beer and burgers and the weekend that was

A bit overdue I know … but I’ve been processing. Gotta love the processing part lol.

As Friday night closed and Saturday morning rolled around, I ended up more stressed than anxious I think. To most, they may seem like the same thing – To Me they are distinctly different. Stress, of the mundane kind, I can deal with but it makes Me butt ugly angry. So if anything, I call it being pissed off; those looking on, call it ‘over dramatised stress’. So really thats got more to do with them, than Me. And anxiety, for Me, is the pre requisite for a panic attack. The distinct difference, is the latter is a debilitating ass wipe that leaves Me feeling vulnerable, not angry.

Angry gets shit done.

Vulnerable leaves you debilitated.

So, rolling with stressed on Saturday morning, I’m asking the partner (because this is his soirée) …

‘so, what time is everyone coming?’ … ‘dunno’ …

‘what time did you tell people to come?’ … ‘saturday’ …

Oh my fuck! And thats how most of the day rolled out.

Now I’ve come to grips with the partner being as he is. A man. He doesn’t plan like Me; he doesn’t organise, anything – and he definitely doesn’t do time frames. He actually adds to the anxiety that is Me, but I’ve also learnt a lot from him … I’ve had too otherwise I’d be fucking insaner than I already am!

So 12 o’clock rolls by, as does 1 … and I’m hungry as fuck lol.

‘Dear … can we make some food?’ … ‘Um … I haven’t got any buns … they’re coming’

WTF? LOL.

So peeps start arriving at this point and there isn’t any food.

“Learning Moment” … I pulled the partner aside and ever so gently said to him …

“Do you have a Plan B sweetheart?” … ‘Nope’ … “So this is where, as anal as I am, I would have a Plan B”. He looks at Me a little astounded and says, “Ok, so if I was to have a Plan B, what do you suggest that should be?” …

Oh my fuck, is all I’m thinking.

“Plan B would have been purchasing some spare buns and having them in the cupboard. It would be buying more than 1 lettuce to feed 25 people … so maybe 4 or 5 … and then the rest of the salad ingredients … Plan B would be ensuring I had all the meat patties here and ready to go.”

“Ohhhhh” … says Partner … “That sounds good”.

*groan*

And while that conversation right there pretty much sums up the whole day: I must say, I coped pretty fucking gangstah-ly with the whole thing!

The family came – landed – caused chaos – and departed. And I watched, slightly interacted, and felt reasonably unaffected.

The friends came – landed – settled in – caused abit of chaos – and departed. And again, I watched, slightly interacted where I wanted too, and felt reasonably unaffected.

What I found super duper interesting, is whilst I was ‘Managing Myself’, quite a few of those around Me found that -how would you put it – threatening?!. They wanted Me to engage in their incessant grizzling; they wanted Me to ‘put shoes on’; they wanted Me to drink; the wanted Me to eat more. And as I said No, or thank you – No thank you … they squirmed something awful. It made them feel enormously uncomfortable. And usually that discomfort effects Me, as in it makes Me feel anxious. But not this time.

I was able to see what was happening, and more importantly, see that it wasn’t my problem at all 🙂

So as the night wore on I ended up being one of the last ones awake. There were a few hard cores that stayed up and drank themselves into a stupor. But all in all, I enjoyed my night. And so did my partner!

What I was mostest proudest of for him and Me, is we both managed ourselves; did our thang, separately and individually … but we both allowed each other to do Us. It was quite liberating for the both of Us 😉 I think he enjoyed not having to ‘babysit’ Me. He’s figured out that I am capable of managing myself, its just other people that don’t like how I do that, but thats not his problem – Or Mine 🙂

There was an ‘incident’, of which I am still processing – whereby a friend took offence to another friends manner. As I have been told – the 2nd friend was hitting on the first friends husband.

What I found most interesting, again … is while I’m pretty good at picking up whats going on around Me; somehow, I completely missed this!

