sapphire ran.

But not today.

I followed her inside. "Look love, you're doing really well. Really well. You can run further than I ever could at your age or when I went with my Dad at fourteen or even when I started all over at thirty three. But if you want to do it on your own, that's fine."

"No, I want you there."

"Great, then let's get out there and start-----"

She rolled her eyes and folded her arms. The only low point of the school holidays so far has been the ongoing theme of No Eye Rolling or Rudeness Towards Your Parents. "What are you doing that for?"

Sapphire stared fixedly into the distance, lips pursed. "Well?"

"Look, I'm trying to help you as your Mum and your friend. However I'm a person first and do not deserve to be treated badly by you." The eyes rolled again and I started to see red. "DO I?"

I could see her struggling to put into words what she barely understood herself. The annoyance, the boredom, the familiarity-breeding-contempt, the powerlessness, the unwieldy growth and the swirling of hormones and self consciousness. I knew all that but didn't have the skill or self control to stop getting at her. "WELL?"

Still no answer. Arms still stubbornly folded. I walked towards her to hug her, even though I didn't feel like it. Parenting means swallowing frustration and making the first move. She remained rigid and I snapped. "Fine. Go sit in your room and feel miserable and fat."

She ran off, crying.

I could not believe that I'd said it. Fat. To my own daughter; a kid I'd do anything for; a child whose room I wander into during the day just to see what it is she's got on display, what she's working on, what interests her. I called her fat.

Sapphire screamed. "I'M NOT FAT!" and I rushed up the passageway, agreeing, apologising, trying to explain.

"You're right, you're not, you're really not. I am so sorry, Sapph. I was angry and hurt and wanted you to realise that if you don't start doing some form of exercise you could be in danger of getting fat. And I shouldn't even have said that."

"From my own mother," she wailed.

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry." She tried to close her door, but I pushed harder and walked in, standing directly in front of her, my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "I love you so much and want to help you. Being fit isn't just a project, it's an important part of life. You are not fat but if you're anything like your father and me, you'll need to work at it or you could be."

"Is that why Dad's out for a bike ride?"

Her tears were drying, mine were starting. "Yes love. He's found something that he likes doing but it's also so that he still has the energy he needs for you, for me, for work and for his health. Now if you want me to shut up and stop being silly while you're in the shed, I will."

A half-smile appeared. "No, I don't mind your talking."

Several hugs and tissues later we were out in the shed. Me on the bike, now dragged across the rubber matting so that it was directly next to her on the treadmill.

She ran and chatted. She sang along to some of the songs and had enough breath left to ask me what having an ultrasound on my leg felt like and when did I know that I wanted to marry her dad. She ran three kilometres in twenty minutes with ease. We hugged, both red and sweaty and proud.

"You're not biased Mum, just honest."

"And you're not fat. Just a good runner getting fit."

Yesterday I waved her and Love Chunks off as they drove to the coast for a five day camping trip, leaving me at home with the dog and the rabbit to get stuck into The Novel. Four thousand words in a day and a half so far yet the house still rings with their spirits. Milly sniffs at LC's shoes under our bed and noses around Sapphire's music stand. 'Where are they?' she asks me with her eyes. 'Where has my pack gone?'

When I went to bed last night there was a scrap of paper on my bedside table. Sapphire and I had taken Milly for a walk in the local park that morning. As we stuck our fingers in the slot to grab a doggy bag for the offerings that Milly backs out the second she's on grass that isn't her own, Sapph had made up a rather funny song about the Poo Bag Pole; catchy tune and lyrics. "A stand up comedian would kill to have that as part of their act," I giggled.

My beautiful, stubborn, moody, funny, fast-growing girl.

Edition Sixteen - Word Verification Explanations

Since coming back from holidays, I've been busy visiting my favourite blogs (you all know who you are) and jotting down some of the words that are required to be entered in order to leave a comment. Here in my own little mind are what some of them could mean in an alternate universe.




















Nestswoo: sometimes spelled with an exclamation mark as in 'Nestswoo!', it describes the feeling of jubilance and freedom when moving in for the first time with your Main Squeeze. No annoying siblings, no condemning parents, no bludging flatmates and no shared fridges. All of the place is yours, not just the bedroom. Finally that poster of the tennis playing chick with no undies on can hang proudly above the couch.

Mulablun: The babble of a group of people talking in a language the onlooker can not understand. 'Sorry Reg, I can't hear you over the mulablun in this spice market and the mobile phone coverage is patchy at best. Damn shame I didn't take language lessons before heading over here for work."

Sninest: Visible demonstration of social hypocrisy by snorting at a colleague's choice of unfashionable clothing when bands such as The Jonas Brothers, Air Supply and Def Leppard are on your iPod playlist.

Licst: Foul and obscene requests hidden under flowery language. "Thou didst farteth after consuming a curried egg focaccia, did thou not?"
"Seekest you a lengthy journey and fornicate whilst there."















