floating in a sea of seemingly disingenuous shit.
actually fucking real anymore.
floating in a sea of seemingly disingenuous shit.
actually fucking real anymore.
i know who the fuck i am.
maybe i need to look at the reality.
feel the reality.
just watch the reality …
to know what to build next.
Near 24 hours have passed, and I’m happy to report no-ones dead, including myself … duh.
And this is where self realisation and a good dose of reflection are kicking in.
First and foremost, I’m glad I didn’t kick a hole in the wall. Fixing it would cost money, that I don’t have.
I’m a simple gal. Believe it or not, I long for peace and quiet. To be able to lean over the neighbours fence and gossip about the other neighbours bloomers blocking out my sunshine … I long for simple food, simple laughs. I like the idea of vegetable gardens and plum trees … fixing shit myself … 3pm coffee breaks … weekends on the beach … I love the thought of all those things … and I’m trying to attain a whisper of that ‘thing’.
My big fucking moment yesterday, was induced by stress and interrupted by the realisation that that was my Grandparents era. And I fucking miss it! It seemed simple and comforting. Even though it was rife with sexual abuse and underlying passive aggressive goings ons …
I guess I miss them. They are my version of Home. That feeling anyway. But it’s gone. And so’s the era. People aren’t like that anymore. There aren’t ‘gentle-men’ agreements: there isn’t idle harmless gossip over the mailbox: there isn’t biscuits and hot coffee at 3pm, paid for by your boss.
What there is plenty of though, is stress.
It’s fucking everywhere.
And it made it’s way into my safe haven and feng shui.
My partner (yes I said it grrr), is a half full kinda dude. But he too is besotted with the grandparent generation … Nice ideals … but not realistic anymore.
I’m more of a ‘fuck your glass and your water, I’ll make my fucking own’ kinda person.
Yes, we clash.
Usually when theres a third party involved.
Another of our differences: I have no problem with telling someone NO. Whether thats a straight out No, fuck off; or a No Thankyou … it gets said if it needs to be said.
Partner on the other hand is more of a … ‘ohhhh but I said I would so I’d better now … ‘ kinda person. There’s No such thing as a No.
As you can guess theres been some god almighty clashes. It fucks with my boundaries, my sense of safety … my sense of calm and peace and fucking stress-free quietness.
So, he’s discussed an arrangement with our soon-to-not-be landlord. Why? Because thats what he does …
But this discussion led to ‘a gentlemans arrangement’ whereby we would pay more rent for the remainder of our tenancy and be reimbursed the increase, weekly. The idea was that by having it look like we are paying more rent on the paperwork, makes it eligible for them to put the house on the market as a potential ‘rental investment’, at current rental prices.
Seemed simple enough. I smelt something fishy though, because I’m a deficit type bitch like that …
As a side note, the partner had said he’d do some work on the house to bring it up to a sellable standard, in lieu of cash payments, and at slightly better rates than a tradie, of course.
So we get the paperwork from the rental agency.
What it says, in flamboyant technical language, is we have agreed to a rent increase and until we finish doing work on the house, will be reimbursed up to said amount, until such and such a date.
I balked immediately, seeing nothing but big holes in this arrangement.
And all I said to the partner was: How is this beneficial to Us?
And the rest turned into a shitfest.
“Why you gotta get all ‘that way'” (meaning, why you gotta get all man hating, pakeha hating and protesty).
I balked again.
In my opinion, the landlord, who seems like a nice enough dude, has re-written himself a good deal. Increased rent before selling and free work to his house.
In my opinion also – this is a deal only white priviledge would even have the audacity to ‘offer’ after agreeing verbally to something completely different.
And also in my mother fucking opinion – it’s the type of deal only a down trodden maori slave would consider as being a good deal!
And the angst that comes from being shown otherwise is what is causing the stress. Because like I said, partner does not say No.
I even offered to do it for him.
He’s still in justification mode and is having a hard time getting his mermaid headspace around the fact that this dude is trying to fuck him up the ass.
It’s a harsh realisation, I know.
But it’s fact.
I don’t have any ill feeling toward the landlord. We have an arrangement with him that works for us at the moment. Changing that, is his job. Not changing it, is ours. Simple.
But to dress it up as anything other than what it is; or to try and shame me into believing that I have a ‘negativity’ issue is bullshit.
And it’s bullshit I almost fell for.
As a reeled around yesterday trying hard not to put my fist through anything, I could hear the ghosts of years gone by … ‘you don’t know what your doing’, ‘your not a good mother’, ‘you just need to shut up and listen’, ‘ you need to obey …’ and the list went on …
Once I’d let them have their say and I found somewhat of a centre again … I could dismiss them as the bullshit they were then, but I couldn’t do anything about it … Now I can.
I’m not any of those things that were said about me; to me, against me. It is not my problem if ‘they’ don’t get me and it’s not a discussion I need to have to try and persuade them to see me differently.
Really, they can all just jog on.
If, however, I choose to stay with my partner, am I going to let him put me in an inferior position to make himself comfortable? And if the answer is No, how do I calmly combat that … cos holes in walls is way too stressful now-days.
And thats where I’m at.
I’m trying to figure out how to do the next bit.
When I was particularly depleted, aka sick as fuck … there were long portions of time, where I thought I might never ‘get up’ again. But even in those times, I was looking for a way to manage my shizz whilst flat on my face. And while I’m not a lover of that ‘down but not out’ shit, this is my version of that.