My daughter said to Me later, that I hadn’t picked it up because I’m ‘not like that’. I didn’t, and still don’t, understand, what that means. But she says I don’t do drama therefore hadn’t picked up on what I guess I deemed to be, un-necessary drama. I was a bit distraught that our mate had been offended and felt uncomfortable by the whole situation – but it did leave Me wondering – If that was a flirtatious encounter that was witnessed by everyone around Me, then it wasn’t very good!

Needless to say – I don’t have a romantic or flirtatious bone in my body 😉

So, all in all, a good weekend … many burgers consumed (finally), and many beers had … and for Me, survival skills employed succinctly! I think I’m looking forward to the next event, which is fucking amazing for Me !

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Princess…1973

So I have more information now, pieces to add to my story and fill in the gaps. I think sometimes it’s easy to tell yourself a narrative that isn’t exactly exact. You tend to fill in the missing pieces with other bits of missing pieces. Finding out the context of an environment or situation seems to just make it all slot together to make a whole, a whole lot better.

Turns out we are not a family huge on talking even though we talk plenty! Seems like I missed a few important details…good details…and not so nice details, which make the picture a bit more robust.

I was born at 8pm. Apparently my Nan was a 10 month carrier so my ‘lateness’ to arrive on the scene was actually right on time, well right on time for our gene pool lol! My Mama says she began labour “exactly 24 hrs earlier. Long hard labour”. She says she “didn’t know what was normal for a labour so just went with it as you do :)”. As it turned out I was coming chin/face first & had to be turned with forceps. It was very painful for her. But she says it was “so worth it.” For Me it makes sense that I don’t sleep at night well…I’m a night baby! :), so I think I’ll stop fighting it and just roll with it…if I’m awake I’m awake, if I’m tired I’ll go to sleep. Sorted! Well that was a whole lot easier than stressing over not sleeping! And it go figures that I’m stilling arriving at a destination or situation, chin and face first lol! Apparently I’m designed to do just that! Make a pain staking but memorable entrance lol, sorry Mama 😉

But most importantly, I found out, I was in fact, wanted…very very much wanted.

Mama says’ “Oh you were so looked forward to. I’m so sorry you were wounded from this. I actually went to bed two weeks early in my pregnancy because I was going to lose you, and I didn’t want to lose you. I was at home then with Nana & Grandad. When I first found I was pregnant, I’m not sure if your father knew or not then, but I went…to look for work. I was staying in a dive in town while I looked. I remember buying wool and starting to knit for you. Later when I went back” home “(I worked…for a month or so in a Rest Home for the elderly) I recall folding and refolding your clothes every day. Decorating your bassinette with lace & frills. Knitting and sewing more clothes. Buying a pram. I was seeing your father & we were looking for a house to live in when I was around 6 months pregnant. I wanted to end our relationship as I sensed it wasn’t going to work & wasn’t really happy with him. But…I wasn’t happy anyway in myself & never had been….I spent a lot of my youth not wanting to live. It was too painful. But yes, you were very much wanted. Abortion was NEVER a consideration. (And not to condemn any who choose that route but I just never considered it). When you were born it was the most wonderful experience … I would gaze at you every day in your crib in wonderment at your perfection. I loved you dearly. You were perfect. I talked to you constantly … breast fed you for 8 months … tried my very best to be a good mum. I think somewhere along the line as life seemed to get harder (as it does in a relationship of any sort let alone an abusive one) I had less & less to give out to you. I was trying to make sense of life and what to do. This was my only reason for wanting to end my life. It was never you. I suppose I’d reached a place where I wanted to back up and opt out… however I’d made decisions I couldn’t back up on and one was, I now had another life in my womb to consider. Bear in mind too, back then it was unheard of to go to a counselor. There weren’t any. It wasn’t on anybody’s radar. You just figured stuff out for yourself. A family Doctor was the nearest thing you’d get to that … a 5 minute chat. This would’ve been the period when I was late in pregnancy, and living with your father…It was very hard. An abusive partner, me lost, the big responsibility of parenthood looming and not knowing what to do.

When your father’s father died I was just then contemplating separating but I didn’t have the heart to leave him right then so went to the taangi. It was there I” became a Christian, I “urged…to get married. And we did. But things just got worse.” 

