On my first shift, I was called out to collect a body. Then I assisted in the embalming of this very small, very old lady.
I said something about being thrown in the deep end in last post.
Nothing is quite as deep as the embalming of a human body.
I don't think I was expecting it so soon. I don't think I had really thought about it at all.
It has been a few weeks since it happened. Whilst I feel like I should've come home and written it down as it was fresh in my mind, it was such a full-on experience I needed time to decompress.
Embalming is grim, to say the very least.
Whilst the mortician (not a word used here at all, but I'm sure we can all agree it's super gangster and way cooler than just "embalmer", so...my blog, my word choices) treats the body with respect, it is not a gentle, delicate process.
This woman was essentially skin and bones, but she was still heavy and difficult to handle.
From here I'm going to explain the embalming process in as much detail as I can remember, I want to reiterate, this. is. grim. You can't unlearn what I am about to tell you. I obviously don't know everything, so don't take all my word as gospel, this is just what I did and observed.
The embalming starts with washing the body, soap and warm water.
Rigor mortis is relieved by moving and loosening the joints and massaging the limbs.
This is something that I had previously felt confusion and concern about after my second call out where the woman displayed rigor mortis. I wondered how you made it go away and how you could do it without (this is an actual thought I had that I didn't click on to until I was witnessing it being done) 'hurting" the body.
Spoiler alert: you can't hurt a dead body.
Next, the eyes are closed. This is done using eye caps. Eye caps are like large plastic contact lenses... With little spikes on them. Fairly self-explanatory how those work.
Then the jaw is sewn shut. A suture string is threaded through the lower jaw below the gums, up and through the gums of the top front teeth, into the right or left nostril, through the septum, into the other nostril, and back down into the mouth. Then the two ends of the suture string are tied together.
Then the arterial embalming is done. An incision is made in the neck, then an incision is made in the carotid artery and vein. The embalming fluid is pumped in via the artery, the blood is flushed out via the vein. After the embalming fluid has started making its way through the body the skin starts to look...not "natural".. .but very bright and much less dead.
Next is the cavity embalming. This is the super grim part. An incision is made in the belly and a tool called a trocar is used to puncture the organs to allow for gases and fluids to be released. Essentially it's stabbing a big metal stick all through the organs. It makes a very strange crunching noise that I can still hear...
Through some of this process, the bowels were purging. That's probably the most unpleasant part of it all.
Once the organs have been punctured the abdomen is filled with a more potent embalming fluid.
Once all of the body fluids have been purged and the embalming fluids have been pumped, the incisions are closed. A final wash is done. The body is dried, dressed, and placed in the casket.
Unfortunately, I did not get to flex my makeup artistry skills as this lovely lady was not one for cosmetics.
After all was done, I was exhausted.
I'll be honest, I didn't sleep that well that night.
It was a VERY full on experience.
It's definitely something I need to be exposed to more to get used to.
Just writing that out took the wind out of my sails.
I have to say though, I saw the lady again later that day, in her outfit and her cosy casket. She looked lovely. Peaceful. It was nice seeing her that way.
Monday, November 26, 2018
Better work stories
For the last 2 nights, I have spent time with dead bodies.
A few weeks ago I decided I wanted better work stories.
I currently work in an office. I do invoices. I write emails. I reconcile credit cards.
My recent highlight at work was that I did a stocktake and all the stock was correct and I didn't need to make adjustments.
I wanted better work stories.
So to fast forward through a strange few weeks. But I now have a part-time position as a funeral directors assistant.
I don't know how I managed to talk my way into this, or how it happened so quickly. Or even why I chose this industry.
But here we are.
In the last 48ish hours I have been on call after hours.
I have met my first 2 ...corpses? Bodies? I guess I will work out the terminology as I go...
I have to be honest, corpses are very confronting.
I am "lucky" enough that my first encounters have been minimally "offensive" in that there hasn't been trauma or emergency situations.
My first was a middle-aged gentleman who passed away in the bathroom of a local pub.
The second was an elderly lady who passed away at home in her bathroom.
(bathroom theme? Cool)
The gentleman had partially open eyes and I found it confronting to look him in the face, I ensured his face was covered with any moving of him I had to do.
Rigor Mortis had set in on the elderly woman so her hand was sticking up at an awkward angle. Fortunately for my unseasoned self, her eyes were closed. I still found her face confronting, but slightly less so.
Doing the on-call work is likely to be the least strenuous part in this industry. We have a police contract and are working on behalf of the coroner during those hours, so technically we are not representing or doing the work of the funeral home at those times.
Essentially the entire job is, pick up the deceased, take them to the mortuary, book them, put them into the fridge. There's no preparation or preservation. The body is in the hands of the coroner.
Despite only being on my second run with the elderly lady, my mentor stood back and let me do the majority (if not all) of the job by myself.
What better way to learn to swim than to be thrown into the deep end, I guess.
It wasn't difficult per se, but my penchant for self-doubt is always strong.
Despite my anxieties, I managed to complete the whole process myself under my mentor's supervision.
I had an interesting weekend on call, but I'm going to write about that in its own post.
The final job I had of the week was an elderly Samoan gentleman.
There were many family members present at this mans home. The family were kind and helpful. There were strong grandsons that lifted and moved his body with ease.
One aspect that I truly had great respect for, was that the family let me know they had washed him and changed him into clean clothes.
I think a lot of people are scared of not just death itself, but the dead. For completely unexplainable reasons. What threat could a dead person have to you? Have you been watching too many horror movies maybe? Logically we all know nothing is going to "happen". They are dead, there is nothing more they can do. Unless they died of infectious disease, there is no medical risk of being near or touching a dead person.
So it was truly beautiful that this family had been involved once their loved one had passed. They cared for him as they had in life. It was a comforting and pleasant experience for my last job of the shift.
One thing I am quickly learning is that my stiletto nails are deeply impractical for this job.
More specifically it is any time I have to grab the sheet the body is in as a makeshift handle.
Come next week we will be saying goodbye to my much-adored claws.
Maybe slightly irrelevant to anyone reading, but I suppose now is a good time to explain the purpose of this blog.
I want to remember my experiences.
I have a deeply shocking memory and I feel that I will be grateful for a record of this journey in later years.
I want to be able to reflect and hopefully, I will be able to come back and see a progression of skills.
This post has been sitting here unposted for about 4 weeks now. So clearly this venture is going great.
A few weeks ago I decided I wanted better work stories.
I currently work in an office. I do invoices. I write emails. I reconcile credit cards.
My recent highlight at work was that I did a stocktake and all the stock was correct and I didn't need to make adjustments.
I wanted better work stories.
So to fast forward through a strange few weeks. But I now have a part-time position as a funeral directors assistant.
I don't know how I managed to talk my way into this, or how it happened so quickly. Or even why I chose this industry.
But here we are.
In the last 48ish hours I have been on call after hours.
I have met my first 2 ...corpses? Bodies? I guess I will work out the terminology as I go...
I have to be honest, corpses are very confronting.
I am "lucky" enough that my first encounters have been minimally "offensive" in that there hasn't been trauma or emergency situations.
My first was a middle-aged gentleman who passed away in the bathroom of a local pub.
The second was an elderly lady who passed away at home in her bathroom.
(bathroom theme? Cool)
The gentleman had partially open eyes and I found it confronting to look him in the face, I ensured his face was covered with any moving of him I had to do.
Rigor Mortis had set in on the elderly woman so her hand was sticking up at an awkward angle. Fortunately for my unseasoned self, her eyes were closed. I still found her face confronting, but slightly less so.
Doing the on-call work is likely to be the least strenuous part in this industry. We have a police contract and are working on behalf of the coroner during those hours, so technically we are not representing or doing the work of the funeral home at those times.
Essentially the entire job is, pick up the deceased, take them to the mortuary, book them, put them into the fridge. There's no preparation or preservation. The body is in the hands of the coroner.
Despite only being on my second run with the elderly lady, my mentor stood back and let me do the majority (if not all) of the job by myself.
What better way to learn to swim than to be thrown into the deep end, I guess.
It wasn't difficult per se, but my penchant for self-doubt is always strong.
Despite my anxieties, I managed to complete the whole process myself under my mentor's supervision.
I had an interesting weekend on call, but I'm going to write about that in its own post.
The final job I had of the week was an elderly Samoan gentleman.
There were many family members present at this mans home. The family were kind and helpful. There were strong grandsons that lifted and moved his body with ease.
One aspect that I truly had great respect for, was that the family let me know they had washed him and changed him into clean clothes.
I think a lot of people are scared of not just death itself, but the dead. For completely unexplainable reasons. What threat could a dead person have to you? Have you been watching too many horror movies maybe? Logically we all know nothing is going to "happen". They are dead, there is nothing more they can do. Unless they died of infectious disease, there is no medical risk of being near or touching a dead person.
So it was truly beautiful that this family had been involved once their loved one had passed. They cared for him as they had in life. It was a comforting and pleasant experience for my last job of the shift.
One thing I am quickly learning is that my stiletto nails are deeply impractical for this job.
More specifically it is any time I have to grab the sheet the body is in as a makeshift handle.
Come next week we will be saying goodbye to my much-adored claws.
Maybe slightly irrelevant to anyone reading, but I suppose now is a good time to explain the purpose of this blog.
I want to remember my experiences.
I have a deeply shocking memory and I feel that I will be grateful for a record of this journey in later years.
I want to be able to reflect and hopefully, I will be able to come back and see a progression of skills.
This post has been sitting here unposted for about 4 weeks now. So clearly this venture is going great.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
The Future Freaks Me Out
I've learnt many lessons in my life.
A relevant statement considering the title of this blog.
I've learnt lessons from other people's mistakes.
I've learnt lessons from negative outcomes.
From positive outcomes.
From seeing the results and being pleased by them or being brutally disappointed by them.
I've learnt that getting a fucken perm will not result in "loose, soft waves" but in an actual fucken perm. Think of a perm. That's what a perm is. NOTHING ELSE.
Don't ever let that apprentice hairdresser tell you any different.
A lesson that I am on the cusp of learning, what happens when you invest money, time, blood, sweat, and tears into something, and then consider that you maybe don't even want it...
If we can stop being all elusive about this for one moment and have some real talk.
Approximately 2 years ago, I applied to a degree in midwifery after completing a foundation course to gain the relevant academic credentials.
I think the last blog I posted was the raw emotion and absolute devastation of not being accepted into said degree.
So I had to find a plan B.
I HAD to.
I didn't think, ok well I can move on, I can get a job, I can see where I end up, maybe I can come back to midwifery and try again.
I decided I needed to do something with this little Certificate in Health Science (level 4).
So I went on the hunt. I trawled through the academic options of what I could study next. What I could become. Who I could be. How I could finish this sentence:
Hi, I'm Kealey, I'm a....
There were only so many options. I knew I didn't want to be a nurse. I didn't want to be a phlebotomist. I didn't want to be a paramedic. I didn't want to be an occupational therapist, whatever the fuck that it. I didn't want to do massage therapy. I wanted to be a midwife.