Croustes: Imposter foods. 'Croutons' that are just squares of cold toast; 'Garden Fresh' when it was wrapped a week ago in a hermetically-sealed plastic bag; 'Freshly ground' coffee beans that have been sitting in the storeroom for six months; and 'Lite' deliberately mis-spelled because it's still fattening for you.

Phosessa: A recent phenomenon due to the current trend to wear flowing scarves even in the summer months; this describes the injuries incurred when the scarf gets caught in the filing cabinet, yanking its owner back against the hard steel surface and to reality. Phosessa sufferers usually vow to never again wear an item of clothing that serves no purpose other than to be accidentally stapled or hole-punched during work hours.

Buntathe: The utterly hurtful realisation that your daughter's pet rabbit has more facebook friends than you do.

Tendo Calcaneus

Some people use their bank balance, number of facebook friends or even kilograms lost to measure their success. I use my achilles tendon.



















Apart from a propensity to insert Milly the dog's name into popular songs and loudly sing them back to her or to count things in threes, it has been this rather small but essential muscle on the back of my lower right leg that has been the weathervane reflecting my internal life.

During the miserable five weeks working at Melbourne Uni (yes, I said it!), my Achilles had twanged itself for the second time. Two rounds of six weeks' rest from running with only the miserable 3km walk home in heavy traffic, careless right-turn drivers and off-road cyclists (how wide am I? I'm already on the far left side of the path, don't you think you can squeeze past me without trilling your stupid bell in warning?) and my mood was as injured as my leg.

A week after quitting the job and wondering just what the hell kind of conversation I was going to make with my family at Christmas time - 'Yeah, I'm a quitter; how's your career going?' 'No, I don't have any form of income at the moment; let's look at your renovation' - I realised that six weeks had passed again.

This time I was careful. A three kilometre power walk to the bluff, touching the parking sign pole as the official end of the course and running it back. Difficult but do-able with the Achilles whingeing slightly but not progressing to screaming or snapping.

A days' rest and then the walk-three, run-three trial again. Even better. I find myself participating more in dinner table conversations, more willing to make or take a joke. Hell, did Mum just spring me singing to Milly outside by the rainwater tank?

The walk-three, run-three technique is repeated another five times over the next week before battling the locust plagues and the wheezy laughter of Kerry O'Keefe during the ABC cricket broadcast as we drive the long trek back across the border to home.

Sapphire and I are eating lunch together. Her head is lowered and her eyes are brimming. After several gentle questions, the tear drops fall down her shirt and she says that someone called her fat. It doesn't matter who, it was said, so they obviously think so. Is it true?

No.

NO.

But I too was called fat by my brothers. Fatty Arbuckle actually. In retrospect it sounded catchy and none of us knew that he was a silent film star whose career was ruined after being found guilty of raping and killing a starlet. The intention was merely to silence and hurt me and boy, did it work. I cried so many times with self pity and loathing and now when I see photographs of myself it is a normal-sized girl standing in the garden and two very skinny brothers who teased without any genuine malice.



















I turn to my girl - also normal-sized - and know that just telling her that she's a great person and is fine won't work. She wants a solution, a project. "But hey, I keep reading that being fit - you know, all that cardio vascular stuff - can help with asthma and breathing and give you more energy. As you know I'm slowly getting back into my running again. Do you want to do some of that with me?"

Expecting her to quickly say 'no thanks' I was surprised when she agreed.

And so, for the past week, she's been out in the shed with me. The music is her choice - lots of Katy Perry, Lady Gaga and Taylor Swift; the pedestal fan is directed towards her red face that doesn't yet sweat as easily as mine and I crack weak jokes about being her personal trainer, singing along in a falsetto voice to any of the songs I know and getting a rather big squeeze to the heart when I see her smile.

She ran 2.8 kilometres today. I was very proud of her and told her that she should be too."Yeah but you ran four, Mum."
"Maybe, but I've been doing it for over ten years and am a bit older and stronger than you. You're eleven and have decided to give this a red-hot go and are succeeding." It's now my eyes that are brimming.

Sapphire skips inside to tell LC who is busy making coffee and setting up my laptop in the kitchen. Yes, it's my original one, with the K, N, I, H and L keys that stick, the internet speed of a sea slug on valium and no bells or whistles. It suits me and allows me to stop hiding out in the hot study and instead sit at the table being part of the whatever LC and Sapphire are doing.

Now that they've set off to see Tron ("I'm sure it's going to be OK because Dad and I have the same taste but I don't believe that everyone's going to be wearing the same jumpsuit type of outfit in the future like every sci-fi movie seems to think"), I've showered, breakfasted and working on four chapters of the fledgling novel at once.

My Achilles is throbbing slightly but only to let me know that it's been tested.

Buttons, Beaches and Ham

I've been off-line for a fortnight which is the Hundred Year War-duration in blogging terms yet strangely enough I didn't miss it.