It was accurate that my father was cruel to my mother, violent to be truthful. Apparently an abusive man at the time; jealous and possessive; a drunk and violent person, who threw around ridiculous accusations of unfaithfulness and spent more time at the pub than with his family. My mother was afraid of him, and rightly so by the sounds of her recollections of him. She recalled ‘being hit occasionally and having a black eye once’…one too many I think! My Grandfather was protective of my mother and me. Apparently my Grandfather was kind toward my father when we were not living with them, but this changed when he knew what my father was doing. Thank you Grandad! My mother went back to my father when I was 18 months old, but my father had impregnated someone else and he chose that family. I didn’t hear from or see him until I was 7.

I also found out I was called a ‘Princess’ by my paternal family.

That we did indeed come from a long line of revolutionists, with my “Great great great Grandad, on my granddad’s side, fighting for our lands with one of the greatest warriors of his era, Titokowaru”.

I also remember having what I thought was a dream in later years. It was of sitting on a seat of some kind and moving across a road. It was big with metal sides. The whole road was moving and there were cracks in the road. Years later I was telling my mother this and she told me that she had taken me on the first Hikoi, with Whena Cooper. That moving road was the Auckland Harbour Bridge and I was in a push chair. It swayed as we crossed over it. Apparently it had been shut down to traffic while we all crossed. Years later I took my own daughters to the second Hikoi, to parliament, in protest of the foreshore and seabed legislation. A few years afer that, I went with my youngest daughter to the last of these Hikoi’s which was wahangu…silent. It was a powerful time. What an amazing legacy in all that other shit 😉

I know we lived in my home town on and off, in and out, over these young years. We lived on the East coast for awhile too, before my mother left my father. And I think we ‘travelled’ around abit, sometimes I stayed with my Grandparents.

There was another man around at this time, my brothers ‘would be’ father at that stage. I don’t think I liked him much.  I didn’t like how he made my mother feel.

At 3 years old, there are vivid memories of being frightened and having nightmares/terrors. I remember hiding in big boxes downstairs…playing. But I was frightened. I remember this because I remember the house we lived in at the time.

I also learnt hat my maternal Grandfathers Grandfather was Scottish and his father was French-Canadian.

My maternal Grandmothers parents came from a small west coast town and then moved to my Grandfathers place of birth in their later years. Both of them were English. My Great grandfather was from London, and my Great-grandmother was from south London. My Nan was treated unfairly her entire life; apparently she was supposed to be a boy…thank the heavens she wasn’t ay Nan 😉

My Uncle was super talented; a beautiful man as I remember, he was also tortured soul…he ended his life when I was 7. He was my first dead body. I thought he was going to wake up, but he didn’t, and he never came home. I loved him; I still do. I am glad that I knew him.

So I end this segment knowing that while our family was dysfunctional as such, it was also enormously resourceful, talented and abounding in love and sacrifice. It knew culture and diversity; it embraced grief and loss; it dealt with war and violence….and it survived, and became stronger. It left strong, solid and hopeful roots. I was loved and I was wanted. I am now forever grateful and forever in awe of the history that is mine.

Lots of light and love and fluffy stuff, to me, as I unravel even more 😉

https://meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween.wordpress.com/2015/12/13/the-first-time-ever-i-saw-your-face/

(First published 5th May 2015 @ 2319 … Hollah 😉 )

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artivism ~ deconstruction

analysis
əˈnalɪsɪs/
detailed examination of the elements or structure of something.
 .
deconstruction
diːk(ə)nˈstrʌkʃ(ə)n/
a method of critical analysis of philosophical and literary language which emphasizes the internal workings of language and conceptual systems, the relational quality of meaning, and the assumptions implicit in forms of expression.
.
Depending on how you look at something, the view will always be different. Depending on who is doing the looking, the view will also always be different.
The art of dismantling something so that you can see it from a different perspective, is analysis and deconstruction.
In art terms, it works just the same way.
You start with something reasonably mundane.
Like a washing machine.
And you strip it down to its larger parts.
Then you take those larger parts and dismantle them further.
You view them from different angles.
It always looks different depending on where your looking ‘from’.
And it looks bigger or smaller, depending on how much you’re focussing on it and fading out whats around it.
I love this perspective. The ability to see something in it’s totality –
And then in its totality as an ‘individual’ thing.
Being able to appreciate the function of ‘items’:
And then the uniqueness and beauty of the intricacies of each of those parts.
And depending on where you’re looking, you’ll see beauty in the most unusual places.
And this is how I view my world;
And the world around Me.

