fuck the water blaster

Renovation twat is at it again. Arggh. This time he’s waster blasting …

  • just so you know
  • its the noise
  • the constant noise that doesn’t fucken let up
  • it’s loud
  • it’s uncomfortable
  • why?
  • because it grates my nerves
  • because i can’t hear whats happening
  • for those with ‘spacial’, peripheral and hardwired reactory issues
  • like pts(d)
  • hearing is everything
  • and when you can’t hear shit over a fucken water blaster
  • it messes with the feng shui
  • thinking about cutting his power outlet
  • or maybe a slug gun pellet to the water blaster itself
  • unfortunately, he’d still come back … tomorrow
  • so
  • instead
  • head phones and music that’ll stifle that noise out
  • lock my doors
  • cleaning?
  • nah, bit of extra blogging i feel

Fuck water blasters and water blasting cunts …

Video

mauri of me #20 ~ dance

I have never been a lover of exercise. And before all the exercise dieting buffs give Me a lecture on the benefits of those 2 things, let Me tell yah why I don’t like them … as only I can πŸ˜‰

a. I have a theory that both of these things, exercise and dieting, are a ploy to make money. Back in the day, my ancestors hunted, gathered, chopped down trees, gardened etc. They didn’t have time for Pilates or Jogging. This tells Me:

  • We now do less ‘activity’.
  • Our version of ‘productive’ has changed.

Dieting was also non-existent. We ate what we had; what we had worked hard to grow and hunt. And our rates of heart disease and diabetes were … Nil.

Now We expend our energies on making money to go to the shop to buy crap food to kill whilst cooking, thus depleting its nutritional value, so we can fill up and sit on our asses until Pilates class.

These 2 things put profits into someone elses pocket and benefit Me, How?

b. I don’t run (aka exercise). I don’t enjoy it. I don’t like it. It doesn’t make sense to me. I run to, or from something. Like, to – the toilet. And, from – the police. Thats it.

c. I don’t diet (aka reduce carbs etc). I don’t enjoy it. I don’t like it. Why take away good food (whole foods, organics) and replace them with shit food? I don’t do nuts and legumes. I do do whole milk, fresh coffee beans, greens from my garden, organic meat, fresh fruit. Oh, and M&Ms πŸ˜‰

d. Over exertion speeds up my heart rate which feels just like a good old panic attack. Why do that?

However …

I have always been a lover of dance.

Some would say thats exercise … and sure, you can categorise it as such. But its also a thing of joy and beauty.

My Nan was a dancer. I’m pretty sure I’ve written a post about her love for dance before, but I’m to lazy to find it at the moment πŸ˜‰ She saw the love for dance and music in Me, when I was little. When I was about 6 or 7, she paid for Ballet lessons for Me; right up until I was 14 or 15 I think, when I got pregnant with my first child.

The thing with dance … as most cultures will attest too … there is something extremely liberating and cathartic and freeing and expression-ful (pretty sure thats not a word, but oh well lol), about it.

After I got pregnant, my dancing stopped. I went back to it in my 20s and then found I was pregnant with my second girl and was possibly going to miscarry … so the dancing stopped again.

When I left my husband, I wanted to go back to classes and eventually either apply to the Ballet School or teach. Instead, after quite a few ‘hiccups’, I had a nervous breakdown instead ;).

So instead of dance school, I got drunk and danced my ass off every night, 7 nights a week. I didn’t realise it then, but I needed to dance. And it was probably my saviour.

When I sobered up and turned into an anxiety ridden pts(d) freak, my dancing stopped, again.

That was just over 10 years ago.

I’ve been missing it for about the last 3 years, but haven’t had the energy, physically, but mainly, mentally, to go back to it.

So, it occurs to Me the other day, that the urge I have for it is returning … hard. And instead of reasoning out the hows and whys and why can’ts and so forths … I took a leaf from the melenials hand book (because they can do anything, cos no-one has told them they can’t!) … and googled it and then YouTubed it.

I typed in what I liked in the way of dance … what I wanted etc. And I came up with ‘Drag Queens Burlesque’. LOL. Now I’m not anti that At All … but is that available here in hicksville? Nope.

But it got Me thinking.

I love what Drag Queens do. I love their exuberance; their passion; the joy they seem to exude and ooze. I guess I could start my own Drag Queen thing, but as a straight brown girl just trying to find a niche? πŸ˜‰

Ok, so back to the googling.

And then I struck upon Yanis Marshall.

Now I’m a little late to that party … obviously.

But Oh My Fuck … This filled Me with so much happiness and excitement; and I found my desire to dance again. Not just a whimsical wanting … but a definite … Must Do.