Sometimes my fingers absent-mindedly typed out something on Mum's Christmas tablecloth but Dad's computer - newly available in broadband - wasn't tempting me.

It must Location blended with varying amounts of Hard Work and Self-Designated Break Times that lure me back. We'd arrived home in Flemington last night and it was only after hanging out two loads of washing, doing a workout and weeding the front and back gardens that I found myself back in the study. Officially it was to find the Christmas decorations box to start de-bauble-ing the house but somehow the monitor switched itself on and I was instantly hooked.

It got me thinking, however. Not about the things that most people enjoy (such as blogging or reading blogs, or you wouldn't be here; or chocolate, sleep-ins and hugs) but things that everyone else seems to like except me.

Such as buttons. Like circus clowns and Nicolas Cage, they've always given me the creeps.

I honestly don't know why, but my earliest memories are of intensely disliking any knitted jumper (or cardigan) that featured buttons and avoiding them where possible ever since. Yes I have button jeans and shirts and jackets but they're always very discreet and never ever the feature of the garment.

This is a dislike I've kept a secret and barely acknowledged myself but it rose up again like a burp with bile in it when my mother dragged out a plastic crate full of the infernal items. She was sorting through them to sell for her local gigantic garage sale fundraiser, putting pairs, fours and sixes onto white cards as sets. A worthy intention yet I could barely make eye contact with her or finish a conversation when the card table in the good room was covered in buttons. The maddeningly torturous click-click-click of them as they touched each other meant that it was time to head out for a walk so that the sight, sound and idea of them were far away.



















Even including this photograph makes me feel a bit squeamish. Buttons scream 'Cardigan' as well as 'Old Fashioned', 'Cranky Nanna', 'Nerdy' and 'U-u-u-u-u-ugly'. There's no fairness in these reactions, but they're how I do respond when buttons enter my psyche (which isn't very often).

Driving, on the other hand, is a necessary evil. Life in Flemington usually means that I can walk or tram my way to the city and back and the 'ol magna only gets a trot when it's time for the weekly grocery shop or to see friends who selfishly live outside our postcode. Then I can grit my teeth, stay extra alert and keep my hands at ten-to-two on the wheel.

Having family in South Australia means that the Big Drive occurs at Christmas and usually one other time throughout the year. 650 km of boredom, ceaseless engine noise and arse-sweating onto greasy old pie and pasty crumbs does not a relaxing day out make. Admittedly Love Chunks drives most of it only requiring me to drive the middle third when he needs a wee, a read of the paper and to fiddle about trying to find the best local ABC to hear the cricket.

As he relaxes I feel my neck and jaw tighten as I nervously flick my eyes from side to rear-vision mirrors, wondering if the tailgating Toyota Landcruiser behind me will just get it over with already and pass or if the meandering Mazda in front will eventually decide if they want to stick to 70 or 110km for the next hour.

It probably doesn't help that our car - now looking like a toothless old lady with a back hubcap missing - contains a dog, a rabbit, heaps of presents, several suitcases, three human beings and is decorated on the outside by ten thousand fluttering dead and dying locusts.

If truth be told, I'd be happy to live a well-off Manhattan lifestyle of 'Taxi....!' if money and location permitted.

Driving often involves arriving at a beachy destination. Beaches and me rarely gel unless near-drowning, blistery sunburn and a sand-filled crotch are considered positives. Swimming isn't any better: once I've waded in and got over the shock of the water hitting my girly parts first and then my boobs second I somehow scrape my pathetically-soft feet on the rocks, have sea weed wrap itself suggestively and determinedly around my waist and blink away salty tears of agony when I dip my head in and get my eyes wet. And that's all before I scream, "Something just touched my leg!" and thrash the water to white foam in my haste to get the hell out.

Sitting out is worse. Unless I bring a tent thingy, there's no shade anywhere and a rashie, wide-brimmed hat and Factor 30 merely slows the inevitable roasting of my fluorescent skin to a barely discernible sizzle. When the afternoon breeze springs up it enables the sand to coat my Anti-Cancer Council-coated extremities but not before scouring them raw. Woe betide if I forget to shake out my towel before wiping my face on it......




















Here's my older brother Rob being a ham whilst carving the ham on Christmas Day. Like fully-intact prawns, boiled pumpkin and pate, I can not stand ham. Flaccid, pink, salty - not unlike myself after a 'fun' day at the beach.

Everyone else at the Christmas Day table - and for the rest of the week - goes nuts for the stuff, somehow finding room to cram it onto their plates next to Dad's weber-roasted chicken (that's worth a plate load all on its own), turkey roll, fresh prawns (de-headed and no poo pipes), gravy and vegetables. Why? Who wants a clammy slab of raw-looking jelly rubber on the nicest day of the year...? I know I know - you all do.