But they didn't want me...
So back to the top of the list I go
I went through the course lists over and over again. Hoping I'd missed something, that maybe upon re-reading, something else would jump out at me.
People made all the suggestions to me.
Be this be that you'd be AMAZING at this.
I appreciated the input, but aside from midwifery, I couldn't see anything else I really wanted to do.
Wait. Hang on.
Did you see it.
You saw it didn't you.
Go back.
That line there...
I didn't want to be a paramedic.
So how is it I've ended up $22,000 in debt and 6 months into a paramedic degree?
Well you saw what I said. I had to BE someone. Apparently just being wasn't enough.
So I decided paramedics could work.
Would have to work.
Because I have to be someone.
I've heard myself say some strange things out loud over these last few years.
"I have to do this, I have to do something, what else am I going to do?"
"I was a makeup artist before this, but being a makeup artist doesn't save the world"
I even wrote in my paramedic application in the section where it asked why I want to do the degree:
"I want to become a valuable member of society and be of use to my community"
Now ain't that some self deprecating bullshit right there.
Can you imagine someone coming up to you and telling you that your job isn't saving the world? That you need to work on becoming a valuable member of society because your current situation isn't making you of use to your community?
That's no way to talk to someone.
Unless you are going about making people sad and ruining everyone's good time, then generally speaking, you are doing just fine as you are, being you.
At this exact moment in time, I don't know who I am, how I am "being", what I am doing, where I am going. I am in between a rock and a hard place. I am in purgatory. I feel little passion for what I am doing, but I feel much fear and uncertainty about moving on. Holding on to desperate hope that it could get better. But the reality being it is only going to get harder...
This isn't a dramatic bid farewell to my education.
I'm not quitting.
Yet.
Ultimately I'm having a fucken bad day and it's making me question a lot of my current situation, so I thought I'd write it down.
My thoughts could be different tomorrow.
I just wanted to put it out there, that sometimes we quit. Or at least we are very seriously considering it.
This isn't going to be about how you should keep on truckin', or when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
There are no inspirational quotes, no heart felt speeches.
I think I've ended a lot of my blogs like that, negative blooming into positive, seeing the brightside, taking the lesson and learning from it.
This isn't asking for help, or inspiration, or a motivation youtube video.
This is the truth.
This is my pending decision.
This is my current unlearned lesson.
A relevant statement considering the title of this blog.
I've learnt lessons from other people's mistakes.
I've learnt lessons from negative outcomes.
From positive outcomes.
From seeing the results and being pleased by them or being brutally disappointed by them.
I've learnt that getting a fucken perm will not result in "loose, soft waves" but in an actual fucken perm. Think of a perm. That's what a perm is. NOTHING ELSE.
Don't ever let that apprentice hairdresser tell you any different.
A lesson that I am on the cusp of learning, what happens when you invest money, time, blood, sweat, and tears into something, and then consider that you maybe don't even want it...
If we can stop being all elusive about this for one moment and have some real talk.
Approximately 2 years ago, I applied to a degree in midwifery after completing a foundation course to gain the relevant academic credentials.
I think the last blog I posted was the raw emotion and absolute devastation of not being accepted into said degree.
So I had to find a plan B.
I HAD to.
I didn't think, ok well I can move on, I can get a job, I can see where I end up, maybe I can come back to midwifery and try again.
I decided I needed to do something with this little Certificate in Health Science (level 4).
So I went on the hunt. I trawled through the academic options of what I could study next. What I could become. Who I could be. How I could finish this sentence:
Hi, I'm Kealey, I'm a....
There were only so many options. I knew I didn't want to be a nurse. I didn't want to be a phlebotomist. I didn't want to be a paramedic. I didn't want to be an occupational therapist, whatever the fuck that it. I didn't want to do massage therapy. I wanted to be a midwife.
But they didn't want me...
So back to the top of the list I go
I went through the course lists over and over again. Hoping I'd missed something, that maybe upon re-reading, something else would jump out at me.
People made all the suggestions to me.
Be this be that you'd be AMAZING at this.
I appreciated the input, but aside from midwifery, I couldn't see anything else I really wanted to do.
Wait. Hang on.
Did you see it.
You saw it didn't you.
Go back.
That line there...
I didn't want to be a paramedic.
So how is it I've ended up $22,000 in debt and 6 months into a paramedic degree?
Well you saw what I said. I had to BE someone. Apparently just being wasn't enough.
So I decided paramedics could work.
Would have to work.
Because I have to be someone.
I've heard myself say some strange things out loud over these last few years.
"I have to do this, I have to do something, what else am I going to do?"
"I was a makeup artist before this, but being a makeup artist doesn't save the world"
I even wrote in my paramedic application in the section where it asked why I want to do the degree:
"I want to become a valuable member of society and be of use to my community"
Now ain't that some self deprecating bullshit right there.
Can you imagine someone coming up to you and telling you that your job isn't saving the world? That you need to work on becoming a valuable member of society because your current situation isn't making you of use to your community?
That's no way to talk to someone.
Unless you are going about making people sad and ruining everyone's good time, then generally speaking, you are doing just fine as you are, being you.
At this exact moment in time, I don't know who I am, how I am "being", what I am doing, where I am going. I am in between a rock and a hard place. I am in purgatory. I feel little passion for what I am doing, but I feel much fear and uncertainty about moving on. Holding on to desperate hope that it could get better. But the reality being it is only going to get harder...
This isn't a dramatic bid farewell to my education.
I'm not quitting.
Yet.
Ultimately I'm having a fucken bad day and it's making me question a lot of my current situation, so I thought I'd write it down.
My thoughts could be different tomorrow.
I just wanted to put it out there, that sometimes we quit. Or at least we are very seriously considering it.
This isn't going to be about how you should keep on truckin', or when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
There are no inspirational quotes, no heart felt speeches.
I think I've ended a lot of my blogs like that, negative blooming into positive, seeing the brightside, taking the lesson and learning from it.
This isn't asking for help, or inspiration, or a motivation youtube video.
This is the truth.
This is my pending decision.
This is my current unlearned lesson.
Monday, June 29, 2015
Sugar
So today marks the last day of 30 days sugar free.
What an emotional roller coaster it has been.
No I'm totally kidding.
It has been exceptional easy, anticlimactic, and fuss free...
Who would have thought.
In recent years sugar has been hugely demonised in the media.
And rightly so.
That shit is poison.
But I had (what I thought was) a deep seeded love for sugar.
Particularly chocolate.
I knew how bad sugar was for me, but I wanted it. I didn't want to give it up.
I certainly didn't want to give it up for a whole damn month.
I was convinced I was addicted and the process of coming off it would be long, painful, and unbearable.
Then along comes Junk Free June.
It's all over Facebook.
For some reason, I decide I'll do it.
June 1st. My flatmate comes home with 2 giant blocks of new flavoured chocolate.
Hadn't advised him of my challenge. Whoops.
This was my first test.
I swear my jaw was clenched and my fists were balled the entire night.
All evening I had conversations, nay, arguments with myself in my head.
"You actually don't have to do this...No one is making you"
"Have some self respect, it's just chocolate for fuck sake"
That was the tame version. There was a lot of both positive affirmation and down right self abuse going on.
But I got through the night. I didn't eat the chocolate.
And then I continued to not eat chocolate for a whole month.
I also didn't eat any type of dessert, cakes, lollies, muesli bars, anything that was refined or added sugar. No fizzy or sweetened drinks. I had tea and coffee without sugar (I think twice I had sugar free sweetner, wasn't worth it). I didn't even have chocolate on top of my coffee.
My only source of sugar was fruits, honey and real maple syrup.
I can confidently say I did not slip up once. (that I'm aware of...)
Granted I didn't do Junk Free June to it's full potential. This would have included cutting out bread, pasta, cheese, chips, takeaways, processed foods, deep fried food...etc etc. I didn't have a excess of any of those, but I'm pretty happy with my efforts for just going sugar free.
So how do I feel?
Physically I'm not sure there's that much of a difference. I haven't weighed myself yet so I'm not sure if I've lost weight. I don't feel like I have. But that was never the aim.
The biggest result I have out of this was practicing self control.
I thought I had none.
I proved myself wrong in the best way.
I said no. I kept saying no.
And it was fine. I didn't lose my mind, I didn't cry, I didn't have physical symptoms of withdrawal.
I was never addicted.
So now what?
I have no desire to eat sugar the way I did before. Honestly. Now that I know I can manage without it, I'm done with it.
I'm aiming to make it a weekend treat. And in actual treat sized portions. Not entire blocks of chocolate shared between myself and my husband like before.
Some say "I don't need sugar in my tea, I'm sweet enough"
I was bitter and needed sweetening up.
Now I'm sweet as.
So there we go.
I did a thing and it was good.
I'm proud of myself.
Did you do Junk Free June?
How did you do?
What an emotional roller coaster it has been.
No I'm totally kidding.
It has been exceptional easy, anticlimactic, and fuss free...
Who would have thought.
In recent years sugar has been hugely demonised in the media.
And rightly so.
That shit is poison.
But I had (what I thought was) a deep seeded love for sugar.
Particularly chocolate.
I knew how bad sugar was for me, but I wanted it. I didn't want to give it up.
I certainly didn't want to give it up for a whole damn month.
I was convinced I was addicted and the process of coming off it would be long, painful, and unbearable.
Then along comes Junk Free June.
It's all over Facebook.
For some reason, I decide I'll do it.
June 1st. My flatmate comes home with 2 giant blocks of new flavoured chocolate.
Hadn't advised him of my challenge. Whoops.
This was my first test.
I swear my jaw was clenched and my fists were balled the entire night.
All evening I had conversations, nay, arguments with myself in my head.
"You actually don't have to do this...No one is making you"
"Have some self respect, it's just chocolate for fuck sake"
That was the tame version. There was a lot of both positive affirmation and down right self abuse going on.
But I got through the night. I didn't eat the chocolate.
And then I continued to not eat chocolate for a whole month.
I also didn't eat any type of dessert, cakes, lollies, muesli bars, anything that was refined or added sugar. No fizzy or sweetened drinks. I had tea and coffee without sugar (I think twice I had sugar free sweetner, wasn't worth it). I didn't even have chocolate on top of my coffee.
My only source of sugar was fruits, honey and real maple syrup.
I can confidently say I did not slip up once. (that I'm aware of...)
Granted I didn't do Junk Free June to it's full potential. This would have included cutting out bread, pasta, cheese, chips, takeaways, processed foods, deep fried food...etc etc. I didn't have a excess of any of those, but I'm pretty happy with my efforts for just going sugar free.
So how do I feel?
Physically I'm not sure there's that much of a difference. I haven't weighed myself yet so I'm not sure if I've lost weight. I don't feel like I have. But that was never the aim.
The biggest result I have out of this was practicing self control.
I thought I had none.
I proved myself wrong in the best way.
I said no. I kept saying no.
