Wednesday, 26 April 2017

Street Talk: Thelma, The Best Neighbour I Never Had.

So I'm walking outside to put my rubbish in the bins and there's this lady standing at the bins and I was all "Ugh I'm going to have to acknowledge her" and I did, I acknowledged her and said hello. And she said hello. And I can't quite remember how or why we started talking about all the stuff we talked about but she told me her husband had a stroke last month (Rocco was here and watched as he was put into the ambulance and I told him it's rude to stare, come back inside.)

So Thelma tells me she's been living in the same block of flats as me for years but now she's packing up to move and go live with her daughter in Sydney and her husband can't talk, walk ... he's in hospital and may never get his faculties back again.

Faculty: "An inherent mental and physical power."

And I look right into Thelma's beautiful sad sad brown crying eyes and I said "I'm really, really so sorry Thelma. Life is just bullshit. We got to live it but we never know what's going to happen and it sucks. And I'm sorry. And my stepdad died and my brother died and we just get through the days as best we can and one day it'll all be over." And she HUGGED me so, so hard, ignoring all my swear words. And she meant her hug .. you know when somebody really means their hug? She meant it, and I gave her a meant hug back. And we both couldn't believe we'd never met each other before (possibly because I keep my head down and don't acknowledge people) .. and I wished her luck and she walked off.

A few days later I went to the florist and chose one pink tulip because I could only afford one but a flower is a flower, you don't need a whole bunch. One can suffice. Me and Roc knocked on Thelma's door, my lord I do not knock on peoples doors it is a foreign concept. She opened it, when I gave her the tulip she teared up again, apologising for crying and I said don't worry I been crying my whole life ... the Pacific Ocean? All my doing. I cried a whole fucken ocean of tears and I'm not finished yet.

Thelma invited us inside and showed us how her packing was going. Thelma told me she can't believe I gave her a tulip that day because she'd just come from the local hospital to be with her husband who was being transported down to a Sydney hospital and it was a hard day. She asked Rocco what his name is and spoke to him kindly. I love people who talk to my kids properly. She asked me what I did and I told her I was a writer than I got real vague about it because as soon as people google me I usually never hear from them again. Not that I care, but still. I liked her.

Thelma looked around and wanted to give me something back so she gave me this book.


She wrote her name and number in there even though you're not supposed to write on books? I thanked her and said goodbye.

That's not the end. A few days later I came out of my cave because I was fucken depressed as fuck and Thelma's standing there at the bins AGAIN and she told me to come back inside to her flat. So I did. And she gave me her old typewriter and told me to write, write, write. And in that few seconds she was my grandmother who always told me to write and this time, it was my turn to cry. I put the typewriter under my hoodie because I didn't want to get it wet from the rain and hugged her a meant hug and that's probably the last time I'll ever see Thelma.

So Thelma - we both know that's not your real name, your real name is much cooler but I never asked your permission to write about you. I hope you don't mind. I'm sending you a link .. I been writing for a while, online. Welcome to the Shitshow. That typewriter and book is among the most precious gifts anyone has ever given me. It was no accident that we met. I adore you. Good luck in the rest of your life - remember what I said. It's stupid, try not to take it seriously. I'm glad you're living with your daughter in a noisy house filled with your grandchildrens mess and laughter because we all need people and I swear to god you're one hell of a person. This is my Street Talk series which I started in 2013 with the intention of profiling a stranger every week but then my brother killed himself and everything turned to heartdust. I've interviewed then-Prime Minister Julia Gillard at Kirribilli House on the same day I interviewed Honey the Prostitute in Kings Cross. Honey was more interesting but Thelma? You are my favouritest Street Talk ever.