The way I see it, we are all dealing with shit, and thats usually made harder by the train of thought, or pressure, put on Us to ‘get better’, ‘be better’ … To get ‘Normal’, again. I’ve certainly had my fair share of this thinking process … and still struggle with it occasionally.
But by in large, my struggle is more with the practicalities of how to re-shape my world so I can manage it. Not re-shape it to fit what someone else thinks it, or I, should look like.
And throughout all of that, I’m finding Me.
This years biggest struggle, although there has been a few, has been with my father. Theres many a post on Me trying to understand, process, analyze, let go, summarise and respond to the relationship that has and hasn’t been, between us.
Strangely and quite poetically I suppose, the last of my ‘letting go’ process with him, came out within my art. My art actually helped Me fill in the missing pieces and unfold a few other bits and pieces and let go of the last of it.
Which is why I ended up with 13 pieces for the exhibition. It’s also why the exhibition itself, became so important for Me to attend. It’s also why I posted the names and meanings of each piece over the last month. It’s also why I refer to it all again here.
I discovered, that my persistance for self honesty and transparency … a light soul pretty much … is part of what drives Me. It’s not money, or status, or importance, or intelligence …. or any of those surface bullshit things …
It’s living ‘light’.
I don’t do well with a heavy soul … and mine is somewhat naturally heavy and leans to the things that are heavier. But can be made even heavier whenever ‘unreal’ bullshit is taken on.
well here’s a little ramble that’s been digesting in my psyche for the past 48 hours or so … and i think it probably, actuals, started after my ‘discussion’ (tentatively termed) with my father …
I write as I speak … I speak as I write.
the dots in between my written words, pretty much represent the pauses I take when I’m talking
duly noted …
it would seem (as i have pondered many times) that this is not the ‘norm’ (once again, very tentative term).
or polite societal norm’, anyways.
thank fuck i don’t do polite societal norms, i say to myself, and anyone thats left to hear me …
but … (theres always a but … or butt ;) )
the ‘norm’ gets uncomfortable …
who cares right?
apparently e-very – one, except Me.
There are rules of engagement, apparently, in polite society. They are, loosely … You ask a question, I answer, followed by, Me asking a question and You answering. In there somewhere there’ll be a few opinions and niceties … but generally (whilst avoiding politics, sex and religion) we discuss and exchange pleasantries. Those pleasantries don’t include ‘vulgar’ language or expressive references pertaining to the forbidden trio.
Now, I can’t do this.
Not won’t, but Can’t.
It isn’t in my construction.
And the more I’ve gotten to know Me, and the more I’ve let shit go … the more offensive, it would appear, I am becoming.
I write as I speak … I speak as I write.
I don’t have an – ‘other’ persona. I am what I am. Shitty when shitty. Lippy when lippy. Calm and peaceful when calm and peaceful.
Is that due to shit happening? Possibly.
But who really cares?
Do THEY need an explanation for the reasons I am what I am?
……. according to the partner, ……
previously (before being assaulted with my theories and getting abit of insight into the minutiae of who I am), he ignorantly stated that I should ‘forget about it’, ‘go with the flow’, ‘suck it up’.
And the response he got (well, has gotten for many years) is: “remember that guy that gave your father a hiding? how about forgetting that ay?” … No? …
“whose flow? your flow? why can’t you go with My flow?” … No? …
“suck it up??? Suck It Up? Really … you try juggling a pair of rotten nuts in your mouth when you don’t even know how to tie your shoe laces yet … and then you can have an opinion on whether I should ‘suck it up’ or not … until then … get fucked”. Got it? Got it!
Yeah … so he doesn’t go to those places anymore … he thinks a little more before he opens his trap to respond.
when this latest fuckery comes up, the partner, quite thoughtfully and wisely, I might add … says …
… “you know what dear … its a rare thing to find someone that says and does the same thing … that doesn’t do one thing at home and then change when they leave the house”
… duly noted dude.
So why am I surprised when a fucker backs up when I speak to them … not looking at my face, but my highly decorative, tattooed arm?
Why am I surprised that I get a different response if I put all the letters from my credentials after my name when I sign off? Or if I open a conversation with … ‘When I was studying for my undergraduate degree …. ‘, the person I am conversing with straightens up and looks me in the eye?
Why am I surprised when I drop a few social science-y psychological-ised terms on someones ass, their pie hole stops flapping and they change the conversation to something more ‘weather related’?
Today, …. its utter bullshit.
And I’ve had a cunt sized gutts full of it.
Yes see … if I espouse an opinion, it is mine. Not because of my quals or because I can read a fucking thesaurus … but in spite of them!
How is ‘not using vulgar language’ productive?
Pretentious bullshit gives me hives, cramps, thrush and a headache.
And I’ll be fucked if I’ll do it.
Especially, Not, my Father.
… …. … … .and there it is … … …… … …. …
Part 1 decision, is made! Cunt …
you’re faking it.
I think all anyone ever really wants, is to be seen. You can dress that up as you please. It all amounts to being seen…Really seen. With all of our senses. Not to have to explain or reason or find or search. Just to see. You can see words, sounds, movement. You can see a twitch of the hand, a sniff or a shake. You can see a hum or a teeth grind, and breath or a rattle. You can see lonely, afraid, tortured. You can see excitement, happy, thoughtful. You can see with your eyes shut.
I see you.