And it was fine. I didn't lose my mind, I didn't cry, I didn't have physical symptoms of withdrawal.
I was never addicted.
So now what?
I have no desire to eat sugar the way I did before. Honestly. Now that I know I can manage without it, I'm done with it.
I'm aiming to make it a weekend treat. And in actual treat sized portions. Not entire blocks of chocolate shared between myself and my husband like before.
Some say "I don't need sugar in my tea, I'm sweet enough"
I was bitter and needed sweetening up.
Now I'm sweet as.
So there we go.
I did a thing and it was good.
I'm proud of myself.
Did you do Junk Free June?
How did you do?
Friday, May 1, 2015
Roar
On todays episode of Get Fit or Die Trying, tiny hippo ventures outside into the backyard...
Today I mowed the lawns.
All of the lawns.
All by myself.
It took nearly two hours.
There was some hill action included.
I made many a strange noise hauling the mower back and forth, up and down.
I also had many images of pushing it up, slipping and having it roll back over me....
Mmm gruesome.
I mowed the crap out of that lawn until the sun went down.
It was a magical moment, enjoying the fruits of my labour (what?), witnessing the soft blue grey sunset, listening to Wiz Khalifa on my turbo bass headphones.
Magical.
My elusive app confirmed my 6000 steps and 60 minutes of activity.
I'm already feeling better in myself even after 4 days.
I feel more awake. I am lying in bed writing this but I'm not completely exhausted.
I mowed the damn lawn.
I am tough as balls.
I am woman, hear me roar.
Today I mowed the lawns.
All of the lawns.
All by myself.
It took nearly two hours.
There was some hill action included.
I made many a strange noise hauling the mower back and forth, up and down.
I also had many images of pushing it up, slipping and having it roll back over me....
Mmm gruesome.
I mowed the crap out of that lawn until the sun went down.
It was a magical moment, enjoying the fruits of my labour (what?), witnessing the soft blue grey sunset, listening to Wiz Khalifa on my turbo bass headphones.
Magical.
My elusive app confirmed my 6000 steps and 60 minutes of activity.
I'm already feeling better in myself even after 4 days.
I feel more awake. I am lying in bed writing this but I'm not completely exhausted.
I mowed the damn lawn.
I am tough as balls.
I am woman, hear me roar.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Work It
Day threeeee.
They say it takes 21 days to form a habit.
Then I googled that and google says that 21 days is a MYTH and it's actually more like 66.
Whatever google.
I'm only 63 days away from this becoming a habit!
So todays activities I got a bit creative with.
And can I please have a fucken high five because I've been doing waaaay more than just 30 minutes a day.
Anyway.
I did the groceries today, so that was a bit of physical activity, plodding around the supermarket.
BUT. Buuuut.
When I got home, then came the turbo creativeness.
Instead of this old chestnut...
I made an effort to make as many trips as possible.
Huh huh. Up here for thinkin', down there for dancin'.
So 9 trips up and down 2 flights of stairs.
Boom goes the dynamite.
AND IT DIDN'T STOP THERE.
I also walked to school to pick up my sprog and turned my medium sized butt around and walked her all the way home (wee wee wee little piggy)
That was a total of 5km of walking.
Solid effort!
And my little app I was unaware I had on my phone popped up and told me I had reached my goal before I was even half way to school. Upon my arrival home I have walked ~13,000 steps today.
That's better than a poke in the eye with a stick.
I'm thinking about what activity I can do tomorrow that maybe isn't walking...
They say it takes 21 days to form a habit.
Then I googled that and google says that 21 days is a MYTH and it's actually more like 66.
Whatever google.
I'm only 63 days away from this becoming a habit!
So todays activities I got a bit creative with.
And can I please have a fucken high five because I've been doing waaaay more than just 30 minutes a day.
Anyway.
I did the groceries today, so that was a bit of physical activity, plodding around the supermarket.
BUT. Buuuut.
When I got home, then came the turbo creativeness.
Instead of this old chestnut...
I made an effort to make as many trips as possible.
Huh huh. Up here for thinkin', down there for dancin'.
So 9 trips up and down 2 flights of stairs.
Boom goes the dynamite.
AND IT DIDN'T STOP THERE.
I also walked to school to pick up my sprog and turned my medium sized butt around and walked her all the way home (wee wee wee little piggy)
That was a total of 5km of walking.
Solid effort!
And my little app I was unaware I had on my phone popped up and told me I had reached my goal before I was even half way to school. Upon my arrival home I have walked ~13,000 steps today.
That's better than a poke in the eye with a stick.
I'm thinking about what activity I can do tomorrow that maybe isn't walking...
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
This Is How We Do
So todays 30 minute workout was interesting...
I had initially planned to walk the dog again. Nothing exciting. Because excitement isn't my thing.
Introvert life. Yeeeeee.
Upon donning my poorly matching workout gear (it's dog walking, not a fashion show damnit)
a friend rang and said she was on her way. Aw. Oh well, friend catch ups, ain't nothing wrong wit dat. Will walk the dog later. Catch ups extended far longer than I intended and before I knew it it was school pickup time. Bother, no dog walking for me. (I prefer to walk alone, bringing the kid along wasn't an option)
So I turned to my BFF YouTube.
I'll have one 30 minute yoga workout please Mr Tube.
I typed it in and picked the one that had beginners in the title, because I'm probably less than a beginner to be honest.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPkNZwTFpxU
I was greeted by textbook "relaxing" music, a turbo babe on a yoga mat and then the voice of ...maybe Hugh Hefner? I don't know, he sounded like an old dude who is tired of your shit.
So I did my tubby, unflexible attempt at yoga and it was fine, I'm not particularly balanced yet, but I'll keep working on that.
Then it came to my faaaavourite part of yoga.
Savasana!
Or, in English, the corpse pose!
That's where you lie the fuck down and do all but fall asleep.
So the video told me to do savasana and I was just laying there with my eyes closed, chilling out, pretending to be a corpse. But then at some point I realised the video had stopped and hadn't advised me it had stopped. So who knows how long I was a corpse for.
Upon rising from the dead, another video had popped up.
30 minute dance workout.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tj9d6aBOzDo
Go on then.
I like dancing, I'm pretty good at it. I got nowhere to be.
Let me say. I am glad no one was around to see this train wreck.
Have you ever noticed how white I am?
No neither.
NOT UNTIL THIS WORKOUT VIDEO.
Good lord I am uncoordinated.
These moves weren't even that complicated.
But I powered on through that mother.
I pretended I was looking in a mirror instead of at a TV. Like fuck yeah I am an Indian GODDESS.
Look at my sexy abs and bewitching eyes. Fall under my spell bitches. Yeeeeee.
There was commentary throughout the video from the resident Goddess herself. She was actually kind of aggressive at some points. I almost took it personally. MOVE IT! KEEP UP! she bellowed at me in a stern voice.
Yes Miss, sorry Miss.
It was high energy and it definitely got my heart rate up. After my 1 minute water break allowance my Indian beauty told me we were moving on to the best part, the Bollywood phase!
Wait what.
Ok GO.
Just kidding. There was no instruction and they just danced like it was a competition.
I couldn't keep up so I literally gave my TV the fingers and had my own dance party for the last 5 minutes.
Day 2
Done and dusted.
I had initially planned to walk the dog again. Nothing exciting. Because excitement isn't my thing.
Introvert life. Yeeeeee.
Upon donning my poorly matching workout gear (it's dog walking, not a fashion show damnit)
a friend rang and said she was on her way. Aw. Oh well, friend catch ups, ain't nothing wrong wit dat. Will walk the dog later. Catch ups extended far longer than I intended and before I knew it it was school pickup time. Bother, no dog walking for me. (I prefer to walk alone, bringing the kid along wasn't an option)
So I turned to my BFF YouTube.
I'll have one 30 minute yoga workout please Mr Tube.
I typed it in and picked the one that had beginners in the title, because I'm probably less than a beginner to be honest.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPkNZwTFpxU
I was greeted by textbook "relaxing" music, a turbo babe on a yoga mat and then the voice of ...maybe Hugh Hefner? I don't know, he sounded like an old dude who is tired of your shit.
So I did my tubby, unflexible attempt at yoga and it was fine, I'm not particularly balanced yet, but I'll keep working on that.
Then it came to my faaaavourite part of yoga.
Savasana!
Or, in English, the corpse pose!
That's where you lie the fuck down and do all but fall asleep.
So the video told me to do savasana and I was just laying there with my eyes closed, chilling out, pretending to be a corpse. But then at some point I realised the video had stopped and hadn't advised me it had stopped. So who knows how long I was a corpse for.
Upon rising from the dead, another video had popped up.
30 minute dance workout.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tj9d6aBOzDo
Go on then.
I like dancing, I'm pretty good at it. I got nowhere to be.
Let me say. I am glad no one was around to see this train wreck.
Have you ever noticed how white I am?
No neither.
NOT UNTIL THIS WORKOUT VIDEO.
Good lord I am uncoordinated.
These moves weren't even that complicated.
But I powered on through that mother.
I pretended I was looking in a mirror instead of at a TV. Like fuck yeah I am an Indian GODDESS.
Look at my sexy abs and bewitching eyes. Fall under my spell bitches. Yeeeeee.
There was commentary throughout the video from the resident Goddess herself. She was actually kind of aggressive at some points. I almost took it personally. MOVE IT! KEEP UP! she bellowed at me in a stern voice.
Yes Miss, sorry Miss.
It was high energy and it definitely got my heart rate up. After my 1 minute water break allowance my Indian beauty told me we were moving on to the best part, the Bollywood phase!
Wait what.
Ok GO.
Just kidding. There was no instruction and they just danced like it was a competition.
I couldn't keep up so I literally gave my TV the fingers and had my own dance party for the last 5 minutes.
Day 2
Done and dusted.
Monday, April 27, 2015
No More Bad Days
3 or 4 years ago I wrote a blog about losing weight.
When I wrote that blog I was about 15kg lighter, was single and a mother of just 1 child.
Fast forward to now, that 15kg ain't sitting pretty.
I'm 5ft2ish and 70kg give or take...give mostly....
I'm too big for my height. BMI, health reasons, aesthetic reason, no matter which angle you look at it, I am too big.
And more importantly I am too unfit.
So here we begin my little journey.
And this time round it's actually important that I stick to it.
So I'll be the first to admit I'm sort of a lot hopeless at sticking to things.
I am a quitter and a defeatist by nature.
So I'm going to keep the goals few and small for now.
In fact, so small that so far I only have 1 goal.
30 minutes a day of physical activity
Anything will do. Walking, gym, yoga, swimming, ANYTHING. But AT LEAST 30 minutes a day. Everyday.
That's all.
Additional bonus points for drinking more water and reducing sugar intake. But main goal focus is 30 minutes a day.
Beyond the glaringly inspiring aspect of feeling like a land whale every time I look in the mirror, there are several driving reasons behind this.
I am tired, bored, slow, unfit and all round unhealthy.