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formal education, baby brother and religion…1977

Five years old. That’s when the ‘formal education’ period starts. The A B Cs are refined; the sound and colour and shape of them are repeated and rehearsed over and over again. Your taught to sit straight, clean everything that accumulates under your fingernails before you cut them. Here your ‘tsked’ and reprimanded for looking sleepy during mat time; singled out and pulled up for ‘answering out of turn’ and for appearing ‘disinterested’. Formal schooling, where the haves and have-not’s all mingle together into one large incestral bunch; but it’s still quite plain to see who ‘has’ and who ‘does not’. From the creased clothing and unkempt hair; the smell of unhygienic-ness to the lack or ‘stack’ of lunch in the lunch box. This coagulation of primates all bundled together to learn what the Crown has specified is important for the minions to learn in this generation, to regurgitate for the generations to come.

I started school in a new town. My god. So many kids. So many smells. So much talking!

But I started this ‘period’ with a burden. And strangely enough, no one noticed. I perceived this in later years, as not caring. But I think they just didn’t notice, and didn’t really want to notice. In this era, the art of turning a blind eye, was honed and professionalised!

But I remember writing, a ‘lower case’ ‘a’, over and over again…wondering what on earth this was about. Part of a larger scheme? Possibly, but I didn’t know what or why and no one felt any urgency to fill me in on the details. As I’ve come to realise, I always want to know the larger scheme of things so I can put everything into perspective. Even at 5, I needed to know, but no one thought to answer my questions….and there was no Google back then! Oh what I wouldn’t have done for a couple of hours of good Googling lol.

My baby brother was born about this time too. I don’t remember my mother being pregnant and I vaguely remember when she had him, labour I mean. I stayed with my Grandparents. There was no ‘father’ around. Not that I had or hadn’t noticed, but apparently this wasn’t a very good thing.

I remember getting a really big dolls house from my good uncle, for a birthday I think. He had apparently gotten really angry and smashed things up because the doll’s house was too big to get out of the door of the room that he had built it in lol. Apparently this was a bad thing too…but I loved that doll’s house! It was HUGE!

This was also the time that I remember those around me ‘finding Jesus’ too….I wondered where it was that he was hiding?? And did he actually want to be found? Anyway, they were all elated to have found him, but shit started getting serious after that! Apparently, after one has found Jesus, there’s a lot of stuff that needs to change…no more getting angry, no cursing, definitely no smoking or fornication, no drinking, no jealousy, no misbehaving, no answering back, no no no no…lots of NOs. I still didn’t understand it though.

We found Jesus, so he could tell us lots of No’s? Hmmmmm….had Jesus smoked and fornicated (whatever that was!), drank and cursed too?

I hadn’t!

Why had he said not to do all those things? The answer to that was, ‘so we didn’t go to hell’….really?

Why were we going to hell in the first place and what the hell was hell?? Fire and damnation apparently, ah durrr!

So why were we going to a very hot place where they curse? ‘Just do as your told so you don’t go to hell’…. Ohhh Kaaayy….

‘And don’t ask so many questions…you don’t need to know everything’.

And that’s how my journey with religion and stifled silence got started …shot Jesus, you sounded like a douche!

(First published 25th May 2015 @1215 … Hollah!)

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bird on a wire ~ the neville brothers

Bird On A Wire – The Neville Brothers, 1990

From https://meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween.wordpress.com/2015/07/04/old-and-worn-and-waiting-1989/