::

PREVIOUS STREET TALKS

1. Noelene the Young
2. Megan the Mouse
3. Harpal the Australian
4. Darren the Artist
5. Jo the Interesting
6. John the Telstra Guy
7. Michael the Photographer
8. Peg the Lady
9. Jeff the Preacher Man
10. Andres the Cobbler
11. Honey the Prostitute
12. Mark the Masseur
13. You the Blog Reader
14. Jo the Podiatrist
15. Casey the Uni Student
16. Dream the Horse and Carriage Driver
17. Tamas the Hungarian Accordionist
18. The Dignified Trolley Ladies
19. Alex With The Studded Hot Pink Belt
20. Leaf The Fallen
21. Bel Of The Library
22. Jay And His Big Issue
23. Emma The Adult Shop Cashier
24. Teena, Saver Of Dogs
25. The Luna Park Face
26. Gary The Missing
27. Kristen at the Elephant Bean Cafe
28. Uncle Paul
29. Jess The Mama
30. The Two People At The Checkout
31. Alfie The Pourer
32. Breaking The Rules With Captain Starlight!
33. The Woman In Line At The Bakery A Few Weekends Ago
34. Dog The Dog
35. Julia Gillard The Person
36. Nancy The Badass
37. Bruce From The Psych Ward
38. Jeremy The Costumeless
39. The Women in the Morgue
40. The Lady Whose Name I Didn't Quite Catch.
41. Eden
42. William the Worldchanger



Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Parunting.


Smoking a fry ciggie at On a Roll

This guy is a modern-day sage. I called him a psychic and straight away he shoots back "No I'm not I'm the big guy!" because he thought I said side-kick. We always talk about what we dreamt the night before. He knows too much about everything just like all my other kids, mistakes were made. Mummybloggers, wait till your babies grow up to teenagers. Completely. Different. Universe.

However this guy is still young. Eight years old, almost nine .. he's the whole reason I started writing online to begin with and I documented his journey as an IVF 4-celled embryo to where he's at today.

                                           Where he's at today.

He's an extraordinary human, young enough for the world not to have fucked him over yet. It's a joy being around him. He makes me look at things differently. Recently he cottoned on to the fact that Uncle Cam left a suicide note. "CAN I READ IT MUM!" .. I said no way mate and he got so pissed off because he likes to know everything. About everything. "Why not? When can I read it? You have to let me read it one day." I told him I would but he's too young right now. He thought for a while and said "Jeez. Uncle Cam killed his self. I thought he was smart."



My mum came up and they bonded so hard it was awesome. He's *so* impressed at her footy tipping skills. And chicken soup. And the rubiks cube she bought him. They text each other, both emoji champions.

                                                         SCALPEL.

Rocco thoughtfully helped out in the doctors surgery yesterday when I got stitches taken out of my shoulder, putting on latex gloves, telling me don't worry it'll only be excruciating for a little while. (Exact words.)


These two are currently splayed on my living room floor watching Ferris Buellers Day Off together. Cousin Morgan is his new bestie and favourite holiday playdate. The three of us are planning on going to the Royal Easter Show tomorrow - I've always been the parent who takes the kids to the big fun places. They've already talked me into going into the haunted house - frankly I'm looking forward to seeing the cake decorating winners #old

                                          Nostrils Riley.

If anybody fucks with any of my kids, I fuck with them. It's my duty. My whole parenting career I've stuck up for all of my children and taught them how to stick up for themselves. I told off a lady in a supermarket once when she refused my stepson a sample yoghurt. I got up close in a bully's face in primary school and told him to lay off my kid or else. I've taught all the boys to be respectful to other people or else. They are. They're caring and empathetic and kind. I did that. Roc tells me all the things I've taught him about life so far and it blows me away how much he remembers. I'm an inappropriate unconventional mother with a penchant for answering my kids questions way too honestly. Can't help it. And kids always find out the truth anyway so I figure I'm just saving time.


We had to get the train to school recently which was basically the best thing that has ever happened to him in his life. He's frustrated he's the youngest but I tell him it's cool he'll be big soon enough, don't wish your days away sweetheart. At parent teacher/interview it was all glowing reports. His teacher is so happy with how he's doing even though he's the youngest in his class. He's excellent with words just like his mumma. (He writes raps with swear words holy shit they are AMAZING.) His first one was about his parents divorce, just wrote it out in five minutes and blew me away. He told the teacher that sometimes he comes to school feeling a lot of emotions and I explained he's had a pretty rough few years. The three of us all agreed he's doing so well.

