Thursday, 13 October 2016

It's Never You.

Hey mate. I was thinking the other day about that time you lived in that flat in Potts Point and woke up stark naked out on William Street because you went sleepwalking and locked yourself out of your place. Remember how the cops drove by and they were all, what the fuck dude and you explained it to them and while you were waiting for a locksmith they gave you one of those CSI suits to wear. It was a funny story. But is it, or is sleepwalking to that degree indicative of deeper, not-so-great stuff going on in somebodies head and heart? Indicative - there's a word. Not only does it have the sound "dick" in it but there were many indications in your life that your life was not going great. Detour signs, stop signs, "TURN BACK, WRONG WAY" .. bumpy road ahead. Potholes. Expired parking meters. A lot of the people in your life didn't miss those signs in you. A lot of us tried to reach in and grab your pulsating heart to prove to you that you were still alive and still here.

Anyway so you're still not alive and you're still not here because life ends for us all but you ended yours prematurely of your own accord and quite frankly fuck you so hard for begging and making me promise that if you killed yourself there would be no funeral. Fuck your six-page suicide addressed to me ... umm, any idea how it feels like to be the person you dictated all your "tying up of loose ends?" Basically I feel like a murderer - dude, I wish you hadn't have done that. I know you'd have no idea of the impact but christ on a cracker, what was I, your fucking suicide secretary? Exactly a month after you died I crashed my car because I fell asleep driving two hours to the beach house after having dinner with a heap of your friends. So I drove around in your silver Cruze sedan for a while until my insurance came through. You forgot some loose ends ... you forgot you left your black unlined notebook in the side pocket of your drivers seat, detailing your planning of your demise. I see you researched ropes and how to tie knots first, before you started getting quotes on gas cylinders. Who the fuck cares about price differences in the gas cylinders they're going to kill themselves with when they're about to die anyway? Like fifty bucks is going to make a huge difference - for what? That's just stupid.

You're stupid. You're a stupid fucking arrogant cocksucker for doing what you did and I will never ever hate you for it and the thing that I guess is slightly worrisome now is I completely understand why you'd want no funeral. Because fuck a bunch of people coming to sit solemnly in pews weeping and saying all the nice things. Where were they when you couldn't sleep for three days straight and you had the dead eyes going on and you were a little boy who needed ... more.

Thing is, you grew up and wouldn't let hardly anybody in. A lot of people tried and did their best. Yeah life is hard but it is for all of us. Some more than others - much more. For example, I feel so fucked up and low at this juncture I just kind of walk around with my shoulders slumped reminding myself life is just temporary so just live it anyway. There's not many people left for me, anymore. Very, very few close friends and a handful of family. I'm so far outside of my wife/mother role that I just don't know how I'll get through because the ferocity of love I have for my sons is the same I have for you. And you're gone and the last few weeks I have been seeing you EVERYWHERE. Legit three or four times every day lately I see a guy in the street and for 0.003 seconds I think THERE HE IS! And it's never you. Strange thing is I keep looking - sometimes weirding guys out because I just keep looking intently trying to will you back into existence with my very mind powers but no. No, sweetheart. You is gone.

And my grief allocation expired years ago, people get annoyed or chirpy chipper telling me some bullshit about some bullshit but you can't wrap a big fat pink bow around one of the deepest cuts a Soul's ever experienced so these days I just say nothing. I don't even write about you much anymore. Someone yelled at me (more than once) ALL YOU FUCKING DO IS SIT ON YOUR COMPUTER AND WRITE ABOUT YOUR DEAD BROTHER. I'm not even pissed he said it because he was right. Truth hurts. Everything hurt. My life crashed and burnt after you died but let's face it, I hadn't been travelling great for a few years beforehand anyway so I don't blame it all on your death. But death does have a way of tearing your entire existence apart. I lost so many things after you left. I fucked up so bad - and have been fucked over so bad in return. Life is bullshit. I don't like it even more now. I really don't give that many fucks about many things anymore. It's freeing to not give a fuck, the trick is to just give a fuck about the RIGHT things. Hopefully my guys will catch on to that. Max is taller than me now. He's stunning. Remember that time when you lived with us and you sat him down and taught him the "proper" way to play Pokemon cards? Because of course you did, you bloody all-knowing dork. Remember he's sitting there and after listening to you talk for about ten minutes I clocked the look on his face and told you mate, you're boring him. And you were but he was too polite to tell you. Rocco's into Pokemon cards now too ... as was his biggest brother fourteen years ago. I'm quite looking forward to the Pokemon stage being over because for a start, those packs are EXPENSIVE. Some little shit from Rocco's school stole his best card AND the Pokemon book I bought him.

