Saturday, 9 June 2012

Who The Hell Are You?



I've spent the past few weeks slowly reaching a crescendo and I just can't take it anymore. Smoothing things over, deeply worried about how it all looks. Frantic phonecalls, tears, scurrying around.  Fighting, hand-throwing, almost giving up.

But I haven't given up, and now it's here.

Today is the first day of our open house inspection. 

People will come over to my house and look at all my stuff. Open drawers, look in my pantry .. maybe even my cupboards. I've tidied up and cleared as best I can, but I know that people are still going to judge. It's human nature. When people stand here and pick apart my furniture, the greasy range hood, my taste in style ... I won't know because I won't be here. I don't WANT to know. If they bitch about my house, it will be done the old-fashioned way: away from me, so I can't hear it. I'll be at the park with my boys, then we're going to buy hot chocolates, some cardboard for Max's overdue Mongolia assignment, and hire out some movies. 

In the past few months I have been asked by journalists intensely personal questions about my husband. Whether my sisters have substance issues too. (For the record they don't ... I took that bullet for them because that's what good sisters DO.) There's more, but this one keeps bugging me: "Surely you're going to have a LOT of explaining to do with your boys, when they're old enough to read and understand your blog?"

This week I've been in the most annoying email exchange of all time, with a google executive who so kindly helped me take my first blog off the internet. I'd forgotten my password and email address, so it's just been hanging there, in cyberspace. Somebody was pressing me on it so I went and had a look - I was angry, inappropriate, and hurtful. A mad scramble ensued, to take it down. I'm going to go through it and take out the posts that are hurtful. My words hurt people. Words are so powerful!

I keep having to write new bio's for things. I hate it ... even had to re-write the "Who is Edenland" on this blog. I erased the old one and put a new one up there. My About Me's keep changing, because I keep changing. It's a good thing. Change and evolution, baby.

Lately I keep wondering who I am. Back in Niger I stood there on the last day, and Adel from World Vision West Africa just looked at my clothes. "You like black a lot, don't you Eden."

I laughed, swung my red scarf around my neck and said "Yes but I like red too. It goes well with black." 

Later she gave me a beautiful card, with carefully chosen words. "... you really are a complex woman."

I didn't know what she meant but I knew it made me want to cry. When I was in Niger I got more than a few comments and emails from people saying they'd always put off coming here to read my blog, " .. because, well, YOU KNOW." (These were lovely emails, but the thing is, I didn't know what they were talking about. Not sure I want to.)

Then I came back home, won the Sydney Writer's Centre Best Blog Award, launched with the Remarkables, and found myself eating a lot of cake on my couch. I felt greedy, embarrassed, and under some intense scrutiny. I've been fumbling ever since, with laryngitis. Other people's assumptions made me lose my voice. 

So the question remains. Who am I?

*throat clear*

Today, I don't know who I am. I forgot. As a kid, when people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up and I told them a pop singer who gives all her money to charity. I meant it with my whole heart. I get shocked when people question my motives. Then I look around and start questioning other people's motives. Who is real, and who is fake?

I get paranoid easily. (Kids. do NOT smoke pot.) I believe pineapple has no place on a pizza, and a raisin has no place - anywhere. I love my kids. I love my kids. I love my kids. I'm too sensitive. I'm too tough. I'm too abrasive.

I have a big shadow. I manage it as best I can. I have mental health issues. I'm a trained copywriter who used to work in radio and advertising. I cried myself to sleep when Molly died on A Country Practice. Once when I was about 22 I woke up under a car in Kings Cross after hiding there the night before. I'd jumped a cab, and fallen into a drunken sleep. When I eased myself out, early-morning commuters were shocked so I looked at them in disgust. Like, THEY were the ones with the problem. Rii-iiight.

I have a heart of gold. I care very deeply, about many different things. Just because I say "Suck my mummyblogging dick" on twitter doesn't mean I'm a rude idiot. Wait - it does! Sorry. I never said I was perfect. I'm mostly doing the best I can. I learnt a long time ago, to not take myself so bloody seriously. I used to be a barmaid, an ice-cream scooper, a receptionist, a nanny. A dog walker, a magazine editor, a lover.

My children will know that their mother struggled a lot in life but kept getting back up again. Hopefully they'll be down with that.

I like cheese.





Edenland's Fresh Horses Brigade






Come stage your comeback .... who are you? It's a really simple question. Hard to answer.

You can go deep or just skim the surface, there's no right or wrong. I used to do this Fresh Horses Meme every week ... it's back. Once a month from here on in. Just feel like drawing a line in the sand, today. Starting over. I'm good at that.

Are you?

(Write a post, grab the code, then link below.)

PS None of the people at open house today will know that Rocco just pissed all over the toilet floor for the krillionth time.

PPS Mr Linky will be open all long weekend. Hanging to see who you are. Remember when I used to say, "We're all in this together." Those were good times.

Important: This is link-up of blog posts that have been written expressing who you are, not a general link to just, pimp your blog out for free. 


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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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