Staying at my parents meant that I didn't have access to the Age newspaper and couldn't fathom why the Adelaide Advertiser has to feature a colour photograph of every single reporter for every single story (here's Eliza Northington, Lifestyle Reporter. Lifestyle reporter? Do we really need to know what she looks like?) and would therefore watch the ABC news if I remembered.

It's summer time now, so politicians and spokespeople are outside more and when the great outdoors are involved, so are the blowflies. One's buzzing around the room as I tap this out and will be allowed to live in peace but if it dares lands on my face then my hands are a blurred frenzy of distracted dance moves and waving until it buggers off again.

To see someone speak to the camera with a fly crawling on their face makes me feel ever so slightly nauseus. When it is idly walking around the tear duct and then wanders, buzz buzz buzzing down towards the edge of the mouth and then up to the nostril I'm sickenly hypnotised..........

Someone told me that it is a big 'no no' to brush away a fly during an interview because it distracts the viewer from the message but I instead sit there in disgust and a tiny bit of agony thinking 'Get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off get it off----- oh thank god we're onto sport now. Wonder what the fly guy was talking about?'

Rita the non-ETA Eater

Brought to you once again by the collection of magazines hidden in my study

In 1976, nothing said creativity and sophistication like a Sunbeam electric frypan. Mum used ours to, well, fry everything she could lay her hands on which was lamb chops about 80% of the time. Even the Sunday roast lamb was done in it with the lid on and the potatoes and onions swimming around the outside in a pool of hot fat, their bottoms getting stuck to the element for me to pick off and eat hours later.

Here though we have a Masterfoods Three Bean Mix Egg Combo which is eerily ahead of its time in that it is designed as a huge cross, indicating "NO! Just don't try this at home if you wish your corduroy slacks to stay in one piece and your net curtains to remain white. NO!"




















Clearly too, such an artistic design is meant not just for the kitchen bench but to be brought directly to the table so that all eaters could see just what a treat - visual and oral - they were in for that night.




















Later that same year, Streets icecream brought out the Toffee, er, Log. This brown barrell featuring swirls of cream and light brown pretty well echoed the decor of a million kitchens around the country and if served in burnt orange melamine bowls (as ours were) the look was complete.

The taste, on the other hand, was significant only in that it was insignificant. Still, it did help get the Stainless Steel Sunbeam Three Bean Egg Mix combo to slide down.

In keeping with the fashions of the time, you could also opt for Brown done three ways with a pot of pus - sorry, sauce - to dip your meats into. Mmmm hmmm who needs any other colours when you can do like you did in kindergarten art class and mix them all together and arrive at wonderful, delicious and complete brown.




















In 1977, Coles had created a New World. No, not one involving the eradication of deadly diseases or the end to all war and conflicts, but the introduction of Farmland Meat. 'Farmland' presumably meant a factory location where animals were dragged in and killed, cut up and placed on styrofoam trays covered in gladwrap rather than a sunny shop filled with rolling paddocks, gently lowing cattle and milking sheds.




















And look at how excited Trevor-the-neckless is to be featured in this advertisement. It was either this or be handpicked for the Yorkshire Ripper police line up and at least here he was able to wield a knife without being violently thrown to the floor and read his rights.

Thankfully there were other options to beans, Brown and Trevor's rather slapdash and very fat-laced meat trays - Kentucky Fried Chicken.




















Colonel Sanders was still alive at the time and stuff such as raging obesity, sky-high cholesterol and heart disease were still faint enough to be ignored, as was trying to hide 'Fried' in an acronym. What could out-do beans for sophistication and refinement than a grease-spattered cardboard box of unrecognisable chicken pieces? Yep, that's "real goodness" for you!

We had to settle for that until 1982 brought about a revolution. No, not just the official end of Adam and the Ants as a viable form of music but - steady yourselves - the introduction of sliced cheese.




















When Mum bought these - Dad would turn his nose up and announce they tasted like flat soap - we kids would hoover them up like after dinner mints (same shape). The old one kilo block of Coon was left languishing, getting blue spotted and sweaty in its plastic coat as we pushed it to the back of the fridge and instead ate slice after slice of Kraft. I can't remember adding bread or anything else to it too often but yes, this changed the way we ate, thought, sang, worshipped, loved, grew, progressed ..... Heady times.




















A year later when wearing plastic maps of Australia for earrings was considered de-rigeur, McDonald's decided to tell us that meat potatoes and bread were healthy, especially when reconfigured as a Big Mac. "Have some wholesome McDonald's meals and you're well on your way to a balanced diet." Yeah, in HELL. Even reading this tripe the first time around as a fourteen-and-a-half year old in my mother's Womens' Weekly I knew that I'd rather eat another frypans' worth of three bean egg mix.

All was calm by 1988 when the humble Jatz Cracker was the Easy Entertainer.




















I've studied the photo for a while now and can't for the life of me work out what's on those easy entertainers - turkey kidneys? Cat tumours? Tree fungi? Hippo snot? In our day it was French Onion dip or some good old Kraft cheese cunningly ripped into four with a thin slice of gherkin on the top, ready for a raging night of Porky's II on beta video or some games of Pong on the black and white TV in the pool room.....