I am planning on applying to do a paramedics degree, a job that requires at least some level of physical capability.
So all of this should be reason enough to sort my shit.
So!
This isn't even a "tomorrow I start" carry on.
I started today! High fucken five.
I took my dog for a walk in the rain. I had put a timer on to see how far I had to walk to make up my 30 minutes (don't think I'm going to do a minute more than I have to...) but I failed to push start on the timer. So that was a job well done. But I think I made up around 25-30 minutes. Tomorrow I will ensure it's the full 30 minutes.
I'm going to attempt to document every days activity.
So feel free to come cheer me on. I'm sure I can do this VERY BASIC daily task.
Do you think..??
When I wrote that blog I was about 15kg lighter, was single and a mother of just 1 child.
Fast forward to now, that 15kg ain't sitting pretty.
I'm 5ft2ish and 70kg give or take...give mostly....
I'm too big for my height. BMI, health reasons, aesthetic reason, no matter which angle you look at it, I am too big.
And more importantly I am too unfit.
So here we begin my little journey.
And this time round it's actually important that I stick to it.
So I'll be the first to admit I'm sort of a lot hopeless at sticking to things.
I am a quitter and a defeatist by nature.
So I'm going to keep the goals few and small for now.
In fact, so small that so far I only have 1 goal.
30 minutes a day of physical activity
Anything will do. Walking, gym, yoga, swimming, ANYTHING. But AT LEAST 30 minutes a day. Everyday.
That's all.
Additional bonus points for drinking more water and reducing sugar intake. But main goal focus is 30 minutes a day.
Beyond the glaringly inspiring aspect of feeling like a land whale every time I look in the mirror, there are several driving reasons behind this.
I am tired, bored, slow, unfit and all round unhealthy.
I am planning on applying to do a paramedics degree, a job that requires at least some level of physical capability.
So all of this should be reason enough to sort my shit.
So!
This isn't even a "tomorrow I start" carry on.
I started today! High fucken five.
I took my dog for a walk in the rain. I had put a timer on to see how far I had to walk to make up my 30 minutes (don't think I'm going to do a minute more than I have to...) but I failed to push start on the timer. So that was a job well done. But I think I made up around 25-30 minutes. Tomorrow I will ensure it's the full 30 minutes.
I'm going to attempt to document every days activity.
So feel free to come cheer me on. I'm sure I can do this VERY BASIC daily task.
Do you think..??
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Emotion Sickness.
So today is the day that I was meant to be in Otago. Starting O week. Starting my midwifery career.
It may come as a surprise to you that today is the single hardest days of my life.
Let me hesitantly compare this to the recent death of my father, and explain why this hurts more than losing him. Why today is the worst day of my life.
You see, I am an atheist, a very committed one at that. I believe in nothing but science.
The death of my father was, for a lack of a better term, easy to accept. Because everything that happened to him, happened as science meant it to. There was a solid and understandable explanation for why his heart stopped beating and why when we turned the machines off, he never woke up.
But of course there is an undeniable pain. There is the pain of losing my parent. My Dad is gone and I will never see him again. But I knew my Dad well enough to know that he wouldn't be for me wallowing in his passing. I know what happened, I know why it happened. And so as Dad would've expected, I have accepted it and I have let it go. Many people mightn't understand this, and will question my love, sanity, emotional wellbeing and all other aspects of my person. But it is how I am, it is who I am. And I know Dad would more than likely be proud of me for not wallowing in misery at his passing.
So how does the death of my Dad not trump my failure to get into my degree?
It's because I have no explanation. I have no scientific reason behind why I didn't get in. Why I worked my ass off and it amounted to nothing.
There is no black and white, typed out reason why I didn't get into this degree.
What makes this even harder for me is that this is probably one of the only times in my life that I committed to something, and followed through.
My perpetually pessimistic younger brother has always told me to never have expectations, then you can never be disappointed.
Right now, I'm joining his team.
Because fuck this.
I was intending to make this a deep and insightful entry.
But it's resulted in me sobbing and no longer having the dexterity or brain capacity to keep typing.
I am a heartbroken mess.
I have failed.
I have failed and nothing anyone says can change it. Yes I can try again next year. Maybe. But that's far beyond the point.
The next person who asks me what my plans are now is going to get punched in the throat.
It may come as a surprise to you that today is the single hardest days of my life.
Let me hesitantly compare this to the recent death of my father, and explain why this hurts more than losing him. Why today is the worst day of my life.
You see, I am an atheist, a very committed one at that. I believe in nothing but science.
The death of my father was, for a lack of a better term, easy to accept. Because everything that happened to him, happened as science meant it to. There was a solid and understandable explanation for why his heart stopped beating and why when we turned the machines off, he never woke up.
But of course there is an undeniable pain. There is the pain of losing my parent. My Dad is gone and I will never see him again. But I knew my Dad well enough to know that he wouldn't be for me wallowing in his passing. I know what happened, I know why it happened. And so as Dad would've expected, I have accepted it and I have let it go. Many people mightn't understand this, and will question my love, sanity, emotional wellbeing and all other aspects of my person. But it is how I am, it is who I am. And I know Dad would more than likely be proud of me for not wallowing in misery at his passing.
So how does the death of my Dad not trump my failure to get into my degree?
It's because I have no explanation. I have no scientific reason behind why I didn't get in. Why I worked my ass off and it amounted to nothing.
There is no black and white, typed out reason why I didn't get into this degree.
What makes this even harder for me is that this is probably one of the only times in my life that I committed to something, and followed through.
My perpetually pessimistic younger brother has always told me to never have expectations, then you can never be disappointed.
Right now, I'm joining his team.
Because fuck this.
I was intending to make this a deep and insightful entry.
But it's resulted in me sobbing and no longer having the dexterity or brain capacity to keep typing.
I am a heartbroken mess.
I have failed.
I have failed and nothing anyone says can change it. Yes I can try again next year. Maybe. But that's far beyond the point.
The next person who asks me what my plans are now is going to get punched in the throat.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
You're Not Good Enough.
Today I "re-opened" my makeup artistry business.
It is up there with the worst things that could've happened to me this year.
Because this is not meant to be happening.
This is not what I planned.
This is the action that confirms the worst.
I didn't get into midwifery.
For the first time in my life, I had set a goal. I set a goal. I worked my ass off.
And I failed.
That is the black and white of it. I failed to get into midwifery.
And for those saying I just need to "keep trying" and "apply again next year", it is absolutely not that easy.
See I failed so badly to get into midwifery, there's a very real chance that even on applying next year, I mightn't get in.
I didn't even make the wait list. I was pretty far off from making the wait list in fact.
Applications were marked out of 60.
Successful applicants averaged at 48.5/60
Waitlist candidates averaged at 38/60
I got 26/60
I failed hard.
And academically, there is very little I can do to make my application more... applicable?
So this is me wallowing.
And some may say my time for wallowing is up.
To those people I say...
Fuck you.
I have never been more devastated by anything than I have by this.
So I will do my makeup work out of necessity.
And I will fucken wallow.
I'll clean my house, I'll do the laundry, I'll make dinner.
And then I will come home and sit in my bed and not have a fucken clue what to do next.
Every time my facebook pings at me to let me know another person has liked my page or liked a picture of my makeup, I feel ill.
Don't get me wrong. I love makeup artistry. It will always be a passion of mine and I always put my all into my work.
But this isn't how it was supposed to go.
I have nothing left to say.
I am numb.
I am numb and lost and so completely unhappy.
I think this is why I previously never aimed to achieve anything too extreme.
Because the disappointment is too much.
And I'm not that strong.
So I end with the wise words of Homer Simpson, in life lesson #666
"Kids, you tried your hardest and failed miserably, the lesson is, never try"
It is up there with the worst things that could've happened to me this year.
Because this is not meant to be happening.
This is not what I planned.
This is the action that confirms the worst.
I didn't get into midwifery.
For the first time in my life, I had set a goal. I set a goal. I worked my ass off.
And I failed.
That is the black and white of it. I failed to get into midwifery.
And for those saying I just need to "keep trying" and "apply again next year", it is absolutely not that easy.
See I failed so badly to get into midwifery, there's a very real chance that even on applying next year, I mightn't get in.
I didn't even make the wait list. I was pretty far off from making the wait list in fact.
Applications were marked out of 60.
Successful applicants averaged at 48.5/60
Waitlist candidates averaged at 38/60
I got 26/60
I failed hard.
And academically, there is very little I can do to make my application more... applicable?
So this is me wallowing.
And some may say my time for wallowing is up.
To those people I say...
Fuck you.
I have never been more devastated by anything than I have by this.
So I will do my makeup work out of necessity.
And I will fucken wallow.
I'll clean my house, I'll do the laundry, I'll make dinner.
And then I will come home and sit in my bed and not have a fucken clue what to do next.
Every time my facebook pings at me to let me know another person has liked my page or liked a picture of my makeup, I feel ill.
Don't get me wrong. I love makeup artistry. It will always be a passion of mine and I always put my all into my work.
But this isn't how it was supposed to go.
I have nothing left to say.
I am numb.
I am numb and lost and so completely unhappy.
I think this is why I previously never aimed to achieve anything too extreme.
Because the disappointment is too much.
And I'm not that strong.
So I end with the wise words of Homer Simpson, in life lesson #666
"Kids, you tried your hardest and failed miserably, the lesson is, never try"
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
So this is christmas...
Christmas is built on religion, consumerism and expectations....
All three aspects stir up feelings of great discontent.
The purpose of christmas is the celebration of the "birth of christ". I am not religious. I am far from religious. I am anti religion in an aggressive way. My parents are not religious. I believe 1/4 of my grandparents are religious. Bar my Granddad, I know of no one in my family who has ever been a church goer. So how does it become that a primarily agnostic family partakes in the core celebration of a religion?
Consumerism! Weeeeee!
The media tells us to!
The day after Halloween (another bullshit "celebration"...) shops start sneakily slipping in display shelves and progressively, tinsel starts taking over store fronts and by mid November entire malls are positively dripping in twinkling lights and shiny baubles and the glimmer of irrelevant fake snowflakes in the lead up to a southern hemisphere summer. Gigantic Christmas trees are surrounded by piles upon piles of fake gifts, wrapped in sparkly paper and fancy bows. Subliminal messages to the hundreds of children who will pass through.
All three aspects stir up feelings of great discontent.
The purpose of christmas is the celebration of the "birth of christ". I am not religious. I am far from religious. I am anti religion in an aggressive way. My parents are not religious. I believe 1/4 of my grandparents are religious. Bar my Granddad, I know of no one in my family who has ever been a church goer. So how does it become that a primarily agnostic family partakes in the core celebration of a religion?
Consumerism! Weeeeee!
The media tells us to!
The day after Halloween (another bullshit "celebration"...) shops start sneakily slipping in display shelves and progressively, tinsel starts taking over store fronts and by mid November entire malls are positively dripping in twinkling lights and shiny baubles and the glimmer of irrelevant fake snowflakes in the lead up to a southern hemisphere summer. Gigantic Christmas trees are surrounded by piles upon piles of fake gifts, wrapped in sparkly paper and fancy bows. Subliminal messages to the hundreds of children who will pass through.