I’ve posted this dude before, but heres another sample:

His links are on his videos, so check them out if you’re interested.

But any who … As I was watching … I realised … I have this training … and I have this ability … and I have the passion for dance …

I am slightly unfit … Ok, really unfit lol … which took Me back to the ‘exercise’ question/theory. Would I exercise to get fit enough to be able to do this?

Nope.

Then I watched this:

And I remembered just how hard it is to be a dancer … but how beautiful it is … and that when you love something that much … its not hard, its not ‘exercise’, its not work … but its all of those things … its Dance πŸ™‚

So, this is Me πŸ™‚

I’m taking on the Dance part of Me again.

And guess what … strangely enough … I am super fucking excited πŸ˜‰

Yes, I may break a few things … and yes, I probably will have more than a few panic attacks as I figure out whats over exertion and whats pts fucking d; and Yes, I will be sore as fuck, for a very long while …

But I don’t give a fuck.

I love dance … and I’m tired of waiting to ‘be alright’.

I remember my Nan saying she missed dancing … and even when she was in her 80s she would still waltz around the lounge room when she was ‘in the mood’. I wanna do that … but in heels lol … No seriously … I want to still be dancing right up until I croak … I’ve taken a long enough break I think πŸ˜‰

thank you rain gods

Apparently, even productive renovating

members of society

don’t like the Rain.

The Renovation twat has laid down his

grinder,

and has gone home.

Thank fuck for that!

Me’s movie time

Some people do comfort food … I do comfort movies. And I have a whole list of ‘go-tos’ depending on what I need ‘comfort’ for.

Today is a ‘The Last Witch Hunter’ day, which will be followed closely by ‘Guardians of The Galaxy’. Different ends of the spectrum? Yes; thats Me πŸ™‚

Btw … the Renovation twats are at it again … just because it’s the weekend and thats what productive members of society do on their weekends … Renovate grrr. This time he is ‘grinding’ (with a grinder fyi) off the eaves of the Garage.

Why???

Because he’s to fricken lazy to conventionally remove it.

Any other time, I would’ve thought this was a genius idea … but the noise is messing with my feng shui … bastard.

Anywho … ‘The Last Witch Hunter’ … I wanna know why, in the opening scene, when they go into the tree cave to find the ‘witch’ … when the dude grabs his hammery thing out of the skeleton thingy (oh I’m so good at describing shit lol) … all those muscle bound witch hunter dudes, in unison, say … “Oh … Magic”.

I’m wondering … what was it they were expecting??

Image

I did it … I did it …

Feeling bit like Dora the bloody Explorer … except for the ‘We’ did it part, is ‘I’ did it!

Here goes … bullet points again, cos I’m tired, but ecstatic, but tired – and bullet points just work beautifully for Me πŸ˜‰

  • I decided I’d go to my appointment with the psychologist today.
  • I decided I’d do the blood test.
  • I was ready, with all my bits and pieces.
  • I got up early.
  • Got my shit together early.
  • Actually enjoyed that process.
  • I sat in the front seat πŸ˜‰
  • We got to town early.
  • We went through who knows how many sets of lights.
  • I didn’t freak out!
  • I gathered all necessary bits to deal with blood taking.
  • I made sure I pee’d before blood being drawn!
  • Live and learn.
  • I asked for the small needle.
  • I told the nurse I was nervous.
  • I requested the partner come in with Me.
  • I told him to be quiet.
  • He wasn’t being helpful.
  • He looked hurt.
  • But he survived.
  • And I survived!

post jab!

  • That sorted.
  • I filled up the anxiety and oozy feeling with these:

sweet crunchy nectar of the gods!

  • We made our way to my daughters job.
  • I was excited πŸ™‚
  • The traffic lights freaked Me once …
  • And I breathed!
  • And I survived.
  • At the cafe, it was way more packed than expected.
  • I had a momentary wave of …. F U C K, and then I spotted my girl πŸ™‚

my beautiful girl ❀

  • And all was alright with the world πŸ™‚
  • I was so proud of her.
  • And proud of Me for being there.
  • Some parents want their kids to be lawyers or doctors or politicians … but I want my kids to follow their dreams and be happy in their worlds.
  • See that smile?
  • I had a Mummy moment and almost cried πŸ˜‰
  • She made Me the best coffee Ever!