Rita here perhaps sums up the effects that such foods had on the bowels of those who willingly ate it.




















The poor love was out of routine. It was either her diet or her busy busy life. It sure as hell couldn't have been those 23 cheese slices and Kentucky Fried bucket, could it? Or three wholesome Big Macs and a bowl of three been mix?

Ford Pills would set her straight; help her back out a toffee log of her own one of these days. Then she'll be able to do a semi plie without frightening her students or shattering the mirrors.

Welcome home

After five weeks of realising that the job was a slippery slope to doom and coming home to cry about it, it was our dog, Milly, who missed out the most.

She'd be the one waiting at the door, tail wagging madly as I'd stagger past, straight into LC's arms to wail. I'd then dust myself off, wipe my face and seek out Sapphire - out with the rabbit or in her room reading - to find out the latest in her bullying saga.

Then I'd cry again; worrying and fretting for my daughter instead of myself.

Milly would hover next to my legs uncertainly, tail still wagging but slower this time; nose nudging me every now and then to reassure me of her presence. "Yes Milly, I'll feed you," I'd sigh tiredly.

That was unfair because food has always been secondary to attention, affection and love. Milly had never been a chore to me and it was wrong of me to treat her that way.

The week before the job started, Sapphire drew this cartoon of Milly which I had framed, planning to take it in to put on my desk.

I never felt comfortable enough to do that, so now it's at home by the front door for every visitor to see.

The real dog is at my feet, eyes glistening and smiling in that unique way that only she has. She's back where she belongs. As am I.

Upping Stumps




















I quit my job after only five weeks and realise that the past five years haven't been exactly stellar regarding the formal work front.

Five years ago I worked myself into a nervous breakdown;
Three years ago my boss pushed me out;
Last week I resigned.

A breakdown after five years; a firing after two years and a giving-up after five weeks.

What's the next one going to be - going postal after ten minutes?

I don't think so.

After a weekend of crying, I'm trying hard not to see it as a failure but as something I tried that wasn't the right fit; wondering why just getting basic and necessary tasks done needed to be so difficult; why people were tardy, grumpy, hidden from view. Skewing things out of proportion and making me feel miserable, useless and trapped.

Except I wasn't. Trapped, that is.

We all have to suffer rudeness and dishonesty and disinterest at times but I grew tired of hearing, "Yeah they've had a bad year, so aren't likely to be helpful" as something I had to accept. Hearing, "You don't belong to our unit, go somewhere else" when they were the sole owners of the information/room/activity/knowledge and therefore had the power.

So I decided not to put up with it.

Money will be tight - freelancing work starts with 'free' for a reason a lot of the time but I've learned something. I am still employable. I just don't need to say 'yes' to the first thing that's offered, especially when most of the requirements I was looking for in a job weren't there. I can be fussy even if it means that our financial situation will need a much more careful eye.

I need to value the work that I do with and for my family as much as they do and stop worrying about what other people think. I need to get off my arse - or firmly back on it, seeing as it's mostly computer based - and start writing the damn novel that's been percolating, bubbling, brewing in my brain all year.

2011 - Year of change; year of being brave.

"Whaddaya want me to do, lady?"

After five weeks, I'd finally lost it. Walking across Flemington Road in peak hour traffic means that the lights force me to stop smack-bang in the middle of one of the busiest thoroughfares in Melbourne, standing uncertainly on the tram tracks and hoping that the light pole might offer some protection from the cars roaring past turning right.

Every day at least five cars run the now-red right turn light, making my heart pound faster as I realise just how easy it would be to stay in the mindless walk-home groove and step out automatically at the pip-pip-pipping sound of the green man.

Today, I'd had enough. Today, the last culprit - and surely the one most conscious of breaking the law - had pulled up for petrol at the station on the other side of the road. His wife had gone in to pay and I knocked - yes knocked - on his window.

"Do you realise that you nearly killed me back there, when you ran that red light?"

"Sorry lady. There was a car behind me and nowhere to go."

"No there wasn't. You were NOT across the intersection but had decided to just barrel on ahead and did not see that people were crossing."

"Whadday want me to do, lady? I said I was sorry."

It was then that I saw the three kids sitting in the back seat which made me turn on my heel and walk off. "Yeah, fuck off," he spat and I briefly entertained visions of walking right back and using my umbrella to smash that big fat face of his until he begged for mercy.....

But of course I didn't. I had an in-house computer finance course to get to. Stuffy computer room with ten desks and two petite instructors, both nervous and speaking way too fast. One chair was empty.

Ten minutes into the course Mrs Busy Boobs Clacky Beads arrived, huffing and puffing and late, telling the rest of us how busy she was, how she'd have to have her mobile phone on all the time because her staff needed her and no, being from a remote location meant that she hadn't done the online prerequisite course.