Children are drilled with the idea of christmas being about presents. People say, "if you don't like the idea, make christmas about what you want it to be, family, and food and having a good time." But how, HOW am I supposed to instil this in my daughter when everything is about presents. As soon as an adult comes into contact with my 6 year old they ask "what's santa bringing you for christmas?". The public school she goes to spends the weeks leading up to christmas reading stories about santa, making christmas stockings and baskets "for christmas treats", she tells me. Writing letters to santa asking for a myriad of toys that will be played with for 2 weeks before being discarded at the back of the closet.
And then. Then. I have this overwhelming desire to buy her things, fill the base of the christmas tree with everything she asks for and more. Not because I love her, not because I want her to have nice things, not because she has behaved well and earned said gifts. But because I don't want her to be disappointed.
I fear my 6 year old will be disappointed by the gifts she receives from the elusive character that is Santa.
And then. Then. I have this overwhelming desire to buy her things, fill the base of the christmas tree with everything she asks for and more. Not because I love her, not because I want her to have nice things, not because she has behaved well and earned said gifts. But because I don't want her to be disappointed.
I fear my 6 year old will be disappointed by the gifts she receives from the elusive character that is Santa.
What have I become?! What monster have I created?!
I have slowly but surely been influenced by the pressure of society to provide unreasonable amounts of material objects to please my 6 year old.
I have slowly but surely been influenced by the pressure of society to provide unreasonable amounts of material objects to please my 6 year old.
This is what christmas is.
And trust me when I tell you, I have tried, I have tried so SO hard to teach my daughter, to explain to her that gifts aren't important. How full your santa sack is, isn't important. That family matters, spending time with her cousins, having her Nana and Grandad come stay, these things are important.
She claims to understand. But within the same breath she tells me that she thought of something else to ask santa for.
I feel defeated.
I feel powerless.
I feel powerless.
Trying to fight against something that is so aggressively forced upon you, that there is no way to avoid it.
Every year I will try my damndest to explain to her what christmas is about, who it is intended for, and why Mummy would rather ceremoniously set fire to a christmas tree than cover the floor it sits on with environmentally unfriendly rubbish.
But I foresee fighting a losing battle.
A battle I will continue with my son. Whom, this year, is too young to give a damn about presents and santa sacks.
But I foresee fighting a losing battle.
A battle I will continue with my son. Whom, this year, is too young to give a damn about presents and santa sacks.
I don't like christmas.
I don't want to celebrate christmas.
Yet because I have children apparently I am being "cruel" or "a grinch", to roll my eyes at santa visits and sneer at the idea of christmas place setting at the dinner table.
Last year my daughter had a pile of presents under our tree. They were all for her.
She sat there and opened present after present.
Tearing through the wrapping, her eyes not even seeing the gift inside, just discarding each toy and book in a pile next to her and moving on to the next colourfully wrapped package.
The last gift hit the mountain of loot next to her and she looks up and asks
"Are there anymore?"
Tearing through the wrapping, her eyes not even seeing the gift inside, just discarding each toy and book in a pile next to her and moving on to the next colourfully wrapped package.
The last gift hit the mountain of loot next to her and she looks up and asks
"Are there anymore?"
This is not my doing. I have not encouraged this.
This level of expectation is not what I have taught my daughter.
This level of expectation is not what I have taught my daughter.
I have always downplayed the present aspect.
Santa can't always bring everything you ask for.
It's not important that you get lots of presents.
We should be grateful for what we get, not how much we get.
We should be grateful for what we get, not how much we get.
But it all falls upon deaf ears, because consumerism, media, hype, advertising, all speak louder than mum ever will.
Defeated. I have been defeated.
I don't believe in the birth of christ, I don't believe in the christmas spirit.
I don't believe in the birth of christ, I don't believe in the christmas spirit.
I believe my children are been taught a level of expectation that is completely unnecessary.
A "tradition" that will do little beyond creating a materialistic society.
Call me a grinch, call me a killjoy, I am beyond giving a fuck.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Who Gon Stop Me
I had my daughter when I was 19 and since then I have done most things purely for survival purposes. Worked 40 hour weeks with my baby girl in daycare for 50 hours a week, just to survive.
Had 2 jobs at a time, just to survive. Missed out on adventures, just to survive.
I have done nothing for me and everything to keep afloat and make sure my daughter doesn't miss out.
I have never, ever held resentment or anger about these things. I have accepted that you do what you have to do and you get on with it.
But with the support and love of the best husband money can buy, I am now doing something for me.
And I am wet my pants excited.
I am beginning study to ultimately become a midwife. I have to first do a bridging course and that will take a year, after that it's 3 years of midwifery study.
I'm so terrified, but SO excited.
I know that this is what I'm supposed to do. I watch programs and I read books about it and I know, with every fibre of my being, this is what I'm supposed to do.
Due to medical issues, I have never been able to give birth to my babies naturally.
In fact I have the most unnatural births around.
I am put under full anesthesia and deliver them via c section.
I have never been there for the birth of my babies.
And it's a really fucken difficult thing to deal with.
I try and not think about it too much, because I know if I do it will eat me up inside.
There is no other way I can give birth to my babies and that is just something I have to accept.
I think this is the root of my desire to want to become a midwife. I can't be there for the birth of my babies, so the next best thing is being able to help other women give birth to their babies.
I can't think of anything more rewarding than assisting in the arrival of new life.
In saying that, it is only recently that I have become aware of the difficult side of my chosen profession.
I have come to learn and accept that although this is possibly one of the most rewarding professions, it can also be one of the most difficult. I learnt this first hand, but that is an experience that deserves a blog of its own.
That experience was a huge learning curve and I know for the next 4 years there will be many more.
But I'm so ready for it.
I'm so happy that I finally get to do something for me.
I know that it's going to be difficult. Of course I do.
People keep saying "you know, it's not going to be easy"
That makes me want to slap them.
Of course I know that. You think I don't know how difficult it's going to be to study, work, be a mother to two children, be a wife, keep my house slightly less than chaotic, get sleep, eat well, not go insane.
You think I don't know how difficult this is going to be?
I know this. And I am ready for it.
So a "good for you" or a "I believe in you", would be a far more welcome response.
I have those who doubt me. Probably with good reason. I haven't been the most over achieving person in the world.
That's fine.
I doubt myself sometimes.
But this time. This is more than a job, more than high school, more than wanting to lose weight or learn to sew or completing a marathon.
This is a life decision. This is what I am meant to do.
There are people who doubt me, there are people who give me negative feedback and literally laugh when I tell them.
What are you meant to do?
Had 2 jobs at a time, just to survive. Missed out on adventures, just to survive.
I have done nothing for me and everything to keep afloat and make sure my daughter doesn't miss out.
I have never, ever held resentment or anger about these things. I have accepted that you do what you have to do and you get on with it.
But with the support and love of the best husband money can buy, I am now doing something for me.
And I am wet my pants excited.
I am beginning study to ultimately become a midwife. I have to first do a bridging course and that will take a year, after that it's 3 years of midwifery study.
I'm so terrified, but SO excited.
I know that this is what I'm supposed to do. I watch programs and I read books about it and I know, with every fibre of my being, this is what I'm supposed to do.
Due to medical issues, I have never been able to give birth to my babies naturally.
In fact I have the most unnatural births around.
I am put under full anesthesia and deliver them via c section.
I have never been there for the birth of my babies.
And it's a really fucken difficult thing to deal with.
I try and not think about it too much, because I know if I do it will eat me up inside.
There is no other way I can give birth to my babies and that is just something I have to accept.
I think this is the root of my desire to want to become a midwife. I can't be there for the birth of my babies, so the next best thing is being able to help other women give birth to their babies.
I can't think of anything more rewarding than assisting in the arrival of new life.
In saying that, it is only recently that I have become aware of the difficult side of my chosen profession.
I have come to learn and accept that although this is possibly one of the most rewarding professions, it can also be one of the most difficult. I learnt this first hand, but that is an experience that deserves a blog of its own.
That experience was a huge learning curve and I know for the next 4 years there will be many more.
But I'm so ready for it.
I'm so happy that I finally get to do something for me.
I know that it's going to be difficult. Of course I do.
People keep saying "you know, it's not going to be easy"
That makes me want to slap them.
Of course I know that. You think I don't know how difficult it's going to be to study, work, be a mother to two children, be a wife, keep my house slightly less than chaotic, get sleep, eat well, not go insane.
You think I don't know how difficult this is going to be?
I know this. And I am ready for it.
So a "good for you" or a "I believe in you", would be a far more welcome response.
I have those who doubt me. Probably with good reason. I haven't been the most over achieving person in the world.
That's fine.
I doubt myself sometimes.
But this time. This is more than a job, more than high school, more than wanting to lose weight or learn to sew or completing a marathon.
This is a life decision. This is what I am meant to do.
There are people who doubt me, there are people who give me negative feedback and literally laugh when I tell them.
They are not my definers.
They won't hold me down.
They will fuel my fire.
They won't hold me down.
They will fuel my fire.
I will show those little people.
Life lesson #whatever,
Find out what you are meant to do. Do it.
Life lesson #whatever,
Find out what you are meant to do. Do it.
What are you meant to do?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Would?
Blog interrupted.
I found this blog that I don't really remember writing. It's fairly dark and grim and I never finished it. Maybe I will one day. But for now, this is where it ended... Enjoy?
I like to think I have things under control.
In my head anyway.
I like to thing I'm strong willed and independant and capable.
I don't need help.
This is what went through my mind every couple of months for the last four years or so.
I should start from the beginging. Explain what I am babbling about.
This is kind of an average subject for me, I don't like thinking about it too much and I certainly don't like admitting it.
I "suffer" (that word is lame, it makes me think of a cancer patient) from depression and anxiety.
I "suffer" (that word is lame, it makes me think of a cancer patient) from depression and anxiety.
It seems every second person does these days. It's almost trendy.
It's something that has been apparent in my life since I was an angsty teenager but actually became a problem after I had my daughter.
In hindsight it is blindingly obvious to me, but at the time it wasn't. I had full blown post natal depression. I didn't have baby blues. I wished for horrific car crashes every time I hoped in a car.
In hindsight it is blindingly obvious to me, but at the time it wasn't. I had full blown post natal depression. I didn't have baby blues. I wished for horrific car crashes every time I hoped in a car.
If not to abolish me, then to abolish this new little stranger who I had to take care of.
I did not find instant love with my daughter.
I didn't like her.
I didn't know her and I was in a horrible state of regret.
Every morning I woke up and thought "what have I done?"
This is a difficult subject to talk about as you can imagine.
Very few people know about this.
But I'm kind of at a point where I feel talking about it can only be a good thing. It helps me come to terms with things and it could potentially help others.