best caffe mocha Ever πŸ˜‰

  • We stayed for over an hour … Yuss!!
  • I so miss going to cafes!
  • I even talked to a stranger!
  • There was a surprise ‘encounter’ with the MIL!
  • A wave of anxiety.
  • Then back to myself.
  • She was her usual.
  • She took offence to most of what I said.
  • I didn’t care πŸ™‚
  • I continued to enjoy my coffee!! Yuss!
  • Then it was on to the psychologist.
  • I had my list.
  • We went through my list.
  • I can go see her again regularly.
  • We’ll do more EMDR.
  • And try a few other nifty things she has at her disposal re driving and lessening anxiety.
  • I decided to wait till after the next assessment to start this.
  • She’s good with that.
  • The partner arrived late to pick Me up.
  • This would usually freak my shit out.
  • I played my music and sang instead πŸ™‚
  • He came.
  • And I was alright!
  • I survived.
  • He survived!

we survived πŸ˜‰

  • On to picking up the airport twat.
  • I had ear muffs packed.
  • I didn’t need them!
  • She was offended that I didn’t want to sit in the front seat with her in the car.
  • She was offended that I wouldn’t tell her why.
  • I didn’t care πŸ™‚
  • And I was alright!
  • And so was She!
  • And so was the partner πŸ˜‰
  • And we left … we went through multiple traffic lights, with multiple stops and multiple noises.
  • And guess what?
  • Yes … I survived!!
  • And I actually enjoyed most of it!
  • And I am so fucking proud of Myself right now!!

reality check of sorts

After this mornings panic fuck, it took most of the day to recover … thanks to the cunts next door who are still renovating, the vibrating of the house meant that the ‘calming’ process was made harder … but I shouldn’t blame them I suppose … but who cares right? They’ll never know … so I’ll blame them πŸ˜‰

So its 1230 and I’m fucked. And now I’ve got some more decisions to make .. and because I can’t quite get a coherent thought together, I’m gonna bullet point this bitch – so I can get it all out and hopefully make some sense of it all …

And We can call it a poem – just so it seems a little flasher than what it really is …

Righteo.

  • I didn’t take a sedative today.
  • I lived through the panic.
  • I survived the phone call.
  • I didn’t suffocate whilst dripping snot and tears.
  • Bonus.
  • I’m on 1/4 antihistamine now.
  • I’m itchy as a mofo.
  • I know it’ll pass.
  • I’ve got an appointment with the psychologist on Wednesday.
  • Turns out the partner is supposed to take some twat to the airport.
  • It’ll work out he reckons.
  • I don’t do ‘it’ll work out’ as an outcome.
  • Wednesday is payday.
  • Paydays are fucked days.
  • The day before payday is a fucked day.
  • Oh, its not My payday.
  • I feel vulnerable.
  • I feel like a child.
  • I feel like I’m at the whim of someone elses emotions.
  • And I don’t like it.
  • Do I cancel the appointment.
  • Post pone the appointment maybe.
  • Is that weak.
  • Or smart.
  • Cos I know how that day is gonna pan out.
  • And it won’t be pretty.
  • For Me.
  • Unless of course I take a sedative.
  • And then I aint gonna remember much of the day anyway.
  • If I go, I need to get blood taken as well.
  • I wanted it to be a calm day.
  • Had made time to have coffee with my daughter.
  • She’s a newly trained barista.
  • Yum.
  • Then my appointment.
  • Then home.
  • Whilst ignoring the partners mood.
  • I can do that.
  • But new shit thrown in there.
  • Ahhhh.
  • The airport twat would come home with us first.
  • Which means I’d hear her talking for 40 minutes.
  • Not sure that I can do that.
  • Well I can.
  • But it wouldn’t be pretty.
  • For her. Or the partner.
  • I don’t care about that really.
  • So maybe thats the option.
  • Roll with the cluster fuck.
  • Drop a sedative or 2 if need be.
  • Make sure I have a humungous coffee.
  • Oh, and ear muffs.

it goes like this …

The day started off pretty good … ‘normal’, for Me.

I got my shizz ready to go to the shop … yes, it’s still a struggle, but I’m trying …

I get outside and half way down the road and my phone rings. The phone call I’ve been waiting for from the ACC cunts is coming through. Now? Of course Now … Why? Because I’m Me, that’s Why.

Decision time: To take the call whilst trying to walk to the shop; trying to maintain my shizz – the lights, the noises … trying to calm my freaking farm … Choosing to take the call that I’ve been waiting waiting waiting for … OR

Wait … till god knows when, for them to ring back.

Decision made to take the phone call.

Arrgh. And she spirals down from there.

Nearly at the shop and trying to listen to this woman belt on about the next ‘assessment’ process, whilst she keeps calling me ‘sweetie’ and ‘love’ … both condescending ‘you poor mentally injured soul’ terms of reference that peeps love to pull out so they seem all sympathetic and understanding and shit … and the inevitable happens …

Panic Attack.

