The Cave.

Now, enough thinking and talking, had enough of that for a lifetime.

I now need things to DO to get me through the day. I need to put myself in the Cilla cave.

Here are some things to do:

• Reading – can anyone suggest any good books?
• Watching my favourite shows on TV – Offspring, NCIS…..erm…. can’t think of any more
• Exercise – am cutting down to 1PT session a week so need to be more disciplined during the rest of the week. Have lots of body-weight exercises to do. Note to self – cancel gym membership. Going for long, relaxed runs. I have potentially found a new running buddy in Casie. The London Marathon looms like a golden scary beacon in the distance. Riding my bike is fun too!
• Contemporary dance classes at chunky move, wonderfully sensuous and expressive.
• Drawing Classes, general art – have been invited to a gallery opening next saturday, and want to get to the NGV to see some art.
• Art classes/drawing/painting
• Getting some private sessions at work to earn some $$$$. I have been offered a public session in the obesity clinic at work, that will come online soon.
• Little things like my PhD and my usual job.

Lots of good things to look forward to, I keep reminding myself that.

And Sara – it was car serviced and dentist in one day, not one week. I have a great big pair of balls, for sure.

Gratitude.

I have heard that it takes pain to appreciate joy.

This is indeed true.

Yestderday was shitty mcshit.

Today could have been another shitty mcshit day, but was ok. Here are the things I am grateful for:

• Melbourne is showing some sun.
• I went to the dentist, and instead of naughty corner for not flossing, my teeth were fine – elephant stamp.
• I went to get my car serviced, and it did not cost as much as I thought it would. They washed my car. Big shout out to Kmart tyre and auto, brunny. The acrid smell was some plastic bag stuck to the exhaust.
• I went to see my friend’s little baby, Keiran. I wanted to avoid going there, as I thought I would cry. I didn’t, in fact, I really enjoyed seeing the baby, cuddling him and inhaling baby smell (he had been bathed). I made my friend a cup of tea and some breakfast. It was good to help her.

I am coping ok too. My personal hygiene has not lapsed. I have been to the supermarket and bought healthy items; no chocolate or alcohol. I might have a nap, then do some work.

Phil, my most treasured possession is probably my Passport. Both of them (UK and Australia)

If – Rebooted

This poem has taken on particular meaning now.

So I will re-boot it.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

It is a tough, tough time now. I am staying with a friend.

My mother and sister have given me a particularly hard time. A year ago this would have beaten me into submission. Now I am drawing on my own strength and that of my friends, and I am having a hiatus from speaking to my mum and sis.

When it comes down to it, though, I have realised one thing.

To feel lonely and frightened without a partner is one thing. To feel lonely and frightened while married is another.

I am ok, though. I am like a tea bag – it is only in hot water that I realise how strong I am.

Pyjama Philosophy

Man, it has been a hard couple of days, but ones which have left me with clarity.

I have come up with a few things in the last few days, just thought I would share them.

Some phrases that we have are bullshit.

Like glass half full. Are you a glass half full or empty person? Well, the glass is sometimes full, sometimes empty. If it gets empty, there is more water to put in there, especially now that we are out of the drought in Melbourne.

Like the grass always seems greener on the other side. What other side? Where? It is all one pasture!

Similarly, being on track. There is no “track” to get on. If there were a “track”, life would be a bit easier. The “track” is just there to make us feel guilty. Damn track. Same as the wagon, you are either on or off it. There is no wagon. I prefer a Mercedes Benz. Or failing that, my Astra is fine. Except that, at the moment, there is an acrid smell coming from it. That can’t be good, better get it serviced.

On owning your own home, the great Australian/American dream. Home is where you make it. Most of the world have no roof over their heads. Most of the rest of the world rent. They are perfectly happy doing so. In most of the world, property ownership is only by the very rich. In the US/Australia, it has been put out there as a dream for everyone, and it is becoming increasingly out of reach, and this drives recession and misery and feelings of failure.

The Great Australian/American dream is just a ploy made up by the banks to get us sucked in, I have decided. Owning your own home is fine, but it is not the be all and end all. Hell, it won’t even make you happy.

And I fucking hate the song “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with”. It is bullshit.

That is my 2 cents for the day. I am going out for a run. It could get ugly.

Hello, and welcome to my Crisis.

Please wipe your feet at the door and make yourself comfortable.