As I said, at the time I didn't know what was wrong. I just dealt with the feelings I had. Ultimately the lack of resolution led to the dissolution of the relationship I had with my daughters father.
I didn't know what was wrong so I decided it must've been my environment. I decided the only way to fix how I felt was to leave.
To this day I whole heartedly believe that had I got proper help and acknowledged what was going on, it is very likely that the relationship would not have fallen apart.
So around we go, back to the start of this entry.
I left my daughters father and I decided; no, I'm strong, I can fix this, I can do this on my own.
I left my daughters father and I decided; no, I'm strong, I can fix this, I can do this on my own.
I don't need help.
And I didn't.
I eventually felt better, I moved on and things started looking up.
And then it happened again.
I found myself in this dark place with no understanding of what was going on, what was making me feel this way or how to make it stop.
But then I get up.
I decide this is no way to live.
And I carry on.
And I make myself better.
And then it happens again.
Over and over, round and round.
I was constantly finding myself in this horrible place where there is nothing in site, it is a black abyss and I'll be damned if I know how to get out.
Every time this happened I would start having suicidal thoughts.
Mentally calculating how many pills were in the house, what they were, and how many I would need to go to sleep forever.
My preferred method was always pills.
Once watched an episode of Nip/Tuck where a dying patient had had enough and wanted to just hurry up and end it. Her doctor friend advised her to drink milk to line the stomach, take the pills and put a plastic bag over her head and just quietly drift off to sleep.
And once in a 4th form first aid course an ambulance office told me the lethal dose of paracetamol was 60 tablets.
And once in a 4th form first aid course an ambulance office told me the lethal dose of paracetamol was 60 tablets.
I only ever got as far as opening the medication box in my kitchen and assessing the pill situation.
By this point I had patched up my relationship with my daughter and decided that she was pretty spiffy.
By this point I had patched up my relationship with my daughter and decided that she was pretty spiffy.
She has, and always will be my reason to keep going. Despite internalising the complicated situation and having intense arguements
(unfinished)
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Your Song
An entry I found unpublished from over a year ago. It's not terrible. I shall publish.
Lucky you.
I played about 4 different instruments when I was younger, I sucked at all of them and stuck to none of them.
I wish I had stuck with the violin.
That shit's cool.
How hipster would I be. With my alternative look and PLAYING THE VIOLIN.
I think I would need to wear more hats.
Music is an essential part of my life, despite my inability to make it.
If I have nothing but music, I am ok.
I managed to delete my entire music collection a few weeks ago (shut up I don't want to talk about it)
I almost cried.
I am slowly rebuilding my collection.
I am rediscovering old memories, and making new ones.
Music pinpoints times in my life.
It reminds me of heartbreak, happiness, hurt.
Pick a song on my iPod (maybe before I deleted everything...)and I can probably associate a time in my life with it.
Or a person.
I love songs that I associate with people.
Be it good or bad.
I love the nostalgia attached to music.
Rilo Kiley, Owl City, Deftones, Slipknot, Passion Pit, MGMT, Marilyn Manson, Ellie Goulding, Pink Floyd, Gene Pitney, Less Than Jake, Brand New, The Beatles.
All music I can associate with a time and/or person...
Rilo is graveyards and molboro lights and a secret that changed my life.
Owl City was long drives and desires that weren't reachable
Deftones is staple. Deftones is the discovery of someone who would complete my life. I'm your Passenger.
Passion Pit is my beloved boys, dancing on the deck, being so entwined in the music we could burst.
Slipknot was the soundtrack for my teenage years. I was emo before it was cool. The kids at school called me a goth and a freak...With fair right, I wore a dog collar and a trench coat. Lovely.
Gene Pitney, my siblings will tell you, that's Dad.
The Beatles... My Penny Lane.
This is just a teeny tiny fraction.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Well I guess this is growing up.
So at some point in the past couple of months it has become apparent that I am fast moving into the world of becoming an adult.
..Don’t you have a 3 year old child?
You may ask.
Why yes. I do.
But extensive research indicates that having a child does not cause you to grow up but to very much divert the other way and clutch onto your childhood that little bit longer.
Spending summer jumping around in paddling pools, eating ice blocks at the park, having biscuits and and juice for dinner just because (actually I think the minute you turn into an adult you do this, purely because no one can tell you not to).
I don’t feel like a grown up at all.
I have this little game I like to play.
It’s called Shower Skittles.
I stand in a hot shower and eat skittles.
But a few thinks have happened in my life that would push me a little further into the category of ‘Being an Adult’
My boyfriend Jesse proposed to me.
Without delving into the depths of my personal life, I’ll give you the short story version.
Jesse was my bestfriend for years. He watched me go through boyfriend after boyfriend trying to find the ‘perfect man’.
He used to tell me “You should just marry me so I can look after you and Penny”
Queue Julia Roberts movie story line.
Something changed and SUDDEN REALISATION.
Perfect man.
In front of me.
The whole time.
In my considerably short life, I have made some shockingly bad decisions.
Jesse is not one of them.
He may actually be the single greatest decision I’ve ever made in my life.
So now that Jesse and I are on the verge of becoming one of them married types, we’re also on our way to being pushed even further into the “Being an Adult” category. We’re about to buy a house together.
Wonders never cease.
I don’t know how much I like doing THAT type of adult carry on. The whole mortgage thing.
I love being engaged and I’m frothing at the mouth to marry this amazing man and claim him as my own. Legally.
But the concept of signing my life over to the bank is a little less than love worthy.
At this point of the blog I’ve hit a wall.
The overall theme for this was growing up.
But I kind of just want to gush and brag about my fiancé.
Which I can imagine would be terribly boring for you, dear reader.
Just let it be known that although I am being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the “Being an Adult” category, it’s kind of not so scary, because I am going there with my soul mate.
This is for Jesse, to avoid a public declaration of love, I lesbians you.
We will grow old together but we will never grow up.
A life lesson in itself.
..Don’t you have a 3 year old child?
You may ask.
Why yes. I do.
But extensive research indicates that having a child does not cause you to grow up but to very much divert the other way and clutch onto your childhood that little bit longer.
Spending summer jumping around in paddling pools, eating ice blocks at the park, having biscuits and and juice for dinner just because (actually I think the minute you turn into an adult you do this, purely because no one can tell you not to).
I don’t feel like a grown up at all.
I have this little game I like to play.
It’s called Shower Skittles.
I stand in a hot shower and eat skittles.
But a few thinks have happened in my life that would push me a little further into the category of ‘Being an Adult’
My boyfriend Jesse proposed to me.
Without delving into the depths of my personal life, I’ll give you the short story version.
Jesse was my bestfriend for years. He watched me go through boyfriend after boyfriend trying to find the ‘perfect man’.
He used to tell me “You should just marry me so I can look after you and Penny”
Queue Julia Roberts movie story line.
Something changed and SUDDEN REALISATION.
Perfect man.
In front of me.
The whole time.
In my considerably short life, I have made some shockingly bad decisions.
Jesse is not one of them.
He may actually be the single greatest decision I’ve ever made in my life.
So now that Jesse and I are on the verge of becoming one of them married types, we’re also on our way to being pushed even further into the “Being an Adult” category. We’re about to buy a house together.
Wonders never cease.
I don’t know how much I like doing THAT type of adult carry on. The whole mortgage thing.
I love being engaged and I’m frothing at the mouth to marry this amazing man and claim him as my own. Legally.
But the concept of signing my life over to the bank is a little less than love worthy.
At this point of the blog I’ve hit a wall.
The overall theme for this was growing up.
But I kind of just want to gush and brag about my fiancé.
Which I can imagine would be terribly boring for you, dear reader.
Just let it be known that although I am being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the “Being an Adult” category, it’s kind of not so scary, because I am going there with my soul mate.
This is for Jesse, to avoid a public declaration of love, I lesbians you.
We will grow old together but we will never grow up.
A life lesson in itself.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Learning to Fly
I am in the midst of learning a life lesson.
I have a new job and thus far it is scaring the bajeezus out of me.
Somewhere along the lines of the interview process, everyone involved forgot to mention that my new role is highly maths based.
Small fact to leave out.
I failed maths all through high school and was, in the end, placed in the 'remedial' class (that's Cabbage Maths for all you youngin's)
I have the maths skillz of a 6 year old and that's probably insulting the 6 year olds intelligence.
So I was conflicted after the first few days.
Do I hitail it outta here? (shout out to my buddy Benji)
I have NEVER been good at this type of thing. What's to say I'll ever get any better?
But then I realised.
...I'm not an idiot.
I'm really, really not an idiot.
Should you compare me to a common Ursus arctos horribilis...I think you would find I have an intellectual advantage.
I never paid attention in high school.
I remember writing pages and pages of notes in my 4th form maths class.
Looking back now, I had an excellent teacher.
I remember I would write all these notes down, but it was in vain.
I wouldn't process a single thing.
And then I would wonder why the hell I couldn't understand anything.
One day whilst sitting in detention (rebel without a cause, you know it) I had to pretend to look busy, so I read some maths notes I had written.
I suddenly understood how Pythagoras Theorem worked. (Don't ask me now, I don't think I've used it since then)
All because I had actually read my notes.
But then as if I was being disloyal to my rebellious, devil-may-care self, I shut the book and refused to read the other notes.
Hindsight is a big, huge, laughing bitch.
So today, I sit here, with little knowledge in basic math skills.
A self inflicted downfall.
So I have 2 options.
I either choose to make a change or I don't.
In the words of Obama and Bob the Builder.
Yes. We. Can.
In this case, yes I can.
I can do this.
Just takes a little bit of brains, a lot of paying attention and even more perseverance.
There a few people in my life I want to make proud, my Mum, Jesse, and Penny.
They are the most important people in the world to me, and I keep living every day for these people. I could give up, but because of those three lovely people, I keep going.
But I think above and beyond that, I want to make myself proud.
I don't believe I have achieved much in my life... If anything.
Some will argue that my super rad daughter is a fairly great achievement, but I have to be honest, thus far that has been easy, I haven't had to do much to add to the radicity of that child.
She came out awesome and has yet to let up.
So this probably sounds a lot like the previous entry where I was like FUCK YEAH I'MA GET SKINNY.
(which I failed miserably at I'll have you know)
But I think it's a bit beyond dieting.
I even voluntarily went to a meeting this morning to potentially become part of a mentoring program.
I'm taking the steps...
I'm currently standing at the bottom of the ladder, not even touching it.
But I want to start climbing it.
I have an amazing family and partner to support me.
Better yet I have an awesome training buddy who teaches me odd calculations and tells me of years gone by when he used to be a rock star and his cherry docs weren't the shoes of lesbians.
Here's to you training buddy.
Scientia est potentia.
I have a new job and thus far it is scaring the bajeezus out of me.
Somewhere along the lines of the interview process, everyone involved forgot to mention that my new role is highly maths based.
Small fact to leave out.