Do I sit down on the curb side and breathe deep or fluster fuck myself all the way home and deep breath. Option 2 taken and I barely made it in the door.

ACC twat rounded off her conversation and all I gleaned from it was:

‘The next available appointment is around the end of August’ and ‘No amount of money is ever going to compensate what you have been through’ … which is code for; ‘We are going to pay you sweet fuck all because to Us, you really are nothing but a number who we are not really wanting to pay out anything for – so brace yo’self … for sweet fuck all’.

Oh My Fuck.

So, inside my door, the inevitable melt down happened. Tears and snot and trying to catch my breath and getting my hands over my ears …

And the partner goes:

‘You alright’

Not a question Β so much as a statement; intended to get the tears to stop, because they make him most uncomfortable … oh and he has a cold sore which is way way more intense than anything I’m experiencing Pfft …

So as the meltdown continues and I’m trying to wrap my funky little head round myself … it occurs to Me …

I am the strongest person I know.

And like everything else, I’ll deal with this bitch just as heartily as I do everything else. It may not be an elegant process or outcome … but it’ll be a Me outcome.

Oossh and double Oossh,Β Me.

Link

I Am Not Your Negro

Tonight I watchedΒ “I Am Not You Negro”.

And what is there to say?

‘Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.’

James Baldwin

 

father and ACC

So, do you want the good news or the bad news first …

…. dunno why we say that … theres just news really, neither good nor bad … any who …

So?

Ok, bad it is …

Apparently; according to a rather untimely snail mail letter today, from the almighty ACC … I am up for yet another assessment.

Why you ask?

Well, apparently, again, the last assessment was a pre-assessment assessment. Didn’t know they existed did yah … well, apparently, they do!

…. but do you realise how long it took Me to get ready for the last assessment which y’all said was all I needed to do … and do you realise how long it took to get over the last assessment which y’all said was I all I needed to do?

Thats right … fucking ages!

But since I’ve been waiting, like, 5 or so years for that pre-assessment assessment and then another 6 months for those results … only to be told the assessment that I thought was what i was waiting for all this time is actually only the pre-assessment assessment and that assessment is pending … I could be in for another 5 year wait???

No. Of course not … *she says ultra sarcastically so she neither cries or laughs hysterically at the absurdity of the whole fucking thing … cos all this time, she’s still the one sitting on a cool $35 smack-a-roos a week … yes, thats right … the sum total of … *

Ahhhhhh Β  Β  …. deep breaths …. deep breaths …

So, onto the good news …

Sure thing …

I spoke with my father.

He apologised … for not listening; for being a shit father; for not ever ever being around; for going on about shit I don’t give a fuck about; for not listening; for not getting to know Me; for not visiting; for not ever ringing; for not listening; …. for barging his way into my life … full of grief and anxiety … and expecting Me to be my sisters replacement … for taking Me for granted … oh … and for not listening!

He finally told Me about his life … his actual life … he answered my questions … and gave Me real answers. He talked about my sister … who she was to him … what she was like … as a person … as a mother. He finally talked about his regrets and his hopes … his failures and his wins … the real ones.

And he finally, finally, asked Me about Me.

So, there we have it … the ups and the downs … the good and the bad … for today.

Now I can sleep … hopefully … because as much as I thought I had kicked insomnias ass … I haven’t been to sleep before 2.30am and slept more than a few hours, for a couple weeks now … and I’m exhausted.

I’ll be fucked if I know how I survived on 3-4 hours sleep for the past 35+ years … oh, thats right … I didn’t.

cull-time

So after a bitch of day yesterday, and realising that I need to flip that script and get a handle on my shizz – aka re-define my world, as only I can πŸ˜‰ … it only seemed fitting to do a bit of a cull.

Facebook is done. I am now following a grand total of 10 lol.

Twitter was next. 150 out and 150ish left … beautiful Art and amazing wordsmiths now fill that feed.

Instagram was simple. And hats off to the millennial’s … that shits pretty dam good.

Pinterest will have to wait, cos that is super overloaded.

And now onto this forum.

Now, please don’t take offence … but if you’re a business or selling some shit that I don’t need … or if you’re just way sadder and a little more fucked up than Me right now … or, unfortunately, I can’t handle the be-dazzlement of your ‘theme’ – then this is where we will part company.

I dig that you’re doing You … but I can’t at the moment.

Keep being Fabulous and I’ll catch yah on the flip side πŸ™‚

Peace Out.