Oh, what a time. I do not think I have ever, ever been so confused in my life. I am not a great fan of airing the dirty laundry on the internet, but this is real emotional stuff and it helps me to write about it. It might help somebody else out there, too.

Here I have in front of me a great (mortgaged) house in a great suburb. A beautiful dog. A great job and an exciting research project. A personal trainer who is helping me achieve my fitness goals.

Recently, I realise I have youth. I am shedding the bodily self-loathing. For the first time in my life, I feel attractive. Glowingly so.

I no longer feel the need to eat to manage stress.

Yet, there is one part of my life that has been niggling at me for a long, long time – my relationship.

I got together with him at 19. I always felt lucky to have him. He is a lovely, clever man who loves me dearly and wants to have babies with me, sooner rather than later. He does not hit me, like my dad hit my mum. Sure, the conversation was always a bit difficult, and I got frustrated that I felt unable to communicate him, but hey, he is a lovely guy. We were affectionate, lots of pecks and cuddles.

So this is why I felt so very bad and guilty when I started to hear the alarm bells ringing. I stuffed them down. Probably covered them with a bit of chocolate, too.

We were civil, but I felt like a mother scolding her child. I would say: Don’t worry so much about your job! It’s just a job! Get your nose hairs cut. Get your hair cut. Buy some new shoes, the old ones have worn out. Here, eat your vegetables. Do some exercise – come running with me. Do pilates with me – it’ll help your back pain. Call your mum, for crying out loud. Most of them were argued with or flatly refused (particularly with regard to the exercise).

But otherwise, the relationship was fine. FIIIINE.

Recently, I set about developing my second bout of depression. I clawed myself out of it, mostly with the help of Gayrocco and Littlesare. Clawed. I started a job with a team I really liked. I started my PhD, writing a $600,000 grant application, an ethics approval and submitting papers to international conferences (Malaga, here I come). For a few months, everything was on the up-and-up. I felt so very proud of myself.

Then, about a month ago – CRRRAAAAASSSSH.

A few  things happened.

I had some family members from the other side of my family come back out of the blue. That brought back a lot of anger from the loneliness and rejection I felt in my teenage years.

I started feeling jealous of my friends relationships. Eeeek! That’s terrible. Get off facebook! You don’t need it in your face!

Then the alarm bells regarding my relationship turned into air-raid sirens.

A few fricking great pennies dropped.

He had been so consumed with his work, and his computing, that there was nothing for me. The conversation waned severely. So many little things I had just ignored over the years had turned into a big dark angry bomb. Like the unreturned phone calls or texts (big one, that). The general lack of contribution to social/holiday occasions. The fact that, on holidays, he was always anxious to get home to work. The fact that I had to plead with him to come to bed with me. The fact that he had rarely made me dinner and when he did, there was just a big fat song and dance about it. That he had never made me a cup of coffee. That I had to always tell him to do his share housework (hey, he has eyes, right?).

You can make your own conclusions about the intimacy. I felt so very guilty for not wanting to go there with him. All that superficial stuff about taking care of your appearance that I felt so guilty about? Hey, man, that matters in this resepct.

(Hey, man, I was not perfect. I probably should have been less in-charge and bossy and independent. Put my foot down a bit more. Put my foot down earlier. I don’t know – any other suggestions? I am open, here!)

So, just after I had booked us in for a romantic holiday in Penang, I. CRACKED. THE. SHITS. Hell hath no fury etc etc.

I cancelled the holiday to Penang and booked myself one. I felt sad and guilty when I did this, but hell, I did it.

Oh, he was contrite. Very contrite. Things started happening.

I thought: hey, this holiday will give me a chance to miss him.

So I went on the holiday. We kissed goodbye at the airport, our first proper grown up kiss in some time (actually cannot remember).

I had an amazing time (see last post, I feel the need to rub it in no further). The world shone. It opened its arms to me and I gave it a big fat bear hug in return. I did some things I had never done before. I felt alive, never more so, and free.

And I did not miss him.

I am back. I am so confused that I barely know which way is up. Reality has hit and the lustre of the holiday has worn off, like (I would imagine) an hallucinogenic drug trip.

Sooooo many mixed messages. Some of them really frightening.

“Oh, but of course you didn’t miss him, you were too busy having fun? What if you were in Ballarat?”

“Oh, but he is a lovely man!” (yeah, but the one for me??? Is there such a thing as a soul-mate?)