"Right. What's his name. I'm coming into school to get them back."
"Mum, I'm not telling you his name because I know what you're like."

All my sons know what a brash, ballsy, put-up-with-no-shit-fuck-a-bitch-up mother I am. They've all told me repeatedly over the years that I'm not a normal mum, probably because I'm not a normal mum. I fucking loathe doing canteen, serving little kids icy poles with my tattooed arms. I put myself through the anxiety hell of canteen just so for the whole of recess Rocco gets to be the man and rack up a tab of buying shit for all his mates. One day it cost me $17 but I hadn't seen him for a while - worth every penny.

I keep getting into legal trouble and should basically set up a camp bed at Katoomba Courthouse now. It's not really fun, it's fucked. Everything I am gets literally dragged out and used against me in a court of law so help me, god. Centrelink doesn't cover my rent. I'm not particularly successful right now but what the hell is success at this point in time? Sometimes it's just existing. Taking a rest before the next hurdle.

So my future is looking quite shit and scary but hey, I'm picking Rocco up tomorrow and he'll be with me for a while and on Saturday when the calendar marks exactly three years since you died, me and Rocco are going to Marina's house to mind Logan - yeah Rini had a kid. She got married .. her and Ariel and Morgan are all grown up and incredible and have been through hell and back and it's so so nice to be in their lives again. I talk to Uncle Stevie about a lot of shit. It's so fucking vital to be real with people and he rings to check up on me and reminds me that I'm not alone, and family is everything.

Sometimes family isn't everything though, hey. I miss you. Can you hear me when I talk to you and narrate my latest fucked-up episode to you usually at 2am when I can't sleep and I'm just laugh-crying at the latest bullshit escapade I got myself into again? Remember playing Kings Quest on that archaic computer when we lived in England in 1988 right before your dad killed himself and you and I just both could NOT destroy Mannanan the Evil Wizard? Still shits me to this day.

Remember you and I were watching Never-ending Story when we were kids and when the white horse got stuck in the mud and sunk and died you cried so uncontrollably I had to turn the video off? I took you for a walk up to Mt Riv shops to cheer you up with a few King Rat lollies - you were always a jube guy. Remember I used to call you upstairs and had wrapped up some lame thing hanging around my bedroom and made a really big deal out of it and you unwrapped the newspaper wrapping - you'd get so excited. Until one day you grew a bit older and you just looked at me like, Ede, this is just one of your manky toys.

Hey where DID Oofie go? He wasn't in the stuff you half-packed into boxes before you died. By the way I gave your four white Ikea chairs away. Threw your Wimbledon hat in the bin. Along with your cologne, your suicide planning book, and your wallet. I cut up all your credit cards and mining license cards (YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BECOME A MINER) and your drivers license. When I did it I was siting on my kitchen floor sobbing and my tears fell on all your cut up cards and I just kept saying out loud that I'm sorry but I can't hold onto your stuff anymore, it was heavier than the moon. I knew you'd understand. I took it all up to a bin in Katoomba Street because I couldn't put it all in my kitchen bin because it just needed to be out of my house and when I went to chuck it all in the bin it was about 4pm and the street was busy with people walking past and all these pieces of your cut-up cards and licenses fell all over the street so I'm there cry-laughing picking it all up piece by piece coz I cut them all up real small, you know? And that - exactly that is one of the many times I turn my eyes skyward and address you and just tell you oh my fucking god Cam this is my life right now is this absurd or what?

