Cleanin’ out my closet

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Today I learnt a lot of things, as I systematically pulled my life apart, both physically and in my head. The material stuff I packed into bags and boxes, the mental stuff I am still sorting through…

You see, it’s not the work, the packing, the endless box upon box you fill and label…it’s what you are filling them with. A lifetime of decisions and choices. Do I want this? Do I buy this? Do I value this? Is this a part of who I am?
You make that decision, and then it comes time to move on and you have to make it all over again. Do I still want this? Do I still value this? Is this still a part of who I am?

In many cases it’s simple. You have outgrown something or it no longer means what it once did to you. Once valuable material items are now simply bin fodder. Others are harder, because you’re not sure, or it is not so much the item, as the memories it contains. Spoken like a true hoarder, I know. But some things are hard to let go of. It feels a bit like this all at once…
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But, that’s what I did. I made the decision to be brutal and let go of things that were a part of my past, but have no place in my future. Someone said to me last week, that you don’t throw away the memories, just by throwing away the ‘things’. I guess there’s a balance…
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At the moment the balance tips toward making my life easier. Moving without taking anything that isn’t necessary. Sacrificing/realising what I had then, for what I really want now, and what I really want next. Yes…

So there are countless boxes and bags packed for rubbish or goodwill collection. Featuring amongst these are my somewhat impressive Elmo collection, clothes, bags, shoes and something else from every room in the house. Most of the stuffed toys didn’t make the cut, except a select few. When it comes to this, you really have to decide which ones you love, mean something, give you comfort…and which ones just decorate your bed. Like a lot of things I suppose.

I wish I could tell you that the process looked at any stage like this…
moving-out-cleanBut in reality it was a little more like…
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It has been a long, long, emotionally difficult week with everything else swirling around my brain, and coupled with these decisions, most of the day I operated on auto-pilot. The hardest part was just resisting the urge to do what I really felt like. This…
Despair_by_Mariamne_1484So, here I am at the end of another day, with a transitional week ahead, of not knowing which box (or house) any of my worldly possessions are in, trying to fit in eating, driving, exercise, working and not thinking too much (this is not going to happen). It all seems a little bit too much right now, but one week from now, I’ll get there, and it will be an achievement. One week from now, my view in the world will be looking so much better. Just one more week. All I need is for it to go by really quick
…because even just one more week is still too long.

Cheers Kids.

V

 

Not enough words…

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So my day today must be summed up with the assistance of pictures. This is primarily due to the fact that words alone cannot simply convey the feelings associated with some of the events. Here goes…after very little sleep last night (despite my best efforts) it started out like this…
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I blearily got a serious strong helping of coffee sorted eventually, but only had time for one…so it had to count.
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Then I attended an hour an a half long, totally pointless work appointment, where all we really talked about was the fact that this woman was so excited to be leaving her boring job, and boring life, to move to Melbourne. Awesome, happy for you…now is there a point to this?
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Then we progressed to appointment number two for the day. This is really where the fun started. I think I actually heard the fun-o-meter start ticking as I walked into the office. An hour later, the ticking was getting wearing and I finally got to speak to someone. Yay, time to sort things out. I had to change my name and address. Sounds simple right…how could someone screw that up you ask.
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Ahhh, let me count the ways.

I sat there with this woman for a half hour of trying to explain my situation to her, while she comprehended ab-so-lute-ly-fuck-ing NOTHING. Apparently, my name is NOT really my name, because THEIR records show it differently. My legal name is really only my ‘preferred’ name (despite the fact that I placed enough paperwork in front of her to iron clad the fact). Why has nobody told me this??? Here I was all this time thinking that all that marriage, name changing, mumbo jumbo was actually legal??
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So I tried to be patient. I tried explaining it slowly…and with hand gestures. I tried to be polite. Aaaaand I finally lost my shit altogether. So after being in this womans’ presence for around 45 minutes, I finally felt it was no longer safe for her to be in front of me, and after a few choice expletives, I left. Nothing got changed. Again.

Aside from these two life enriching experiences, I also encountered the usual, mentally and emotionally draining technological difficulties, which are making my days full of sunshine of late, and then got to come home to a house full of crap that needs to be packed and moved. This is not a fun job, and less so on your own. Ugh.

Looking on the bright side…
At the end of all of that, it got better. I vented to a friend, I managed to get some productive work done, I didn’t break anything or anyone, my puppies wrestled me to the ground while I was having a seriously focused workout-which reduced me to fits of giggles, and I got an unexpected email which put a smile on my face. The frustration has subsided and I will now retreat into a small coma until morning…which will be better.
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Cheers for the ear Kids.