“If you leave him, there are lots of bastards out there, all Men think with their dicks, you will get hurt or be lonely, or be alone for the rest of your life”.

“Oh, but men are clueless, you have to expect that” (sorry, blokes).

These are well intentioned, to be sure.  But horribly, horribly frightening.

Then there is this chestnut: “oh, but you should go to counselling. Work on it”.

Well, really, I don’t know if I feel like that. My heart, right now, is not in it.

See, I realised that I feel like I have been flogging a dead horse for some time, and it has been killing me slowly, inside. I have alternated between guilt and resentment and anger for a while now. It felt good just to do some things that…felt good.

I face more guilt/resentment/fear now, whichever way I go. I am scared of disappointing my mum and mother in law. More difficult decisions. I just wish it would all go away.

That is where I am at now, thankyou for reading.

Another Champagne?

Don’t mind if I do!

Singapore has some lovely places if one cares to look, to pay attention. Just random things, put on walls of shopping malls.

I saw: “Always remember to be happy, because you never know who might be falling in love with your smile”.

Also, more importantly: “Life is not the amount of breaths you take, it’s the moments that take your breath away.

I have had quite a few of them, recently. Not from running, either.

I have travelled the world but this is the best holiday I have been on, because I have been me, me engaging with the world. I engage with it well.

So, not to rub it in or anything, today, I checked out of the hotel, which was a fantastic hotel (Studio M, near Robertson Quay, for anyone interested). I woke up late, took breakfast, got up, packed. I sat myself out by the pool and read and listened to music and watched clouds pass. The sun shifted, so I was laying out of the shadows, and I developed a nice golden tan. When I got too hot, I went and did some paddling in the pool. I repeated this a couple of times. Then, when it got too sunny, I went and sat on one of the couches in the shade, and fell asleep in my bathers.

It was bliss. Pure bliss. No money spent, no chocolate eating, just pure, mindful idlness.

As I had said in my previous post, I scored an upgrade to Business class for the leg home. The Emirates lounge in Singapore airport is amazing, far superior to Qantas. I got taken to the airport in a merc, was met at the door of the airport, had my bags taken to check in, and did not have to queue. I went into the lounge and had a buffet dinner, which was amazing. Even more amazing was the free bar (2 glasses of champagne, proper champagne, thankyou very much) and I watched the planes land. I am about to board the plane, but have to get a bottle of perfume I had my eyes on on the way out.

I have not been lonely, nor bored. I have been myself. I am a new woman. I am sure the next few months will be hard but I am prepared for that.

Casie, welcome!

Interval training.

Up at 10:30, missed breakfast, wandered off for a coffee and walk along the river, then lunch.

It was hot and humid. I eyed the pool at the hotel.

I did some interval training

10×25 metre doggy paddle intervals (don’t laugh, these are hard work)

20 minute sunbathing recovery, with music on ipod, watching clouds pass. Working hard on tan.

repeat by 4.

Chat with girls with hot bods – found out they were from the Ukraine and in town performing in the circus. So that is why they have hot bods.

I came around to the fact that my paler, more curvaceous body, clad in a 50s style cossie, was not inferior; indeed, it is appealing in its own way.

A good day.

Tonight- dancing at Clarke Quay. It is Ladies night, so free drinks.

Have an upgrade to biz class on they way home.

Life is good.

Here is a little vid for the laydeez out there (men, take note).

Madonna is/was brilliant.

Well, hello, strangers.

I have not fallen of the face of the earth. I have just had a hiatus.

I had alluded to some issues that were going on.

The 13 year relationship between myself and my husband has been undergoing some problems, probably, in retrospect, for some time. In the past few weeks some major realisations have been made. Some time alone was required.

Hence, I went to Dubai, and have now come to Singapore.

I was scared of being lonely during this trip, but in truth I have not been. Maybe briefly, but not generally. I feel more alive than what I have …. probably ever.

This does not bode well for our relationship, if the truth be told.

I am not going to bore you with all the details of my trip, as I am wont to do. Feelings and observations are always far more interesting than lists.

So.