I wanna talk to you about the Rothschilds banks and the Federal Reserve and who's funding all the wars and what's your latest girlfriend like and how I took Rocco to Wet'n'Wild last week and when I was in a cafe ordering my double-shot latte I opened my emails and found out I was officially divorced. Who the fuck finds out they're divorced at a theme park. The finality hit me so bad and hard I stood there for about a minute openly weeping and people were staring (See: not giving a fuck) and I called my friend Naomi to talk me down but if you were alive I would have called you first. And you would have made me laugh.

So yeah you died in spring and it's spring again now and I'm not even angry at the cherry blossoms this year. They got a right to bloom - it's not their fault. The other day I was half-heartedly pushing clothes around my bedroom "cleaning" and I found your unwashed t-shirt ... this exact one, actually:

Haven't smelt it in over a year so I took the biggest, biggest inhale and it still smells like you. And I didn't cry. And I'll never wash it.

I miss your face and your laugh and your HUMOUR and your beautiful caring heart and so many other beautiful things about you you couldn't see. I don't miss your dead eyes, your sad defeat, your chronically inexplicably evil depression. I'm still here living, life's still fucked - you're not missing anything really. Except we're missing you, Cam. All of the people who loved you so so so much - we're all missing you. You are missed. The babies you will never have are missed - you might have even built that mud-brick house if you stayed, and lived in it and found some kind of tolerable grasp on a piece of meaningful happy existence. We should have had a funeral for us, not you. Would have been nice to hear stories about you we'll never hear.

I'm writing this all out now before Saturday because fuck Saturday to hell and I'll be with my boy and he's seen me cry enough, too much. But I'm really quite fucked up at the moment so spare me some fucking afterlife grace or some shit because I need it, brother.

Ok I love you. See you maybe again one day or never. Who knows. Gotta go, bro.  It's 2am and this six-pack of cinnamon donuts aren't going to eat themselves. Hey I've still got your couch - it's a good couch. Rocco's thoroughly trashed it with spilt drinks and food and I don't mind at all because it means your couch is being lived in - SO lived in.

Just not by you.


(Comments off because I can't handle them sorry.)

Monday, 3 October 2016

Straight Truth, On The Rocks.

Yeah I'll be quick. I'm writing this one because I was privy to a conversation the other day in where I butted in because sometimes we have to be a buttinski when we feel it's necessary.

Some twenty-somethings were talking about just general shit which I found boring because I'm old enough to be their mother ... and then this young girl came out with how much anxiety and pain she was in, every day, all the time, found it hard to leave her house, depressed, sometimes wanted to die. My ears perked UP ... especially when this one loudmouth guy-friend of hers demanded to know why she'd never spoke about this before. (I'm assuming she spoke about it because I was speaking about it quite freely and matter-of-factly, these subjects roll off my tongue.)

She was really embarrassed and tried to backtrack. The guy-friend of hers completely had no idea or empathy of where she was at, I'm not even judging him about it but it was FASCINATING how he didn't have one shred of understanding. He told her to just don't think that way. He told her to get up and eat well and go for a run ... at this point I actually put my hand up to him and said "Dude, you don't know what you're talking about. No offence, but shush, be quiet. Let her finish." He wasn't even insulted because he was young, very good-looking, arrogant, and completely self-centred why the hell would he give a shit about what some 40-something year old mother said to him.

So there's this beautiful young girl spilling out some shit - only some, she was holding a lot back I could tell. Her family history of mental health stuff that has affected her greatly, her very intelligent views on the world and how hopeless it can be. I didn't even know her and I wanted to hug her, told her I understood everything of what she'd just said. Young dumb full of come guy's fuckwittery then hit a new level. "Just stop it." He told her to just stop it, like it was that easy.