After the teacher interview he did the pissbolt and his teacher turned and said how lucky Rocco was to have me. She said I was a really aware mother.

Out of all the adjectives in the world she used the word "aware." I thanked her and turned away .. she didn't see me cry.

Chased him down the street to the car trying to beat him but I never can because he ALWAYS wins in a fucking running race. And he always will.


Tuesday, 4 April 2017

We (Still) Don't Need Another Hero.

I checked back to what I was doing on this day exactly five years ago, had to hold my breath ... WINCING, prepared to meet some kind of painful memory. (Painful because it's a painful OR happy memory, if that even makes sense.)

It's not a painful memory, and in the midst of my Big Writing that I'm doing at the moment which I'll share here very soon, I just wanted to put this post up. Because five years ago today I'd just turned forty and found my superpower and was doing this, whereas tonight I'm eating a cheesy crust pizza after getting a huge whack of a skin cancer cut out of my shoulder (FOURTEEN STITCHES) ... and I'm watching my favourite show ever in the entire world. Shameless - my god this show just makes me feel ok and better and normal about my life choices and who I am. I may be crazy but I'm not Monica crazy.

So yes. Entire empires have fallen in five years but that's the thing about fallen empires .. they always get rebuilt. Especially my fallen empires.


******


4TH APRIL 2012

We get to these places and the sweat drips down my back and it's uncomfortable and hot and kind of sucky. I have a stance here in Niger ... it's called the Dorky Pigeon-toed Stance. I do it when I am unsure. Like, I'm in Africa??



There is totally Hope here. Thank GOD ... because I was starting to arm myself up with nerves of steel and a metaphorical suit of armour. I can drop that.

I am ok - really. Some of you know me more than I know myself, keep telling me to be careful and protect my heart. (How *does* one protect their heart? Shut it off so it doesn't feel?) My blessed jetlag is saving my arse, giving me a buffer zone of haziness ... last night I skyped my boys which was cool. When I first got here I was all, my boys! How could I leave them how are they oh mah gawwwdd.

When I saw how the children here are living? My boys are FINE, man. They are wearing clean clothes, have clean water, food and friends and love and too many toys. They live like princes. Their cups overfloweth, and I am not worried one shred more about them.

The children here accept things their white western counterparts would not, which is both amazing and sad.

Every day we travel out into the field, watching and learning so, so much about what World Vision actually does here. About a two and a half hour trip each way in a jeep. I'm like ... seriously? But - it's bumpy and uncomfortable! SO worried I was getting sick because my lungs felt congested and my throat sore and dry ... but it's just breathing in all the dust. Africa is in me, like I am in it.
I watch Good deeds, manifested by Good people actually doing the hard work. And other Good people back home in their safe houses, donating and caring. It is all making a difference. I have seen it with my own dusty eyes. We need more help and more Good.

I believe that if you give of yourself in the world - your time, your energy, or of course your money ... the Spirit behind your motive for giving is more powerful than you think. When I see a bum in the street, I always give money. I don't question his motives ... what he does with the money is entirely up to him. (Or her. Being a bum is an equal opportunity employer.) They might be buying booze or drugs with it? So bloody what. I'm not going to stand there, weighing up the pros and frickin' cons. I can spare the gold dollar .. I'm not the one standing there begging. You think that person *likes* standing there asking for money? No. If you can give, you give. It should be some Universal Human law.

Which brings me to other ways you can help. Someone just left a comment saying they had pulled out photos of their two sponsored children and placed them on the fridge, in full view. YES. That.

You can also:

* Start a dialogue with your children about how people struggle in other parts of the world. When you open a dialogue, you open their eyes.

* Give gold coins to bums. Why? Because they are not robbing your house, they are begging instead. Kudos, man.