• Dubai. The heat. The rampant consumerism. The largest mall in the world, full of luxury stores, and a Laduree (my favourite patisserie in the world). This place is amazing.
• The Arab women. We have so many preconceived notions about them, but many of them were broken. The richer ladies prance around the mall, either a couple of steps ahead of their husbands, or in large groups of women. They are mostly covered in black abayas, but are meticulously made up and groomed. They have expensive bags hanging off their shoulders and if you look closely, designer shoes adorning their feet. Their hands are soft and skin is pale; they look protected, mollycoddled, pampered. They wear lots of expensive gold and diamond jewellery.
• The multiple shoegasms. 2 pairs of Oscar de la Renta shoes at 70% off. These shoes are the bomb. Other heavily discounted designer pretties were bought as well. Multiple bargasms.
• The trip to Sharjah- a glimpse of Bedouin culture.
• The dune-bashing 4 wheel drive trip, which I enjoyed for the first 20 minutes and then spent the last 45 minutes of it with my eyes squeezed shut, head in a bag.
• Meeting the insouciant Ghanian Ann, and going out shopping with her to buy (real) hair extensions, sourced from India and China.
• Going to Verre, a Gordon Ramsay restaurant, alone. Walking there in my new heels (500 metres across the road) and black dress, attracting stares from local men. Generally though, the men were well behaved.
• Enjoying my meal at Verre, and being introduced to the head chef there, who trained under Gordon Ramsay.
• Getting a manicure and pedicure. Sitting next to an American lady called Mary Louise, a construction lawyer based in Dubai but working in Pakistan and Afghanistan. We had an amazing chat and she invited me out to brunch with her expat friends.
• Going to a jazz bar, alone. Meeting the singer and her boyfriend pianist, who was Australian, she sang a few songs for me. Rebuffing some slimy looking older arab men (and what the hell are they doing drinking alcohol, anyway). I had a great time.
• Going to that brunch, or more properly, buffet lunch, in a hotel called the Palace, an Arabian styled hotel, very swanky. Now, I have eaten some amazing meals in my time, but this was one of the more memorable. The buffet contained lobster mornay, fresh crab, oysters, roast beef and….foie gras, fried up for me freshly and served on brioche. Fresh mussels cooked in white wine and cream and garlic…yumm. All the prosecco we could drink and a mojito to finish off. All for the equivalent of $100 Australian.
• At this brunch, meeting Jen, another American expat, a web designer. I had reservations for at.mosphere, the bar on the 120th floor of the Burj Khalifa (the world’s tallest building), and I invited Jen along as my date. Dressed and made up to the nines, we drank sublime cocktails and felt like the girls from Sex and the City.
• Then the flight to Singapore – exit row seat, valium, sleep.
• I have met some amazing people here, too. I spent last night at the bar on top of marina bay sands, the view of Singapore was amazing (sorry to overused the word).
• Smiling at the little kids playing in their undies under fountains. Smiling at people talking Singlish ( a bastardised singaporean English). Smiling a lot. Singing in the street – luckily nobody can hear me, it is so loud.
• Having my hair dyed by Edwin, the singaporean hairdresser with strong hands who gave a head massage to die for.

It has been quite a time. To use the cliche, a real rollercoaster, but quite a time.

Holidays and bikini shopping

Well folks, I am buggering off for a couple of weeks as of tomorrow (Sat).

Seeing as I am going to warmer climes, I thought it wise to buy a new bathing suit. And being the brave, feisty girl I am, I thought, hey, I might buy a bikini.

It will be the first time my abdomen has received UV rays since circa 1982. I was 3, and refreshingly free of body image issues.

I set off to swimwear galore. Soooo many bathing suits. I thought, surely I can get something here. And having a 1940s/50s bombshell type of body (glass half full etc), I thought I could get a befitting bikini.

I wanted a cute, yet supportive halterneck top with some bottoms that flattened the bumpy bits. Surely, not too much to ask, right?

Well I tried on about 10 pairs. NOT FREAKING ONE of them looked right. NOT ONE!

Too skimpy.

Too boy-legged, making my thighs look larger than they are.

Too hipster-y. I have a bit of junk in the trunk to cover up and Dubai is NOT the place for brickie’s cleavage.

I have bathers, including a 50s style 1piece. I think I might just wear them, maybe Dubai is not the time to debut my lily-white abdomen, as titillating for the arabs as it may be.

Great training session this morning, one hour of my arse being handed to me on a platter. Was fricking spent after.

Have had a completely FERAL case of TTOM and a run etc got out some of the aggression, so I don’t kill people. Unfortunately I have been wanting to demolish every carbiferous and fatty foodstuff in my path. To a degree, I have been succeeding, but I have still been eating more than I should. Better rein it in.

I am staying places with gyms and pools, thank Christ/Allah.