I did crack the shits then. "Mate it must feel so good to be you and not have to deal with all this stuff that she's talking about right now but you seriously have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. This is serious shit - and I'm sure you have your own serious shit you go through in life but this is her serious shit and you're blowing it off and shutting her down and making her feel bad. Nobody can tell anybody else what to feel." 

I didn't spend much more time with them after that, except to ask her to step outside with me. I showed her some of my slam poems. Showed her other peoples slam poems, websites that might help, other humans going through the same thing she was. "Honey it feels like you're alone. You're not alone." Told her about my psychiatric admissions. Told her about my sons. I told her so much stuff but when I told her about the struggle my brother went through, she broke down. But a good breakdown - not all breakdowns are bad in fact most are entirely needed. She thanked me so much but I didn't even do anything, except tell her a bit of truth straight up, truth on the rocks about being on the rocks.

She walked back inside to the gallery but I didn't, that was enough people for me. I walked home in the ICY ICY COLD OF KATOOMBA STREET I'VE BEEN SO GOOD AT NOT COMPLAINING ABOUT THE COLD THIS YEAR BUT WINTER, YOUR TIME HAS EXPIRED.


So that's that. I didn't even catch this chicks name but I hope she gets through it all ok, I've thought about her for days. Just want her know she's not alone.

It's a Monday on a long weekend and here is me in real life right now:

I fucking well ran out of my antidepressants a few days ago like an idiot. The zapping made me walk up to the chemist where they know me quite well, same meds different days. Got my bipolar meds and anti-depressant meds filled and while I was sitting there waiting, TWO rude customers came in. The first guy was whining like a little kid, telling the chemist he's eating two sheets of Strepsils a day and his throat is STILL SORE. Like it's the chemists fault. I was disdainful and judgy. The chemist was very polite but he looked over at me looking disdainfully and gave me a half-smile. Then this older lady comes in wanting some script for some shit and she was so, so rude. Why? Because her script came in a different packaging. "UGH, this is not the SAME." Both chemist assistants assured her it was the exact same, just different packaging. She argued. Then waved her hand said "Fine, fill it then. I'll come back."

I started laughing before she'd even walked out because she was just so rude. Being the only person in the whole chemist, I addressed all the staff loudly.

"You guys, on behalf of all the arsehole customers I'd like to thank you for all of your hard work today."

Man we all laughed so hard. One of them said "Yep, it's the out-of-towners on a long weekend that give us the most grief."

When I paid I had to pay full price regardless of my health-care card because I need some kind of Special Authorisation from my professor/doctor. FUCK. Getting help is so expensive. I've thought seriously lately about going off all of my medications, being a member of a program that promotes complete abstinence kind of skews my feelings around being medicated but at this point I know I need to stay medicated. Because if this is what I feel medicated, heaven help me when I'm not medicated.

That's the end of this entry. Except to say the tampons I bought exclaim on the pack "NEW Anti-Fluff Base!" Which part of a tampon is the base? And so all this time of periods I've been using fluffy tampons? Bring on the menopause apocalypse, is what I reckon.

Here's the song de jour, rattling around my head today. Laters. xxx

(I'm so sorry but the comments to my blog are still turned off and I don't know why they just are.)

Wednesday, 21 September 2016

I Keep Snooping On The People In The Hotel Carpark.

This one night I heard a woman screaming in the hotel directly next to my place. I saw straight into her room, pacing around. "MY ARM! YOU HURT MY ARM! YOU BROKE MY ARM!" I kind of knew her arm wasn't broken, dunno why.

Watching transfixed, that familiar feeling of adrenaline and relief that it wasn't me that was in trouble. She stopped. I went back inside from my balcony. Five minutes later she started up again and I thought FUCK. Now I have a civic duty to help. You knew how some poor soul gets violently murdered and the neighbours get interviewed saying "Well, we did hear screaming and a ruckus." 
So, you didn't think to call the cops or do something? Ugh. Had to put on my ugg boots walk out into the rain, I got three umbrellas you think I can find one?