* Don't waste food.

* Care more. About everything. Wake the hell up, oh beautiful blinkered ones! Life is real!

* Touch feet with people you love.

A couple of years ago in Bali I got the word "redemption" tattooed on my arm. Being here makes me believe in redemption more.  For everyone.








That feet photo is one of my favourite photos I've ever taken. Some ladies were spread out before us on a mat, next to a translator. Their feet were all touching ... they were self-conscious and nervous, so doing this probably made them feel better. LOVE. IT.





I just sat here for TWO HOURS waiting for my video to upload and there was a communication error. Entirely too frustrating .. am having a first world problem in a third world country. Hey ... where's the second world? Did I miss one? AM SO IGNORANT. And all these other pics I wanted to upload aren't working but now I have to rush downstairs to start another Big Day. I keep making the people wait for me, because I am a bumbling, late fool. They are so gracious. Turning forty recently has made me accept that no matter how hard I try, I will never be as organised as most people. I'm down with that.

This BBC article HERE is one of the best written about what's going on in this country. Um, can somebody please read it and email me through some facts about it? Asking for a friend.

Lastly, I begged our World Vision Africa correspondent Adel to please take me to a supermarket so I could buy some junk food. Needed to dive naked into a vat of cheese and bacon balls .... to swim in a sea of doritos and prawn crackers and the carbiest carbs in the land.


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I used my head in this photo, for scale.

Told you I was ok.

PS I purposely kept the tone of this post light. There will be hard-hitting full-on ones coming up soon. Worried that people think I don't take this seriously ... worried about what the people coming to my blog for the first time will think of me. But, if we all worried about what people thought of us, we would be on our guards all the time and not get shit done, not say anything at all.

I'm off to get shit done, in a caring, bumbling, tattooed, redemptive way. Hope you're down with that.



.

Sunday, 26 March 2017

We Should All Wear The World Like A Loose Garment But It's Hard When You Keep Getting Dealt The Shittiest Cards In The Universe.

Hi I'm currently working on writing the biggest shit I've ever written in my life but I have to keep stopping because it's so full on even for me. All that's pushed to the side because my friend and her family is today dealing with the most horrific traumatic shit and she's all I can think about. Why do some people go through SO MUCH CRAP in their lives and other people ... well, other people jus don't seem to? I don't understand. Her trauma is so bad but she has to get through and she will because there is no other option. I'll go visit her in a few weeks after the hectic horrendous whirlwind of planning and people and flowers and all of the utter shit that comes with it is over and you're just left with the quiet. I'm the shittest shit of a friend in so many ways but man when trauma/crisis/horrendous life situations crop up for the people I love, I'm so good at helping people through it because I know and understand. Text my mum today .. "I tell you what mum, when our people go through serious shit .. how good are we to be there for them?" My mum came up to stay last week it was so good to see her.

I hate that my kids have a mother with bipolar disorder and I hate that I got diagnosed so late in my life after the mass confusion hell I caused and fuck yeah I'm taking all my meds but guess what it doesn't cure it. I understand so much now, I get the whole Jung/dark side/know yourself stuff but it's a little too late and I wouldn't speak to me either.

Wish I could talk to Carrie Fisher but she's part of the Force now. So today instead of crying for me I'm crying for my best friend and all the tumultuous mess ahead. Why are coffins so expensive when the silver handles are fake silver anyway? Death, like weddings .. are a rort. Waste of money. Easier to be like other cultures and burn our loved ones in a fiery pyre, all majestic-like.

I get through nights that I can't get through. I'm not going anywhere and neither is my gorgeous cookie friend. She's the Felix to my Oscar. Sent her a stupid video text today because I say all the right things to somebody who's going through all the wrong things. Told her I didn't know which one of us holds the Most Fucked Traumatic Shit Family Gold Cup .. it's probably a tie. Which is saying something.