I failed maths all through high school and was, in the end, placed in the 'remedial' class (that's Cabbage Maths for all you youngin's)
I have the maths skillz of a 6 year old and that's probably insulting the 6 year olds intelligence.
So I was conflicted after the first few days.
Do I hitail it outta here? (shout out to my buddy Benji)
I have NEVER been good at this type of thing. What's to say I'll ever get any better?
But then I realised.
...I'm not an idiot.
I'm really, really not an idiot.
Should you compare me to a common Ursus arctos horribilis...I think you would find I have an intellectual advantage.
I never paid attention in high school.
I remember writing pages and pages of notes in my 4th form maths class.
Looking back now, I had an excellent teacher.
I remember I would write all these notes down, but it was in vain.
I wouldn't process a single thing.
And then I would wonder why the hell I couldn't understand anything.
One day whilst sitting in detention (rebel without a cause, you know it) I had to pretend to look busy, so I read some maths notes I had written.
I suddenly understood how Pythagoras Theorem worked. (Don't ask me now, I don't think I've used it since then)
All because I had actually read my notes.
But then as if I was being disloyal to my rebellious, devil-may-care self, I shut the book and refused to read the other notes.
Hindsight is a big, huge, laughing bitch.
So today, I sit here, with little knowledge in basic math skills.
A self inflicted downfall.
So I have 2 options.
I either choose to make a change or I don't.
In the words of Obama and Bob the Builder.
Yes. We. Can.
In this case, yes I can.
I can do this.
Just takes a little bit of brains, a lot of paying attention and even more perseverance.
There a few people in my life I want to make proud, my Mum, Jesse, and Penny.
They are the most important people in the world to me, and I keep living every day for these people. I could give up, but because of those three lovely people, I keep going.
But I think above and beyond that, I want to make myself proud.
I don't believe I have achieved much in my life... If anything.
Some will argue that my super rad daughter is a fairly great achievement, but I have to be honest, thus far that has been easy, I haven't had to do much to add to the radicity of that child.
She came out awesome and has yet to let up.
So this probably sounds a lot like the previous entry where I was like FUCK YEAH I'MA GET SKINNY.
(which I failed miserably at I'll have you know)
But I think it's a bit beyond dieting.
I even voluntarily went to a meeting this morning to potentially become part of a mentoring program.
I'm taking the steps...
I'm currently standing at the bottom of the ladder, not even touching it.
But I want to start climbing it.
I have an amazing family and partner to support me.
Better yet I have an awesome training buddy who teaches me odd calculations and tells me of years gone by when he used to be a rock star and his cherry docs weren't the shoes of lesbians.
Here's to you training buddy.
And here's to me making something of myself.
So I'm asking for your support on this one party people.
Give me your rags to metaphorical (or real...) riches stories.
Tell me a time when you or someone else questioned your ability and how you proved that wrong.
Scientia est potentia.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Nil By Mouth
I am not a fatty.
Denial is the first step I believe...
But seriously. By the mainstream standard, I doubt I would be considered fat.
Out of shape? Definitely.
But in the fine words of Dr Suess:
I'm in great shape for the shape I'm in!(sic)
So I know I'm not fat, but I know I'm out of shape.
I would be happier in myself should I lose weight and shape up.
I rarely do anything to myself to please anyone else.
I get tattoos because I think they're pretty.
I stretch my ear lobes because I like the look.
I wear make up, straighten my hair and wear nice clothes because it makes me feel good.
I don't believe you should ever do anything to yourself because you think it will please someone else.
But I am a firm believer in self pride.
I think girls should tidy themselves up and make an effort to look pretty, for themselves.
Because having respect for oneself is a virtue.
You don't have to paint on your face or wear a cocktail dress every morning.
But for gods sake.
Put on some mascara, brush your hair, wear a skirt.
You owe it to yourself to show others that you have pride in your appearance.
People will look at your differently.
People will treat you differently.
In a good way!
Because if you don't show respect for yourself then surely you can't have much respect of any one or thing else?
And it's the same for guys.
Pull up your pants, have a shave and put on some fucken deodorant.
You male lot don't try hard enough.
Due to perpetual gender discrimination it's usually not as influential in your day to day life.
But a lot of you smell gross and are no fun to look at. (A lot, not all, my boyfriend for example, he smells and looks delightful and shout out to some of the boys in the office for having fantastic cologne. And some of you aren't not good looking also.)
Self pride is a big thing to me.
It comes from working as a makeup artist.
I would watch people transform in front of my eyes.
In all senses of the word.
I put make up on them and they would leave that shop a different person.
They would be ecstatic about their new look.
How is that a bad thing!
Think about how much happier you'd be in life if you looked in the mirror in the morning and went
"I look gooood... Hey everybody... Come see how good I look today!" (name that movie)
I mean, your job might be shit but at least you look good! ...Story of my life.
Ok so obviously life isn't so superficial, and to be aesthetically pleasing does not result in inner happiness.
But I'm just saying... It's one less thing to worry about if you're happy with the outside.
And that just about brings me back to my starting note.
My life is pretty amazing.
But there are minor adjustments I could make to make it even better.
When it comes to weight, I believe that unless you are going to do something about it, then you have no right to whinge about being a fat ass.
So rarely do I say anything about my weight.
I have the odd girl moment and once in a while will have a pout about feeling fat.
And my family take great pleasure in calling me fat (I give as good as I get).
But generally speaking, I know I have nothing to complain about.
I don't eat terribly, but I'm not overly healthy and when it comes to exercise, well, that's non existent.
But just this weekend my cousin has informed me of this "diet" she's gone on.
She's lost 5kg in a WEEK!
(I'm not a spam bot I swear. You want happy pills to make you junk bigger? I send you, you give me back account and pin number!)
This appeals to me.
So I'm going to give it a go.
I'll take measurements and weigh myself and then I'll let you know how it goes.
So join me, fatties!
We can get awesome together.
We'll eat celery sticks and take too many laxatives!
It'll be fun!
So here's to feeling pretty and confident!
Life lesson number whatever:
Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
Denial is the first step I believe...
But seriously. By the mainstream standard, I doubt I would be considered fat.
Out of shape? Definitely.
But in the fine words of Dr Suess:
I'm in great shape for the shape I'm in!(sic)
So I know I'm not fat, but I know I'm out of shape.
I would be happier in myself should I lose weight and shape up.
I rarely do anything to myself to please anyone else.
I get tattoos because I think they're pretty.
I stretch my ear lobes because I like the look.
I wear make up, straighten my hair and wear nice clothes because it makes me feel good.
I don't believe you should ever do anything to yourself because you think it will please someone else.
But I am a firm believer in self pride.
I think girls should tidy themselves up and make an effort to look pretty, for themselves.
Because having respect for oneself is a virtue.
You don't have to paint on your face or wear a cocktail dress every morning.
But for gods sake.
Put on some mascara, brush your hair, wear a skirt.
You owe it to yourself to show others that you have pride in your appearance.
People will look at your differently.
People will treat you differently.
In a good way!
Because if you don't show respect for yourself then surely you can't have much respect of any one or thing else?
And it's the same for guys.
Pull up your pants, have a shave and put on some fucken deodorant.
You male lot don't try hard enough.
Due to perpetual gender discrimination it's usually not as influential in your day to day life.
But a lot of you smell gross and are no fun to look at. (A lot, not all, my boyfriend for example, he smells and looks delightful and shout out to some of the boys in the office for having fantastic cologne. And some of you aren't not good looking also.)
Self pride is a big thing to me.
It comes from working as a makeup artist.
I would watch people transform in front of my eyes.
In all senses of the word.
I put make up on them and they would leave that shop a different person.
They would be ecstatic about their new look.
How is that a bad thing!
Think about how much happier you'd be in life if you looked in the mirror in the morning and went
"I look gooood... Hey everybody... Come see how good I look today!" (name that movie)
I mean, your job might be shit but at least you look good! ...Story of my life.
Ok so obviously life isn't so superficial, and to be aesthetically pleasing does not result in inner happiness.
But I'm just saying... It's one less thing to worry about if you're happy with the outside.
And that just about brings me back to my starting note.
My life is pretty amazing.
But there are minor adjustments I could make to make it even better.
When it comes to weight, I believe that unless you are going to do something about it, then you have no right to whinge about being a fat ass.
So rarely do I say anything about my weight.
I have the odd girl moment and once in a while will have a pout about feeling fat.
And my family take great pleasure in calling me fat (I give as good as I get).
But generally speaking, I know I have nothing to complain about.
I don't eat terribly, but I'm not overly healthy and when it comes to exercise, well, that's non existent.
But just this weekend my cousin has informed me of this "diet" she's gone on.
She's lost 5kg in a WEEK!
(I'm not a spam bot I swear. You want happy pills to make you junk bigger? I send you, you give me back account and pin number!)
This appeals to me.
So I'm going to give it a go.
I'll take measurements and weigh myself and then I'll let you know how it goes.
So join me, fatties!
We can get awesome together.
We'll eat celery sticks and take too many laxatives!
It'll be fun!
So here's to feeling pretty and confident!
Life lesson number whatever:
Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Weather Outside is Weather
I've started wearing my 'it's really fucken cold' coat.
I don't like it much but.. It's really fucken cold.
I'm very much a female in the aspect that I'm always cold.
(I'm also always late and couldn't find my way out of a paper bag should you give me directions...
I enjoy adhering to stereo types, less room for disappointment)
Ask the guys at work, most days I'll sit at my desk wrapped up in my jacket and scarf.
Looking like a weirdo.
I have yet to bring a heater and/or a hot water bottle to work, but believe you me, the thought is not far from my mind...
I mentioned in my last entry that my room resembles a chilly bin in the mornings (And during the day, and at night... All the time).
It get's below 5degrees.
It is not a good start to the day.
So last night I decided to follow through with the experiment of lower body temp whilst trying to sleep.
So I shut off my blankie and turned on the oil heater in my room.
And wonders never cease, I was out like a light.
It may have had something to do with the fact that I was off my face exhausted from not sleeping the night before.
But shut up, let me bask in my moment of science.
So I decided I like having the oil heater in my room, thus not waking up with frost coating my duvet.
I promptly decided I didn't like having it on when I checked my email and saw a power bill for NEARLY $400.
Ow ow ow ow my bank balance.
You bastard power company, charging me so much to stop from me developing pneumonia.
May as well just take my chances because the doctors bills will be cheaper.
Should probably start just buying new clothes instead of drying them as well.
Oh! That's another piss off! We HAVE to use the dryer to dry our clothes.
We can't hang it on the line because the weather is all bi-polar bear, we can't hang it inside because it's colder in than out and nothing ever dries just gets cold and stinky.
There's just no winning!
So my remedy is to fill up the gas bottle.
Good plan!
BUT
Only temporary.
Because I can't keep that on over night.
And I'm still going to wake up and freeze my metaphorical balls off.
And obviously I can't keep it on during the day, so chances of drying washing are again slim.
I am, my friends, stumped.