Annoyed at the interruption to my otherwise usual night of penance solitude, I slipped over on the steps outside reception because a German guy pushed past me?

I said "OH EXCUSE ME SORRY." Oblivious German guy checks in and it takes ages. I stood behind him judging his clothes, his accent, his luggage. What a Dickward Street.

Told the lovely receptionist I'd heard screaming from the room three windows across from the top floor. She looked concerned, thanked me, said she'd look into it. Civic duty DONE so when I got interviewed by the media the next day I'd look good because I'd reported it.

I'm so jealous of the people coming in and out of that hotel! It's fun to stay in hotels. Obviously they've come up to the mountains for a great getaway. Groups of middle-aged couples, honeymooners, bunches of 20-something people who appear to have their shit together. I hear them talking. "Ok we'll go up and buy some fruit, let's all meet up at the restaurant after the bushwalk." Wow. People doing normal good things with friends. Here the redhead alien sits, watching people lives go by.

The worst is seeing the children. Piling out of cars, yelling, shouting crying laughing, being turds, safe with their parents. Bet their mum never abandoned them out of desperation to spare them from a mum who is capable of abandoning them even if she thought it was for their own good. It was just for a few months a year ago but now it's prolonged not by my choice maybe that's how it's supposed to be right now. Acceptance is hard. But it's not about me, anymore.

Anyways so these happy families, ugh. Fuck off happy families no offence. It HOITS.

Sometimes people are out in the parking lot lighting cigars, shooting the shit, and they look up at me looking down at them and I either duck or quickly look the other way pretending I'm not looking at them. Wondering what their story is.

Jeff my neighbour sat down next to me one morning and I told him my Envious Parking Lot Predicament. It was a while back, just after I asked him to drive me to the psych ward and I only lasted there three days until the docs deemed I didn't have to be there, lol. There's a difference between mental illness and just having a heart so broken it sends you into abyss.

He turned it all around in just one sentence. "Eden, you have no idea why these people are here or what they're going through."


How many of the hotel carpark people are here to attend a funeral? Have a dysfunctional family reunion they're dreading? The happy honeymooners could actually be on the last legs of their long marriage I mean major props for desperately trying to save what cannot be saved. The elderly group of people together for their very last hurrah? The two random strangers on a weird tinder date at midnight and the guy's into piss sex and the chick runs out of the room and SHE'S the one who paid for the room even when she's broke. The family of beautiful people in a mini-van who just got harassed on the freeway up here by an irate driver just because of the colour of their skin. Sad desperate hookers. I don't feel better at these scenarios or people's misery it just makes me more connected to humanity and not so Robinson Crusoe.

There actual families with young children screaming and crying and the mother yells at the father and the grandmother chimes in saying "JUST GET THE BABY OUT AND I'LL HOLD HER WHILE YOU CHECK IN TO OUR ROOM" and they don't know they're being watched but I'm watching. Not judging, not smug. Just watching.

Obviously there's happy people still driving in for a happy adventure and people derive joy from life, which is so cool. Feels good to mean that instead of being bitter. I don't want life to turn me bitter.

Doesn't matter if you step out of a pristine white four-wheel drive Porsche or a dusty Commodore .. we all got baggage in the boot.

(Comments closed)

Sunday, 18 September 2016

I Believe We've Waited Long Enough.

Towards the end of the video I got icing on my face. Just letting you. Below is a pic of my bro Cameron, happy out on the tiles somewhere overseas with his beautiful girlfriend at the time.

Happy birthday in the afterlife, Bamm-Bamm. Love Pebbles xxxx

(Comment section closed)

Wednesday, 14 September 2016

Just Random Shit, You Guys.

I plucked a grey nipple hair but we'll get to that later.