Nevertheless, we all persisted. One day we will all be free. It's Sunday and this binge-watching of Shameless isn't going to watch itself now is it? Some days we're out there conquering the world, some days we sit at home on the couch pretending we're part of the couch because couches don't feel. I'd still prefer to feel than be numb or robotic or asleep like a lot of people. No shade - I'm just woke. I prefer my people woke with a side of fucked and a chaser of custard tart.

Hold on, people who realise you need to hold on. It'll all end eventually, isn't that relieving?

My cookie staunch girl, you been there for me so much these past few years I'm so, so glad I'm here for you now. I'm right here, soon I'll be right there next to you wearing grey hoodies on the couch again. Go to bed your soul is exhausted. You got this, and when you don't ... which you won't .. I got it for you. Watch this shit - you're Yelawolf because obviously I'm Eminem but we both got Proof.

PS LIFE IS SO FUCKING INANE AND CONFUSING AND STUPID.


Sunday, 5 March 2017

Dreaming In Colour.

Anyway.

I'm well - a deep well, as nan used to say. Nothing much happening, really. Except everything. Yesterday I was telling Rocco about Catholic confessional booths and he said it was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. I agreed. And wondered why I use this site as my confessional booth .. the Catholic is strong, in this one. I gave up lent for lent.

We did ephemeral art and I don't even know what the word ephemeral is, I just know I'm using it in the right context.


Have you ever realised how incredible nature actually is? When this guy is with me he makes me look at rocks and caterpillars and berries and ferns. And birdshit on the sidewalk. The other day we were walking up Katoomba Street and he shouts MUM LOOK AT THAT DOGS BALLS. Swear to god, I have never seen dogs balls like I saw the set of balls on that dog that day. Humungous .. like baby pigeons. I had to look away.


Somebody told me recently to keep apologising but I'm not. I've finished apologising. You keep saying sorry long enough and it loses its meaning. And I'm not sorry anymore.


Every second week Roc is here with me and messes the place up so bad. It's so good. I love cleaning up after his mess. He taught me how to do paper bangers - pro tip: if you thought bottle flipping was bad, DO NOT get your kid to do paper bangers. You fold a piece of paper kind of like a paper aeroplane and whoosh it down and it's so fucking noisy I eventually banned it from inside so he had to go outside to paperbang. We've watched a movie every night for three night straight. He sets up the pillows and blankets on the floor and I man the controls. HIGHLY recommend the new Bill Murray film, St Vincent.

A lot of people are asking me if I'm ok because I've been quiet on social media. I am ok, it's just that social media has eaten itself. So has the world. And there's mothers on instagram tagging fifty fucking brands on photos of their newborn babies while babies are dying of hunger across the globe. And everybody's highlight reels have shit me so bad I put my phone away. Too much noise out there, when I'm concentrating on things in here. Not long after I turned 40 back in 2012,  I was really, really sick. So sick for days, laying in bed. I was so worried because I was due to fly out to Africa the next week for World Vision. So I thought I'd go for a long walk .. some people tend to think a long walk fixes everything so I gave it a go. Halfway through, it dawned on me that I had a kidney infection. Don't know how or why I knew but I just did. As soon as I got home I drove to hospital and they put a canula in for fluids and antibiotics, said it was a kidney infection.

I won't go into it that much but these past few months have been so low, so dark, and so fucking horrendous I can't even. Scary thing most of all was, I didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what was "wrong" ... like, I'm an expert on degrees of fuckedness but have never experienced such utter nothing, horrendous flashbacks of bad also good things that have happened in my life - it just all hit me at once and I wasn't living properly. Then one day I realised I was experiencing severe post traumatic stress of the highest order. I didn't need to get my doc to confirm it - it was like a kidney infection of the brain. And ever since I realised, it's abated. And I know this whole life of mine has been a series of shit, overcoming shit, more shit, overcoming that, etc. This time it's different.

Last week I dreamt that I was walking around rooms in this house and there was every single colour painted on the walls. Houses signify ourselves in our dreams so I was dreaming of fresh new colour in me and woke up with a smile on my face.