Just my luck that Busy Boobs plonked herself in the seat opposite me. She answered several calls as the instructor was teaching, leaving in a huff when the assistant trainer asked her to take the calls outside. At morning tea, hoping to get her to climb off her high horse, one of them broke the silence by asking her where she was from: Shepparton campus perhaps? "No, Lincoln Square. It took me ten minutes to walk here."

Ah. We all busied ourselves checking our own mobile phones, willing the time away until the lesson resumed. The miserable packet of Arnotts Milk coffee biscuits were untouched.

Back in class, as I was struggling to understand how thirty four steps would produce an invoice and raised my hand to ask the teacher a question Busy Boobs sighed. Loudly. Her betty-rubble beads clacked on the desk as she tapped her pen irritably against them.

Busy Boobs sighed again when the instructor answered another classmate's question. She then muttered, 'oh please no' when the teacher said, "Shall I go through that step again?" as the rest of us nodded. I'd seen this sort of passive-aggressive crap before - mutter it loud enough for me to hear, but not the teacher. Shades of Sapphire's recent experiences at school filled me with red. I snapped. "Will you please be quiet. I need to know this for my job. You are being very rude."

She shut up immediately but I derived little comfort from a classmate saying 'I wanted to give you a high five' as we escaped the room two hours later.

12:30. The course officially ended at 1:00pm, so I decided to eat my lunch in the park opposite my work building.

This was a nice opportunity to soak in the sunshine and breathe in the air for my room inside has no windows or even a view towards outside. It is dark and strobe-lit and I can feel my body wilting without a glimpse of outside or natural light.

Up at the very top of the building a pigeon tried vainly to smash its way inside. Again and again it tried, convinced that the glass reflection of a blue sky and clouds was the real thing. The cries and the smacking sound was painfully audible from where I sat on some cement steps under a tree, slowly chewing my bread roll.

12:59. I bunched my gladwrap into a tight little ball in my hand and slowly walked inside the building. Unlike the pigeon, I'm allowed - required - to go inside.

Sixty (written by a six year old presumably)

Yep, this one's from Plastic Mancunian again. It's hard not to read these, get involved and interested in the person writing them and then want to have a crack (at the questions, not the person) yourself.

1. Are you happier now than you were five months ago?

No but each day I walk home and tell myself that I've contributed to the family and have a man, a girl and a dog who always (and inexplicably, some days) are happy to see me.

2. Have you ever slept in the same bed with anyone that you shouldn't have?

Y-e-e-e-s.

3. Can you sleep in total darkness?

Of course. I'd prefer it, if possible.

4. Your phone is ringing. It’s the person you fell hardest for, the one who got away, what do you say?

"Hello...?"

5. What do you think about the weather this summer?

Very Darwin-like - steamy, sultry, humid. I'll put up with it if it helps fill the reservoirs and keep beautiful old trees and parklands alive and means that I don't have to carry buckets of shower water out to the lawn.

6. How many people do you trust with everything?

One.

7. What was the last thing you drank?

Coffee. Mrs Krups is back from the hospital and working like a charm!

8. Is there anyone you want to come see you?
Hmm, how about someone with a ten million dollar cheque made out to me? One that isn't from Nigeria or the European lottery commission based in the Netherlands and won't bounce? Failing that, a house cleaner, masseuse and gardener; all with OCD tendencies relating to their particular job choice and a willingness to help.

9. Name one thing you love about winter?

Covering up. No need to suck in the stomach rolls when they're hidden under several layers. Wearing ugg boots at home. The forgiving, warm nature of polar fleece. Spicy foods, chocolate, home made soup. Oversized bowls of spag bol.

10. Have you ever dated a Goth?

No. Being with someone ever paler than I am would have meant that they'd be technically dead and I also wouldn't fancy fighting with him for the eyeliner.

11. What are you looking forward to tomorrow?

Waking up feeling refreshed and hopeful after a really solid nights' sleep.

12. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having?

Slightly grumpy due to lack of sleep and steeling myself for battling the bureaucracy whilst keeping my determination and friendly smile intact; genuine or not.

13. What's the longest that you have committed to one person and one person only?

Love Chunks - seventeen and a half years. A combination of whizzing by in a blur and not being able to remember what was life was like before him.

14. What’s the first thing you did when you opened your eyes today?

Grabbed my watch to turn the alarm off and immediately swung my feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You can't sigh or procrastinate for a second but need to get up and out before your brain registers how tired and unwilling it still is.

15. Has anyone ever told you they never want to ever lose you?

Yes. In various situations, most of which I'm not proud of and realise that I've been a huge drain on patience, tolerance, emotion and kindness.

16. Is there anybody that you wish you could fix your relationship with?

Several. There are broken, bitter friendships and misunderstandings that hurt me at the time, but would probably benefit from a 'Here's what I did then, here's what I've learned now' conversation. I've even managed to have a couple of those on Facebook and luckily they were kind enough to friend me back. One particular person I'll never ever forgive. Ever.