Fuck there's dark shit in me. I've read that terrible people awaken the terrible parts of ourselves but I'm probably the terrible person who's awakened the terrible parts of other people. You know how you read all the inspirational quotes like "People have been so mean and awful but you're amazing?" Umm newsflash - that's so not the case in many ways ... sometimes we are the mean arseholes who need to look at ourselves and do better.

I've got a massive headache today but I've got to stay away from the codeine because codeine. Can't believe how it's so readily available over the counter here in Australia - it's not like that in America at all. A lot of people die from complications of legal pharmaceuticals. Someone should do something.

Oh my god so many nights this past year (years? MY WHOLE LIFE?) ... I've wailed and crumbled and shouted at god and can't feel any guardian angels and wonder what was so bad about me that people treated me like shit when I was trying to grow up. Reminding myself yet again not to use that as an excuse to have all the self-pity but seriously. Lately my Uncle Steve has phoned me at night when it's the worst and just laughing and talking and crying has helped in so many ways. He doesn't judge me that I'm a total fucked loser with no job and I'm honest with him instead of pretending. It's vital as fuck to feel not alone. His three daughters are my cousins but actually sisters really.

I'm glad I live in a block of flats because it feels like a hotel and I can hear other people talking and fucking and shouting and I feel part of it. I'm SO sorry to the couple who live underneath my apartment because I always forget to take my boots off, I'm so LOUD. Sometimes I drop both remote controls onto the floor at 2am when I can't sleep and don't want to take Seroquel but have to anyway otherwise I can't sleep. The remotes CLUNK onto my wooden floorboards and I say out loud but quietly - "I am so sorry downstairs people." 

I'm driving this cute little shitbox car which I got ripped off when I had to trade it in for rent money. The first month I was all, but, where's my sunroof? HOW DO I REVERSE PARK WITH NO REVERSE PARK CAMERA? How do I know where to drive with no GPS? For years I've been living life with "stuff" that I took for granted .. but I was never a spendy wife (ok except for cowboy boots) and after everything I saw on World Vision trips overseas in African refugee camps? I came back more changed each time, feeling like a complete arsehole for everything I have and take for granted. Always will. Good.

I got one CD in my car - Beyonce. When I get sick of it I tune into the radio, how SHIT is commercial radio? Listening to Kyle Sandilands who was having this rant about how revolting chin hairs are on women. Jackie O was doing her usual bullshit half-hearted placating and said it was normal but he said chin hairs on women were disgusting and he could never be with a woman who had chin hairs so I'd like Kyle to know that I have chin hairs AND I'm a strong woman who wouldn't fuck him if I got paid 20k which is enough to buy a newish car with a reverse camera. Which I don't want. And Kyle ... not only did I pluck a nipple hair the other week, but that nipple hair was grey as fuck. I inspected it in the bright sunshine of my bathroom. And didn't care - isn't growing older supposed to be a gift?

I'm turning comments off this site indefinitely - dunno why. Most things don't have a reason. I never blogged for comments anyway ... Siri what is blog anymore? Swear to god if I had a dollar every time someone used me or my platform or my contacts to build themselves up and be successful online and earn money, I'd have a couple of hundred bucks. No shade - just observing.

I'm on Facebook a lot - I know, Facebook blows but it's there and it's good when you cut through all the crap and connect and laugh with people.

That's it, it's all I got. Keep trucking, regardless. My brothers birthday is coming up and I REFUSE TO GET OVERWHELMED BY IT. There's two guys out there whose birthdays are so much more important - I know this for a fact, I was there. The actual birthing portal time machine, that's what I was. Still am - irregardless. And irregardless isn't even a real word.

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Friday, 2 September 2016

The Wall Of Dead White Males.


One morning when I was in Darwin with Annie she made me get up and go to the markets with her. Which was good, but I took some convincing to get out of the door because society. She promised me we'd be back in half an hour so we went .. best markets ever. I took a photo of a truck because it was cool. And green. (It's not easy.)