Living in Roccoland definitely helps, too. Both me and him.


Today we both went to the library. We both didn't want to but he has a speech due this week based on the book "My Place" and I had to write stuff and print out all this shit it was SO BORING. While I was navigating the dewey decimal system and failing miserably, I turned around to find him innocently on top of this like that scene in Poltergeist where the mother walks out of the kitchen for a second and when she comes back in all the chairs are just piled high on top of the table.

He tells me he loves being with me because I help make his bad feelings go away. He asks me do I miss being a kid. He reckons he loves me more than I love him - impossible.


He does shit like suddenly walk out to me like this with a pokerface, asking me what's so funny after making himself a bowtie out of leftover paperbanging paper. And sticking it to his t-shirt with blu-tak.

We finished his speech. (And by "we" I mean "I." Wonder what mark I'll get? One of the perks of having a writer as a mother.) He just has to practice giving the class confident eye contact as he delivers it.

So, yeah. I been real ok. I mean it's not like I went to jail or anything. Hey you know the biggest jails are our minds? I turn 45 next week and I'm just realising how powerful our brains are. A lot of brains need reprogramming. Rebooting. Restarting. NOT A TOTAL SHUTDOWN - just give it a rest, for a while.


Here's me irl right now. I finally worked out how to do my hair properly - thick conditioning treatment after your regular shampoo. And straighten it with proper straighteners. And chuck some eyeliner on haphazardly. Trim your fringe. Change your clothes. Cut your losses. Forgive yourself. Do no harm, take no shit ... but let it go.

My car is in the mechanics at the moment because I fucked my clutch. I either clutched too much or not enough, hard to know what to clutch on to. Last night I dreamt I drove all the way across to Western Australia. I've never been there before .. but it was beautiful. You know how dreams don't make sense? Well on one side was Antarctica with polar bears and the other side was the desert scene from Breaking Bad and then the last side was this lush green rainforest. I stood behind myself, watched me looking at all the scenery (my hair looked AMAZING) ... and then I realised I had to quickly get back to the mountains to see my kids. In my dream my car was working but I didn't have a GPS but it was ok. Because I knew my way back home.


Wednesday, 8 February 2017

I'm Writing About Helen Razer On My Mummyblog.

Hello tonight I'm launching Helen Razer's outstandingly brilliant new book called The Helen 100. It's her account of being left heartbroken after being unceremoniously left by her long-term partner so what did Helen do? Took the advice of her beautician/vaginal/anal waxer and went online and dated all these people. A whole host of people from all walks of life. She was searching for a person who liked the smell of chicken. (Cooked chicken, I checked.)

So it's at Gleebooks tonight at 6 for 6.30pm and you should come and watch two annoying obnoxious women onstage talking incredibly inappropriately. Tix available HERE or I think at the door. Cost is $12 or $9, or somewhere between the two.

You can buy the book HERE or I think tonight at Gleebooks. Twenty years ago I had a panic attack at the self-help section in Gleebooks because I couldn't find a book on panic attacks. Gleebooks is located in Glebe. I used to listen to Helen and Judith's Lucy's radio show The Ladies Lounge back in the 90's while I was a nanny for this guy's two children. He is now dead but he used to make a helluva good coffee. He taught me how to bake a potato and that when a kid pisses the bed you put the mattress outside in the sun because the sun makes ammonia go away, or something.

I don't particularly want to travel to Sydney today because I'm currently in the one of the worst clinical depressions and spiritual crises I've ever known but I adore Helen and it will be a very, very good night had by all. Afterwards I'll travel back up to the safe mountains and be reminded that I can do Big Things and maybe my life isn't over after all.

Helen once launched her own pisstake mummyblog called The Sponsored Lady which ruffled feathers but I thought it was hilarious. Helen's next book is on Marxism because she is very very smart. If it was anybody else but Helen I'd just cancel going tonight but it's Helen and I love Helen.