17. Could you go out in public, looking like you do now?

Yep. A dag but proudly conscious of it. It's about comfort, blending in and finding other things to stress about (of which there are plenty); not the style of my shoes or cut of my shirt.

18. Do you think things will change in the next 3 months? How?

For the better. I'll get into the groove of working full time, we'll all understand what our home 'jobs' are and do them as a habit instead of a favour to each other, I'll be laughing more and be slimmer after my achilles has righted itself and I can run again.

19. Do you believe that you never know what you got until you lose it?

Not always. I'm a big reminiscer but even I understand that rose-coloured glasses have a huge impact. Sometimes losing something (or someone) may be painful at the time but works out for the best in the end. Unless it's a favourite pair of sunglasses that you've had for years and misplaced.....

20. Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

Yes, several I think. I don't think I've ever been a girls-only girl.

21. If you were to live your life without your best friend, what would change?

LC - don't even want to sit here imagining it.

Jill (known her since she was two days old) - sadder, colder, un-funner.

22. Tell us about a era of your life that you really miss.

My two years in the United Kingdom were pretty amazing. With rose-coloured spectacles firmly on it was because of the total lack of responsiblities I had - crappy bedsit was fun because it wasn't forever; crappy job was fun because the people were fantastic (same age, same social life, same senses of humour); the travel; the eternally-fascinating city of London....

Specs off - lonely at times; very expensive; homesick; very bad food; no Love Chunks.

23. Have you ever been betrayed by someone that came as a complete surprise? Without revealing the person, if yes, tell us about it.

YES. I've touched on it before, but you can reacquaint yourself here.

24. Do you ever think that is a good idea to hide your feelings?

Oooh yeah. It is not always the best timing to have a rant and I've learned the hard way too that 'honesty' isn't always what the other person wanted no matter how often they say that it is. Nobody likes to be pulled up on bad behaviour or misconception or shoddy work and no matter how well it's stated, it comes back to bite you somehow. Subtlety is always best but take copies and notes to cover your own arse. Always.

25. Tell us about your favorite year when you were a student.

I hated university and did my best to remain completely inconspicuous amongst the smarter, cooler, more confident crowds swirling around me. Having a lovely boyfriend and some good mates really helped though and we had a lot of laughs together making coffees in our rooms at college.

25. When was the last time you were in a very good mood? What caused it?

Last night. Love Chunks and I had a chuckle at Milly and Skipper's Christmas Wish Lists as written down by Sapphire on her bedroom door. She has depicted the dog as a lovable graffiti artist and the rabbit as a strict atheist. Then back to the living room to watch Season 3 of 'The Office' (US version) and realise that it was wrong of me to write it off when it first came out. It is brilliantly funny and cheers me up no end.

26. Have you ever had a romantic relationship with a sibling of a good friend?

Never. Love Chunks can't say that though!

27. Tell us about the last thing that you did that you truly regret.

Telling my daughter to 'just ignore her' for months on end, realising that it should have been reported instantly. Sapphire's spirit suffered at the constant drip-drip-drip of nasty whispered remarks, rumour spreading and exclusion. From this week on, she knows that her teacher and principal believe her, so 'loud and proud dobbing' is her modus operandi until the end of the year.

These two sentences are now in her arsenal:

1) "Can you say that a bit louder, J, so that the teacher can hear?:

2) "No, you're not going to get away with saying that to me. Miss N, J just said...."

28. When did you laugh today?

Haven't yet. Only had one coffee so far.

29. Do you trust easily?

Yes, dammit. I try to see the best in people. Maybe that's why I get genuinely shocked at stuff like bullying, litter and snobbery.

30. What do you care about that you wish more people would?

Litter, bullying and snobbery.

31. Is it easier for you to go without food or go without sleep?

Sleep. Many times my old body has shown that it can do a fortnight on less than two hours sleep a night before all systems crash. Food - I can miss one meal before things get shaky - mentally and physically so before the end of Day One on Survivor I'd be the weirdo sobbing under the coconut tree eating my own shoe....

32. What non-alcohol beverage do you enjoy drinking the most?

Water. Room temperate. Try to suck down 2 litres a day and mostly succeed.

33. When you walk into a room full of strangers, generally how is your confidence?

Fairly high these days. I finally understand that we're all as nervous, confident, funny, serious, committed, flighty and ridiculous as each other and no-one wants me to fail or to fail themselves.

34. Does talking about sex with anyone but your lover make you uncomfortable?

Nah. It's the world's hilarious topic.

35. Do you tend to believe members of the opposite sex mostly behave the same way?

What? No! That's like saying that everyone in my particular school year - Monkeys - are the same, or that I'm like one twelfth of the population - Scorpios. Hell, I'm not even like my own family!

36. Did you drink any alcohol this week? If yes, what?

Nothing yet. I tend to have a glass of wine with dinner about twice a week or a glass of baileys on ice late night if there's good telly happening.