Unless you're awesome enough to own one of those god-incarnate-in-a-robot devices we like to call heat pumps, there is small chance that you're able to keep your home comfortably heated at all times.
So once again.
I'll just deal with it.
We'll dry our clothes in the dryer, the kids will have their oil heater (because I'm cruel, but I'm not that cruel), I'll have my electric blanket and I will continue to wake up to icicles hanging from my ceiling.
Life Lesson number Three:
Harden up.
I don't like it much but.. It's really fucken cold.
I'm very much a female in the aspect that I'm always cold.
(I'm also always late and couldn't find my way out of a paper bag should you give me directions...
I enjoy adhering to stereo types, less room for disappointment)
Ask the guys at work, most days I'll sit at my desk wrapped up in my jacket and scarf.
Looking like a weirdo.
I have yet to bring a heater and/or a hot water bottle to work, but believe you me, the thought is not far from my mind...
I mentioned in my last entry that my room resembles a chilly bin in the mornings (And during the day, and at night... All the time).
It get's below 5degrees.
It is not a good start to the day.
So last night I decided to follow through with the experiment of lower body temp whilst trying to sleep.
So I shut off my blankie and turned on the oil heater in my room.
And wonders never cease, I was out like a light.
It may have had something to do with the fact that I was off my face exhausted from not sleeping the night before.
But shut up, let me bask in my moment of science.
So I decided I like having the oil heater in my room, thus not waking up with frost coating my duvet.
I promptly decided I didn't like having it on when I checked my email and saw a power bill for NEARLY $400.
Ow ow ow ow my bank balance.
You bastard power company, charging me so much to stop from me developing pneumonia.
May as well just take my chances because the doctors bills will be cheaper.
Should probably start just buying new clothes instead of drying them as well.
Oh! That's another piss off! We HAVE to use the dryer to dry our clothes.
We can't hang it on the line because the weather is all bi-polar bear, we can't hang it inside because it's colder in than out and nothing ever dries just gets cold and stinky.
There's just no winning!
So my remedy is to fill up the gas bottle.
Good plan!
BUT
Only temporary.
Because I can't keep that on over night.
And I'm still going to wake up and freeze my metaphorical balls off.
And obviously I can't keep it on during the day, so chances of drying washing are again slim.
I am, my friends, stumped.
Unless you're awesome enough to own one of those god-incarnate-in-a-robot devices we like to call heat pumps, there is small chance that you're able to keep your home comfortably heated at all times.
So once again.
I'll just deal with it.
We'll dry our clothes in the dryer, the kids will have their oil heater (because I'm cruel, but I'm not that cruel), I'll have my electric blanket and I will continue to wake up to icicles hanging from my ceiling.
Life Lesson number Three:
Harden up.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Sleepyhead
I can't remember a time when I wasn't at least a little bit tired.
It's taken me this long to write another entry because I have been too tired to come up with something interesting to write about.
I am in a constant state of tired.
It makes me wonder...
How incredibly awesome would I be at life if I was even slightly well rested...
The 199 Exxon Valdez oil spill off Alaska, the Challenger Space Shuttle disaster and the Chernobyl nuclear accident have all be attributed to human error in which sleep-deprivation played a role.
Fuck.
I think there is a serious market for Sleep Banking. Don't ask me how it would work, I'm not so good at science...Mr Yung kicked me out of science in 4th form and I was never allowed to go back.
I imagine it would be as revolutionary as inward singing.
When I was pregnant people would say to me with great knowledge;
"You should sleep while you can!"
I'm sorry what?
Is that going to have any positive result in a month when I have a newborn baby?
Am I going to be walking around and around in circles at 3am for the 3rd night in a row with my newborn trying to soothe her and think
"Well shit, I'm glad I slept until 10 that one time last month, I am so much better off for it!"
(that never happened by the way, my spawn was epic awesome sleeper)
I am undecided on which is more accurate,
Sleep gets in the way of my life.
Life gets in the way of my sleep.
At the moment I am leaning towards the latter.
I am trying my best to make this blog interesting and the like, but I am so tired that it is seriously lacking.
Whilst doing some research to make my blog full of fucking fun facts, I discovered this piece of information:
To drop off we must cool off; body temperature and the brain's sleep-wake cycle are closely linked. That's why hot summer nights can cause a restless sleep. The blood flow mechanism that transfers core body heat to the skin works best between 18 and 30 degrees. But later in life, the comfort zone shrinks to between 23 and 25 degrees - one reason why older people have more sleep disorders.
Well fuck.
Contributing factor to last nights terrible attempt at sleeping?
My electric blanket was cranked up to three.
This little factoid leaves me greatly conflicted.
My electric blanket is the one I love. I keep it on high for most of the night. Because when I wake up in the morning, my breathe comes out in big white clouds of frost. When I wake up in the morning I turn on my GHD and it starts beeping frantically, exclaiming NO NO NO NO!! I'M NOT WORKING UNDER THESE CONDITIONS.
GHDs will not turn on in temperatures under 5 degrees.
I need my achingly hot blankey because it's the only heat I get in my house (...in the bedroom?).
Sleep and warmth go together hand and hand.
I'll risk hypothermia though and do some research.
I'll get back to you on this one.
So how do you remedy this irritating state that we all get in?
We could sleep more...
But that's too easy.
More sleep means less time to do things we want to do and/or need to do.
Like watching the whole first season of How I Met Your Mother. (SUIT UP!)
You have the obvious remedy of coffee.
This doesn't work for me. I mostly just get a stomach ache.
Then I'm in pain and tired... Excellent.
There's energy drinks.
Those don't work for me.
And they're expensive.
There's the remedy of what we should all be doing anyway, eating healthy and exercising.
Don't even get me started on why I don't do that.
So I have learnt to deal with it.
I have accepted that I'm pretty much going to be at least kind of tired for majority of the time.
I have learnt to function on minimal sleep.
This is a fine art that can be related to by mothers around the world.
Us Mummy sorts are generally used to being woken by bad dreams and the need to pee (..that's both me and the kid) and spiders in the bed (it wasn't a spider, it was a hair tie).
So you just cope with it.
You get what sleep you can and you do what you have to do.
The world doesn't stop turning just because you spent last night on stumbleupon.
But I think the best solution would be to just follow suit of the Mexicans and all partake in midday siestas.
Life lesson number two:
You can sleep when you're dead.
But it's preferable you have some now, or you might accidentally blow up a space ship.
Experts say one of the most alluring sleep distractions is the 24-hour accessibility of the internet.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Developing a bad habit.
I used to be able to tell people
"oh no, I don't really drink"
And it was true.
But in recent times I would be lying should I say such things.
My ex flatmate and I used to joke about how we wished we could be cool enough to come home at the end of the day and say "Ooohh I'm dying for a Sav"
Kath and Kim-esque accent inclusive.
We weren't classy or cultured enough to enjoy wine.
This inhibition has now be swiftly drop kicked out the window.
Last night a good friend and myself demo'd 2 bottles of Sav.
Don't ask me what kind, I'm not yet cultured enough to take note of such details.
And let me tell you it was a brilliant night with some excellent D and M's.
I got in approximately 5.5 hours of sleep, woke up late but managed to clothe myself and my child, put on my face, feed the child and even got to work 15 minutes early.
I don't think this has ever happened.
So what is the universe trying to tell me?
May it also be noted that every second weekend my daughter goes to her fathers.
This is usually Mummy's "Quiet Time", a time for sleeping in, watching Glee and Americas Next Top Model and indulging (I say it like I don't do it all the time anyway) in fast food.
Well it used to be.
In recent times I look forward to my weekends off with great anticipation.
Then proceed to gaily fling myself into a weekend full of vodka, narcotics and dance parties in Mikey's living room.
I don't do this every weekend.
My bills are paid, my car is full of petrol, the cupboards are stocked.
My daughter is safe and disconnected from my extracurricular activities...
I never go to an extreme with my substances...
I have a good time, I look after myself and my friends and no damage is done.
I think I'm finally giving myself a break.
The weekends I don't have to be a single Mum, I'm being a regular 22 year old.
I work hard.
The guys at work may beg to differ, but don't listen to them, they're just jealous that I'm allowed to wear skirts to work.
I have in the past, turned my nose up at folk my age who spend their weekends drinking and doing drugs and going to town.
I think, to be honest, it was mostly jealousy.
I didn't have the freedom or the money to do that.
I've been raising my daughter on my own for the passed 2 years (of course I have heaps of support for my super awesome family, but generally speaking, I've been doing it myself)
And only now have I decide, fuck it, I deserve to have a go time, to "let my hair down" if you please.
And I've been having a fucken ball.
I think I might just embrace this bad habit.
It's not that terrible if I may say so.
So I think, my friends, we have come to life lesson number 1:
It's ok to be dying for a sav.
"oh no, I don't really drink"
And it was true.
But in recent times I would be lying should I say such things.
My ex flatmate and I used to joke about how we wished we could be cool enough to come home at the end of the day and say "Ooohh I'm dying for a Sav"
Kath and Kim-esque accent inclusive.
We weren't classy or cultured enough to enjoy wine.
This inhibition has now be swiftly drop kicked out the window.
Last night a good friend and myself demo'd 2 bottles of Sav.
Don't ask me what kind, I'm not yet cultured enough to take note of such details.
And let me tell you it was a brilliant night with some excellent D and M's.
I got in approximately 5.5 hours of sleep, woke up late but managed to clothe myself and my child, put on my face, feed the child and even got to work 15 minutes early.
I don't think this has ever happened.
So what is the universe trying to tell me?
May it also be noted that every second weekend my daughter goes to her fathers.
This is usually Mummy's "Quiet Time", a time for sleeping in, watching Glee and Americas Next Top Model and indulging (I say it like I don't do it all the time anyway) in fast food.
Well it used to be.
In recent times I look forward to my weekends off with great anticipation.
Then proceed to gaily fling myself into a weekend full of vodka, narcotics and dance parties in Mikey's living room.
I don't do this every weekend.
My bills are paid, my car is full of petrol, the cupboards are stocked.
My daughter is safe and disconnected from my extracurricular activities...
I never go to an extreme with my substances...
I have a good time, I look after myself and my friends and no damage is done.
I think I'm finally giving myself a break.
The weekends I don't have to be a single Mum, I'm being a regular 22 year old.
I work hard.
The guys at work may beg to differ, but don't listen to them, they're just jealous that I'm allowed to wear skirts to work.
I have in the past, turned my nose up at folk my age who spend their weekends drinking and doing drugs and going to town.
I think, to be honest, it was mostly jealousy.
I didn't have the freedom or the money to do that.
I've been raising my daughter on my own for the passed 2 years (of course I have heaps of support for my super awesome family, but generally speaking, I've been doing it myself)
And only now have I decide, fuck it, I deserve to have a go time, to "let my hair down" if you please.
And I've been having a fucken ball.
I think I might just embrace this bad habit.
It's not that terrible if I may say so.
So I think, my friends, we have come to life lesson number 1:
It's ok to be dying for a sav.
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