V

A sign.

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I was walking through a shopping centre just over a year ago, waiting to meet someone for coffee. I had fresh ink, not yet dry, and no idea. Not just no idea about the minute or the day, but ‘no idea’ about my destination. First stop-coffee shop, next…the rest of my life. I was at this point where everything I knew as life, was starting to either break down or break up or just plain break.

I was wandering idly through the shops, oblivious to just about everything around me, when I saw this. It was just sitting quietly in the corner of a quaint shop window, hiding behind the china. Somehow these few words struck a chord, and it became my first ever Instagram post. It just seemed so…so…true.
Not long after this, things got worse, rough, broken, and then again, everything totally shattered. Through all this, this kept coming to mind. This sign.

Bear with me while I digress…It makes sense eventually I promise…
So, I’m 38 years old (soon). I know, I know…I don’t look a day over *insert MUCH younger age here*. Stop it with the compliments all of you. But the point is, I don’t know how 38 is supposed to feel? It’s just a number, how long I’ve been here. I’ve packed plenty into it, sure, but there’s plenty more to do. So I guess I could say I don’t ‘feel’ 38, although some days my body disagrees. In a room full of scantily clad 20 something year olds, my mind tends to side with it too, but in general, I don’t see myself as ‘old’. So why does everyone around me?

Have I missed the memo? The note sent out to my generation saying that when you hit this age, you should start relating everything back to this one little number, and let it define who you are and what you do? If there was such a memo, my attention span probably didn’t cover reading it. Maybe I was out that day riding a motorcycle or partying at Soundwave…

The number of people I’ve heard lately saying “I’m too old to…”, I’m too old for…”,  “I can’t because…” is getting increasingly disturbing. I mean come on people…look at Madonna! By my calculation she should be around 106 by now, and the woman is still rocking a two piece. Until your excuse is “I can’t because my zimmer-frame won’t fit in…”, then I don’t want to hear it. I’m not trying to frantically grasp onto delusions of youth here, but honestly…I just don’t get it.

So then this age thing relates back to the magical sign (see, I told you)…It’s never too late to live happily ever after.
Life had changed, dramatically, and left me with destination unknown. Over the coming months, the two ideas started meshing together- ‘Not too late’ and ‘Not too old’. You see, if I didn’t think about starting again, then I wouldn’t get to live again, and I didn’t want to just exist. I wanted a new life-the ever after version. I’m very wanty 😉
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I know a lot of the time I bounce between cynical/dark and ridiculously optimistic/hopeful. Sometimes dark is the easier road. How easy is it to just be that way when you’ve been hurt, when you’ve placed your faith in things that have broken to pieces, when you’ve held onto hope for things that were seemingly hopeless? It’s easier to not look for things in a day that will brighten it, than find the positives. It even seems easier to give up…but it’s not.

How much harder is it to keep hold of that hope against all the odds, when everything and everyone is telling you to let go?…but your heart, your gut, is telling you to not to…so you hold on.
The underlying factor here, is that I have something to hold on TO. I always have. I always knew it, somehow.
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I’ve done enough discovering of who I am. I’m far from perfect, and I’m okay with it. Nobody is supposed to be perfect. Anybody that tells you that they really have their shit together, and knows what’s coming next, is just plain lying. Anybody that tells you that they love themselves completely, is only fooling themselves. I’ve learned to try and see myself, the way I see others, lovingly-despite their flaws, or sometimes even because of them. So…I don’t have my shit together, and I don’t love myself completely, but I do know what I want. I do know what I want to happen next, and it doesn’t have an ending…it has an ever after.
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Cheers Kids
V

Just like a prayer…

‘Prayer is an invocation or act that seeks to activate a rapport with a deity, an object of worship, or a spiritual entity through deliberate communication.’

So I say I don’t pray…because to me, it’s always been something I related to religion, being religious, which I’m not. I went to church as a small child and stopped going when I was 8. The last time I  remember being in a church (aside from being dragged ceremoniously to midnight mass at Xmas) was the first time I ever saw my Father cry. The day we said a final goodbye to my Mother amongst a flurry of strangers, and old ladies in pastel suits and floral, making tea. I asked why…and nobody answered.
So I don’t pray. I say it all the time…but really I think in a way…I do.

I’ve thought about it a lot in the last two weeks. The things I’ve thought about, wished for, hoped for, voiced out-loud when nobody was around to hear…and is that not praying? Is praying more than just a wish thought or spoken in hope? Is it not just something we want. Something we want to happen, or not happen. Do we have to have a recipient in mind, or is it really just the universe we are putting our fears to, begging for the right answer?
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We say that the shittiest things only happen to the best people…but they don’t. Shitty things happen to everyone, it’s just that when they happen to the good people, we care. The good people don’t deserve them. And yes…good and bad is relative-to who you are, who you know, what you know. But with some people, it’s just plain to see.