37. Would you ever consider being a vegetarian?

Yep. I often order the vege option when I go out because I'm not a rare meat girl and am not into the Masterchef pork belly/pink quail/raw red lamb phenomenon.

39. Do you believe in the concept of soul mates?

Sort of. However there isn't just One for each of us. Think back to the people you went out with before you met your forever person. All of them had things about them that you liked/loved/were attracted to and factors such as maturity, life stages etc influenced a whole heap of factors. The better question to ask is, "How do you keep your soul mate?"

41. What are your plans for this weekend?

A couple of end-of-year thingies, a ferocious lot of housework and then a day of fun with LC and Sapphire that doesn't involve shopping for presents, chores, sunburn or mosquito bites.

42. Do you think someone might be thinking poorly about you? Why might that be?

Hmmm. My first reaction was to say, "I'm sure there is. If I have people I don't particularly like or admire, then surely some of them feel the same way about me," but then I thought, how UP MYSELF am I to assume that I've entered the psyche of any of those people? After all, aren't most problems due to the fact that the other person didn't think about you at all?

42. What features don't you have that you would like on your cell?

None. I use it to make and answer calls. Yes, I'll occasionally text if I'm on the tram and very very rarely take a photo but I don't want to be someone who has a permanently-cricked neck due to staring at the black shiny thing in their palm all day.

43. How many people can comfortably sleep in your bed?

It's a queen, so two adults (allowing for tossing and turning and splaying of limbs) and possibly a small (and very still, so therefore it doesn't exist) child.

44. What are you hoping happens by the end of 2010?

That I feel settled into the groove of work and have made some inroads into understanding and obtaining help from the bureaucracy. That I learn to chill a bit more about chores and housework and obligations and that Sapphire fully regains her spirit, having been freed from the bully and knowing that she won't be in her class next year.

45. What was the last video you watched on YouTube?

A best-of clip from Radgery's facebook page that featuring all the YouTube classics (Charlie bit my finger, chipmunk's weird look, piano cat, heaps of classic stacks etc).

46. Would you ever agree to an open relationship with someone?

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no NO. My heart would dry up, split into sharp shards, pierce all of my other vital organs and die. Brutally and painfully.

47. Is there something that you could never give up?

Food and water for a start. Trying to be friendly. Having a laugh. Love Chunks and Sapphire. Good coffee. Kissing the dog.

48. Would you, (or did you) prefer a small, intimate wedding reception, or a big-scale, over-the-top reception?

Very small, held in my parents' back garden. Dress cost $12 for the material and the honeymoon (or 'holiday' as we liked to call it) cost way more than the $1000 for nibbles and drinks at the 'reception'. No official cake, no speeches.

49. What’s bothering you right now?

My inability to shake minor annoyances off quickly. How I wish I was like Milly the dog who with a good flap of her ears manages to dislodge every loose hair from her coat, have a stretch and immediately forgets whatever it was that irritated her in the first place.

50. Do you hate anyone?

Sadly yes. You'd think, after slightly more than three years that I'd have moved on, but no. I still hate her.

51. What were you doing at 12 am last night?

Lying in bed, listening to the fan whirring overheard, Love Chunks snoozing on my right and the 'ker-LUNK' of the bathroom door after Sapphire shut it. Need to have a word to her about keeping things a bit quieter during the midnight wee trips.....

52. Is the last person you kissed before your current situation mad at you?

I don't think so; I can't even remember who it was..... Oh, wait. Yeah, he might have been mad at me at the time, but he would have forgotten by now, surely? It was EIGHTEEN YEARS ago!

53. Can a man and woman be friends without having feelings for each other?

Of course. I assume that 'feelings of friendship' is still acceptable?

54. Do you think long distance relationships work? If you’ve had one, tell us about it.

Never had one. Not sure how they could work if that person isn't 'there' for you more often than not and who wants to sleep alone if they're supposedly 'with' someone?

55. Do you know why it’s called “Random Boredom“?

Clearly I am way too old for this questionnaire.

56. Do you think that it’s always the man’s responsibility to initiate sex?

What? How OLD is the person who wrote these, nine? Of course not! (my answer to the original question, not the person who wrote the question)

57. Have you ever made love while you were in the same room with another couple?

NO. At least I sure as hell hope not and hope that there's not some grainy footage out there anywhere..... ~shudder~

58. Tell us the best thing about your current or most recent S/O.

Significant Other? His kindness. And patience. And humour. Let's also bung in intelligence, perception, cooking skills, fathering skills and his smell when I hold him tight.....

59. Tell us the worst thing about your current or most recent S/O.

Gets tetchy when he's hungry or tired or both. Snores very loudly on occasion. Enjoys a lot of televised sport. Kind of nice to see that these answers aren't exactly deal breakers.

60. If you could write a novel, what would it be about?

Ooh it's brewing baby, it's brewing!