If you're coming, please come and say hello if you'd like some stilted awkward smalltalk because I'm actually a very shy and socially inept person. Or go talk to Helen herself, it's her show. The level of self-hate I currently have is astronomical but we have just got to Live Through This like Courtney after Kurt died. We'll all be dead soon enough CHEERY! Anyway, any pics coming through on Facebook or instagram will probably look great and that's the main thing here. Hashtag is #thehelen100 .. I just made that hashtag up, hope that's ok Gleebooks and Allen and Unwin.

Ok laters. My biggest concern is choosing the right cowboy books and compiling the right questions to ask her tonight, thank god she's very verbose.



ADDENDUM: It went really, really fucking well. A little bit X-rated but well. Audience awesome. I can do big things. Huge.




Monday, 6 February 2017

"You can stack misery, you can pack despair - you can even wear your sorrow. But come tomorrow, you must change your clothes."


Spent the weekend getting loved back to life.

My cousin Morgie white-saged my flat before I went down and stayed at her and her parents place for three nights. Sat around the dinner table laughing and eating soulfood. Pissed myself laughing at an altercation in the kitchen about the utilisation of the correct worm farm bucket "WELL LABEL IT PROPERLY." 

D&M's and tears and splayed legs on the lounge with my cousins. Incredibly dark humour and preposterously inappropriate You Tube videos. And just love, yannow? Shouldn't be so hard to just love each other. Asked Rocco last week what the most important things in life are and he said exactly what I hoped he'd say: "Family and love." Simple and difficult as that. All the yesterdays are gone like they are so far gone they are all goners. #gone

I need to be hit up but with meditation shit and spiritual healing and laughter and belonging. I've never listened to a podcast in my life, anyone know some good wholesome multigrain-bread ones that feed you? This fucking shame I been carrying around for 44 years? Nuh. Don't belong to me no more. Slathering my bedroom with inspiration happy bullshit rainbow quotes NOT like "You can do this!" But shit like, "You are doing the best you can even if you're the only one that knows it." Or, "Forgive those arseholes so much that one day you won't call them arseholes anymore." Or, "You did not murder a thousand people don't be so hard on yourself." Or, "Eden, you're not a victim pull your socks up ffs." Or, "What if it all really DID happen for some inane ridiculous reason?" Or, "You are so not the cunt you think you are." Or, "It wasn't your job to save your brother." Or, "You are the best mother you know how to be. You are the best mother you know how to be." Or, "Make your bed you lazy shit you KNOW it makes you feel better." Or, "Mental illness is actually real."

Or my favourite one at the moment ... "Things will not always be like this." 

Hey, they already aren't. For a long while now my life has been a series of setbacks and traumas and awful and AWFUL and then I keep bouncing back, repetitively, ride in on a horse announcing my triumphant return but this time, no triumphant return. Just a bit of goddamn scraggly hope, a few pipe dreams (not pipe bombs) .. and a quiet faith. Eminem said once he hit a fork in the road and went straight - I hit a brick wall with no helmet while I was being all Evel Knievel but Evil does not become me and I will not feed the monsters in me anymore. Those pricks don't even deserve a fucken BBQ Chazoo. My monsters are nil by mouth and my apparent Angels or guardians or whatever some other-worldy shit that's protected me my whole life? They can take the wheel for a while because I suck at life. Even the Vikings got defeated and knew when to retreat. I think it's a case of waiting it out under somebody else's umbrella that somebody is holding on for you because I swear on my non-existent grave - sometimes? Other people have to hold on for us and to us until the hailshitstorm recedes. Then one day we're the ones holding the umbrella for somebody else.

And so you know how there's a trillion things all over the internet screaming LOOK AT ME WATCH THIS .... well, watch this. Seriously. Trust me - I'm a limo driver.

(PS If you're reading this and you've been reading me for years and I owe you an email or poem or reply or anything - thank you and sorry and it's coming. Most of all, I love you people. Real. I feel you out there, livin'. Sometimes getting through the ungetthroughable.) x


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