This week I have asked a lot of the universe. So many things I want and don’t want.
I want things to be ‘right’. I want my friend to not be sick. I want his beautiful wife to not be hurting. Because they are good, wholesome, caring people. Some of the best. And what is happening to them is just not fair.
I want everything to be okay with my teen ‘foster Mum’ after her hospital scare. I want my dear friend to be comforted that her Mother will be here forever, like Mums are supposed to be.
I want all of the things that I’ve waited for, and needed, for so long, to finally just work out without any more hurting or problems.
I want the effort we are making to improve the quality of life for the shelter animals, to work. That, because of what we are doing, lives will be saved.
I want my beautiful friends’ beautiful dog to get better. So he can stop worrying. So he doesn’t lose her. So she lives.
I want my friend’s pain to stop. For the doctors to tell her what’s wrong and solve the problem.
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I have thought, worried and hoped for all of these things and more. Many more. They are not my pain, yet that doesn’t make them painless. I have to watch as the people I care for hurt. And that is painful also.

If there is anything out there in the universe that heard me…or maybe even reads this blog, now might be a good time to step up and show yourself. You don’t have to shake hands and introduce yourself (although that would be novel) but just take a little look at a few of these things for me? Maybe it already has and I’m just not being patient enough, or paying attention for all the asking. Maybe these things just take time?
…But time is such a precious commodity.

Time to try and put these thoughts to bed. Goodnight Kids.
V

But I’m not the only one…

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So this week has been full. Full of little stresses, things to do or get finished, but most of all full of emotion. Because of this, I knew they were coming. They always do when it’s like this. Colourful and full of detail, confronting or confusing, but most of all vivid. The dreams. My dreams. A reflection of all the things in my mind…pretty scary stuff.
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I wish I could control what I dream about. It would likely make my days that much easier to handle right now. If I could just go where I wanted when I closed my eyes. But I cannot, and like a lotto ticket, it just doesn’t work out if I try. In ‘most’ cases (unless they are somehow extremely relevant in some way) I can’t even see the people I am dreaming of. I know they are there, but can’t actually look upon a face. It’s a feeling, a ‘sense’ they are with me.

From what I can tell, my brain goes through phases of dreaming. I don’t always dream-Sometimes there are big blocks of time with nothing at all. I get them in four categories:
-recurring
– little glimpses that I don’t, or only vaguely remember
-the recounts of real events I wish I could forget
-the remix of real things into new scenarios.
The latter two…these are doozies. They are the kind where you wake up wondering where the hell you are, and if only for a few seconds, if ‘that really just happened’. Some are horrible, some good, some could likely make a seasoned Hooker blush, but mostly they are an obscure mash-up of all the small day-to-day things in my life, blown out of proportion and then jumbled back into another plot altogether. I do remember these, like a snapshot behind my eyes.

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Occasionally they are just totally off this planet weird and surreal. Stuff like people battling large buses of tentacled alien monsters with acid hose-guns, celebrity appearances on the waters of Venice, and vampirical chases on cobbled roads that end in all manner of trouble in emporiums of mirrors. I stopped paying attention to these ones specifically. They probably just mean I watch too many movies.

Tonight’s episode was a shining example of category four. I was feeling utterly exhausted, had a workout, showered and then woke up almost two hours later with my phone in my hand, still wrapped in a towel and wondering what just happened. No there was no Rohypnol involved and nobody else here…just to be clear. A very strange dream which made little sense, until it kind of did, then all the pieces finally fitted together.

It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It would just seem like a ‘quite wrong’ basic manifestation, but it was the where, the who, and the what that made sense. It was a totally unrealistic and unreasonable situation…that made sense because I know the why.

I gave up reading about dreams and the significance of them a long time ago. Most books relate generic meanings to generic symbols. Most books clash on what these meanings should be, similar I think to reading a book on the afterlife…who really knows? Even if they did, I know very few people who have ever willingly wanted to get inside my mind and figure it out.

My dreams can be a little on the ‘too real’ side sometimes, and evoke bad feelings when I first wake up, but they are just dreams/nightmares. A visual representation of your innermost fears and thoughts. I make up for it with all the good daydreams I have on tap from my memories, rather than the demons in my subconscious.
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But only for now…

Do you dream? Are they real or rubbish? Enquiring minds want to know…

Sleep sound Kids.

Cheers, V