A while ago now, I lived in Japan for nearly four years. I suppose I was overdue for this to bite me one more time.
That's bad enough. It's worse that I primed it by doing nothing other than opening my mouth.
Let's not pretend. I went there to sell my body. Despite this, Japan had an effect which is would be visible if you ever took a look at my home. Or my psyche. Much to remember and more to forget. Nevermind, where's the fun in therapy if the things you would change aren't the mirr
I work with five women. One is sharp witted old crone but I'll leave her out of it. The crone thing is part obligation, part artifice and I get the feeling she hides behind it because she may very well have things worth hiding. And I like her.
The other four, bless their hearts, are young and varying degrees of callow. Each of them is an administrative assistant. One of them is my administrative assistant; that is, if I can ever find her. She is usually off doing things for other staff desp
So after god only knows how many days (alright, exactly 17), I finally got to speak to my beloved.
Now you would think a highly intelligent man who, when pressed about his precise whereabouts by a reasonably anxious wife, would know much, much better than to say "Not sure, somewhere in Mongolia." No, not the best start I wouldn't have thought. That alone warrants marital punishment. And I'm sad to say or I'm not that I am not above committing this to long and patient memory.
So I thought if I cannot make myself happy, despite half-hearted recent attempts at exactly this, then why not make others happy. And why not do this with American money.
So I hatched a bold and brilliantly simple plan to relieve, I dunno, Whomever Inc. of their zillion, billion, squllion dollar lottery and donate .... let's see.... absolutely all of it to the People's Revolutionary Army of Puerto Rico.
It's a glitch that such an organisation doesn't quite yet exist but one never kno
In the 21st century, it's hard to believe we still have coffins.
They're not very sustainable and they look ridiculously unfair on the already mournful people that have to lug them around. And the final rinse of the religious centrifuge seems like yesterday's pomp.
What was ever the point anyway? Preservation? Then why not vacuum-sealed like the meat thrifty people throw into the back of their freezer? Or be cast in a big slab of epoxy? And be like a coffee table down there in the und
I think me, myself and I need to spend some quality time locked together in grim reflection. Oh well, it's been a few days. If nothing else and if history is a guide that also makes us a few days overdue. Seated together at the dresser, we can do some really fun shit like looking into the Mirror of Madness and peer, plaintively, once again at the yawning, foggy chasm the divides what we want to say from what we do say. Oh, us.
Maybe it was just growing anxiety. Maybe I could have just sai
It hasn't been the best few days.
Was less than my best self all of Saturday night and into the early hours of Monday morning fretting about my best friend. I wish I could talk about it. Alas, I can not. It's one of those over-my-dead-body things but that doesn't mean I wouldn't cheerfully bend over for some seriously good perspective and wisdom. Not just about it but how I deal with it, She is the smarter and cleverer and betterer of us and has been since we met. All the way back to school
The worm hasn't just turned. It wriggled and writhed and wrapped itself around a velvet-lined gift box and whipped itself with furious flourish into a pretty silver bow.
This should be a bit exciting.
But worms prefer damp, fetid, even blood-soaked soil. And this one is no different.
"What the **** do you know?" she asked. About trauma and mental wellbeing.
She wouldn't be the first.
She is, however, the first to ask despite knowing better. This isn't overtly provable,
The young Martian felt in the mood to blow off some steam. It had been a difficult week a the death-ray-gun factory.
So he grabbed his keys and a jacket, chucked his ciggies on the dashboard and headed out for a much needed road trip. Comfortably in his rocket, he lit it up and headed turned towards Venus. For a bit of circle work and a lot of a perve at the most awesome goddess in the universe. This would be the equivalent of pretending your older brother's GT is your own and rumbling up a
So I slid carefully into bed like a bit of a ninja because there were spreadsheety looking pages spread inconveniently on my side. I didn't want to disturb them or him. Actually, I did want to disturb both them and him but chose to be something of an adult about it instead.
"What's all this then?" I asked, immediately breaking my vow to not show any interest in exactly why my husband was sitting up in bed peering at his laptop when this is a thing he never does. Not even once.
I was driving home this evening and heard something over the radio about Google removing things no-one wants to see, or something. I dunno. I wasn't really listening but heard enough to wish I was. Happens often. But that is the perfect way to listen to news: hear half of it, let my imagination fill in the blanks, squint hopefully and wait for the fairy godmother's own godmother make it all blissfully true.
This doesn't work of course but I'm nothing if not committed.
Anyway, Google w
The very next person (out there in the real world) who insists that someone has to be impoverished or ugly or tongue-tied to feel a threat to their emotional wellbeing is going to pay a (modest) price for this.
And if the (tangibly redundant) photocopy chick at work, who incidentally can't negotiate the most forgiveable and ordinary foibles embodied in her most average 20-year old boyfriend, and who incidentally still lives with her parents so wouldn't know sh*t about anyth
Most divine and most luminous of all feminine light, I beseech thee for thine assistance.