The market stalls were being packed up. I followed Annie around the corner .. had to keep up, that girl moves FAST.


As soon as we walked in we were literally confronted with this.

An exhibition called "The Most Stolen Race On Earth." It was like a suckerpunch.

Out of all of it, this is the one thing that has stayed with me ... "The Wall of Dead White Males." 

There's all the celebrated guys over history that we all fawn over and quote - Socrates, Plato, Nietzsche, etc. The big thinkers .. a bunch of white guys lauded for their exceptional insight and wisdom and knowledge. Which they did have - but imagine the collective knowledge and wisdom that died with all of the murdered and disenfranchised Aboriginal people, gone forever and taking with them the legacy of everything they knew and experienced.

All the things we didn't even know that we needed to know.


Saturday, 27 August 2016

The Taylor Sisters.

Look at these girls! From left: me, Marina, Ariel, and Morgan. They're my cousins .. I used to babysit them when they were little.

This pic was taken at a photo booth on the day Morgan was born:

Ariel, me and Marina. (STOP LAUGHING AT MY 90'S GLASSES RINI)

They are vibrant, smart, sassy, strong young women. The fighting gene is strong in my family, and even moreso with these girls. Ariel has been in hospital for over two weeks now. She was diagnosed with colitis in 2014 and has suffered serious health issues and complications ever since. Morgan was diagnosed with a rare bone cancer in her jaw when she was eight years old and spent 12 weeks in hospital. She has Crohn's disease .. I didn't know that much about Crohn's or colitis my god - the blood transfusions, chronic pain, medications, hospital stays. All while they're both trying to work and live normal happy lives. At one point recently they were sharing the same hospital room down in Westmead Hospital. Morgie was released but El stayed, deteriorated incredibly quickly, haemorrhaged .. and had emergency four-hour surgery just a few days ago. When my uncle Steve called to tell me, I held my breath. It's been terrifying.

                                             Morgan and Ariel

Morgan stayed with me recently while she went to work every day at Scenic Skyway. I took her for a driving lesson, she drives my manual car better than me. I had no answers to her questions about the clutch ... just told her to go for it and I'd be disappointed if she didn't bunnyhop or stall. (She didn't!)

So things are pretty much touch-and-go. Ellie is still in hospital going through utter hell. Yesterday I minded Marina's son Logan while her and her sister did everything they could to help, which wasn't much except just be there. I've never seen somebody in so much pain had no idea how prevalent these illnesses are, especially in Australia. Both Morgan and Ariel aren't eligible for government support even though they can't work. Ariel is doing a degree in teaching at university, but will probably have to defer until next year. She's going to be an incredible teacher.

One of their friends Amy has set up a page on the Giving Network to help:


The whole family has been overwhelmed with the love and help they've received so far, their parents Steve and Karen have fought so hard to get their girls life-saving treatment and hospital procedures for so many years now - can't even imagine how powerless and exhausting it feels.

We're all visiting Ariel every day, flurries of texts updating her progress. The poor sweetheart has suffered intense complications and had the hospitals top neurologists, cardiologists, surgeons literally running around the place as she underwent a spinal tap, MRIs, blood tests, transfusions. She's like a frail little bird, perched up in her bed. It's been really scary, and really not fair. God I hope she doesn't mind but here's her facebook profile picture. UTTER STUNNER.

                                    Morgan, Ariel, me, Marina.

Marina and I stayed up for hours the other night laughing at Ace Ventura quotes, pubes, poo and boob stories. You know when heavy stuff is happening so you just go delirious? Yeah that. I'm headed back down soon. I think I might move in. They've all unanimously voted me in as the fourth Taylor sister, matching tattoos imminent.

Do you have any knowledge of Crohn's and ulcerative colitis? There doesn't seem to be any national foundations or support groups. Please send all three girls and their parents some love and prayers. x

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