Here on Earth, we have this thing. MeToo they call it. Troublingly, in the 18th year of this, the third millenium since Mary Magdalene made the best of harrowing beginnings, this is being trumpeted as the gold standard in ...wait for it ... female empowerment. Nope, don't know what that's meant to mean either.
To be sure, some worthwhile women have taken to this with the purest o
"What are you doing?" he asked
"Is it not apparent what I'm doing?" I asked, in the manner of someone frustrated by a lack of late season bloom. It was as if the broad-brimmed hat and pruning shears weren't enough of a clue but I suppose I was feeling a bit snippy.
"What are you doing wearing those?" he elaborated with an odd sort of disappointment, pointing at my gloves.
"I don't know how well you know your roses honey but they have teeth" I assured him
"Yes, of course. My
Whoever said you can run but cannot hide either had
a. nothing ever really to hide from
b. little interest in managing the timing and circumstance of 'being caught'
c. a stupid amount of success standing still!?
Run like Cathy Freeman, I say.
Running is hiding in plain sight.
And no-one finds you there.
Except the ones you love. The ones you want to.
This isn't wisdom. It just occurs to me that I have more to thank than I can imagine for running before I
It isn't that I necessarily vowed to never set foot on any part of Putin's America but that would be something I took quietly for granted. I'd have been wrong in any event because that is what we have not long did. It also makes me a hypocrite I suppose because I'd be more than happy waltzing around Putin's Leningrad for a week, if it ever thaws out. Come to think of it, a week anywhere is about all I can ever do these days before Home paints itself it big, bright colours and starts screaming my
If you don't stop interfering with my gorgeous summer with biblically hostile weather events, I'm going to come up there and kick your door in. And cause some real trouble. It's all about the children so my options are limited but nonetheless be warned. I might demand a brighter light be shone on your girl elves or, worse, give them some quality tuition into how to misbehave. You think your hands are full now?!
So, next time we plan to spend a nice, long weekend at the farm
A long time ago, when I was fourteen and fifteen years old, my mother hadn't yet snapped enough to be carted away. So I would go home to visit. Yes, I would VISIT my mother like a long lost relative instead of a cherished and only child. Three times a year, two weeks at a time and this despite boarding at a school less than an hour away. Still, she managed the pretense of fuss and anguish for, oh, a good few minutes whenever i stepped out of that taxi.
One might think she might have made t
May contain traces of a rant
I learned an incredible amount of small stuff during the last week, which is somewhat inconvenient as I'm meant to be furiously brushing up on what I already know ... or perhaps should of paid better attention to in the Prof. Soporific's industrial grade sleep chamber. Still, learning new things can be fun. I don't mean blissful like, say, ignorance but a modest amount of fun. So,
1. I learnt that writing objectively and dispassionately and academica
A long time ago, a callow and over-eager music reporter asked John Lennon if Ringo Starr was perhaps the bestest drummer in the whole, entire world. He replied, perhaps a little unkindly, that Ringo Starr wasn't even the best drummer in the Beatles. Ouch.
In a similar vein,I hope no-one ever asks anyone in my band of four if I'm the best mother in the entire world. They might all say no. They might all laugh and say not even the best mother in our family, despite the narrowest field of can
I cannot take recent credit for what follows but it is awesome in it's own desperate, quite possibly embittered and not necessarily sincere way. No, I lifted this from my diary, written 10 years ago today. I know this because I have it in front of me and I'm strange like that.
They say remind yourself.
They say if you say it enough you will etc.
They say lots of sh*t
They say be positive
And they say it some more
Vomit tastes better
But be positive
I was flicking through the junk mail today, which I am obliged to do. Like the sperm that swam and hoped and raced and dared to become half of my children, anything that weaves it way sneakily past a wall of hate has earned its share of attention. Surely the NO JUNK MAIL sign is hateful enough. It has to be. I can't remember ever seeing NO KIDS on a condom. This could easily become a blog about the virtues of silent messaging. But it won't.
Or it might.
Junk mail is nothing if not shr
This week, I airily flitted and fluttered my way up a foreign mountain and took in the view.
Because mountains are cold, angry, troublesome things, I only did this figuratively. Of course.
The view was nice.
It was almost exciting.
It certainly appealed to my left-leaning right-brain.
Because ... for the very first time in my less than model life I climbed the angry mountain and paid some personal income tax.
It feels like I ticked off something I never t
Every now and again, someone, somewhere will want to insist (plaintively, usually) that this mental illness is different from that mental illness. A just like a particular addict will sniff haughtily at lesser addicts )well, I did and that makes it universal) this insistence is probably at the shallow end of useful.
Not all leopards are lions it seems but you don't see either of those two crying about it.
Not that I'm feeling smug. I have done my share of pitiful, plaintive, but-but-
I have always liked that my birthday is exactly one day before my husband's birthday. The best and, if I'm honest, most deserved consequence of this is the most obvious. He must always go first. To be perfectly fair he has not got it wrong so has not had to be punished with a really sh*t, emergency, square-up present but I will not pretend I haven't lorded this over him. But since he has proven capable of necessary and at times utterly charming forethought, and since he is every bit as ravenous