You spin me right round Baby

The last few weeks have been a fun ride of ups, downs, and fall downs. All the usual mental turmoil prevails, yet health has been in the spotlight moreso recently.

The first issue is a curly one, more specifically Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. This is a joyful condition, especially to someone who suffers from motion sickness, that makes the room spin in circles, when you lie down or twist the wrong way.
In case you have not yet got the full effect of what this feels like, from the short description…think back to the very first time you were SO sick from alcohol, that you said you were Never ever ever drinking again, EVER. You know, where the smell of that one type of drink, now makes you reactively dry-reach just by the smell? That uncontrollable dizzy, spinning, feeling that makes you want to involuntarily throw-up. That about sums it up. Now imagine it’s there ALL the fucking time. Description over.

The even better part, is that although they can tell you it is caused by a twist or knock to the head/neck…there is no cure/solution for it. The only way to help it, is by actually inducing episodes, and hope it eventually fades away. My bone shrink said I had the most extreme reaction to the test she had ever seen. Did I mention it’s been fun few weeks?

Then there was Friday. I dragged out of bed, where likely I should have just stayed there. It was warm and comfy, and there were dogs to snuggle. But no, not this little black duck. I got up and went to work, arriving late due to the weather, and to a myriad of small problems awaiting already. So, at lunchtime I escaped to go and get food.
We’re driving back, ready to turn into the side street, green light…car speeding recklessly toward us. Car doesn’t brake for red light. Car doesn’t even show signs of imminently stopping. I mention this faintly, and thankfully my driver hesitated long enough to make the decision to stop.
Other car screams past, along the centre of the tram tracks, just brushing our nose as we felt the water spray go by.

Just two seconds, and by calculation, Friday would have been over. End game, thanks for coming.
I came home and hugged my girls for an extra long time that evening. I stayed in. I figured all my luck was used up for the day.

I was at a crossroad of whether to cancel plans for the weekend, or enjoy the fact that I was still here to make them, so I did both. Cancelled the more strenuous peopling, art and rainy day in, walk in the rain, sunshine and markets, catch-up with a friend, movie watching with my girls, packing, unpacking, errands, trying new foods, and chores. Trying to create some sort of life balance, that my emotional and physical body currently lacks. Guess we’ll see how it all pans out by tomar night, to say if it’s been successful or not, and maybe by the end of the week for a little further insight into the rest.

Hope you’re all taking time to take care of yourself Kids.
Cheers
V

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pUddLes

23721947_10213636886330180_1378277082_nAnyone who knows me, knows that I’m not a huge fan of children. They ask questions, and make noise. They interrupt *ahem, whatever-shutup*, they wake you up, and they smell funny. Occasionally there’s one or two that are tolerable, but in general “it’s a no from me”. And much like cats, if they know you don’t like them, they gravitate to you, but that’s another story.

There is one thing about children though, that I like, love…adore. Their…purity (for lack of a better word). They are untainted by Society in general. They give NO fucks! They LOVE or HATE everything. They don’t get embarrassed or ashamed of the way they are, or what they do. They find joy in so many things, that we have forgotten all about.

So, to illustrate, there have been two such instances this week, that have inspired this ramble…

The first was last night at a gig. There was a little girl, 5 years old, there with her Father. She wore a band shirt in the smallest size, fitted like a dress, so proudly. She asked Dad what he was doing with his hands. As he explained, she held her arm out, palm upturned, and slowly but surely retracted one finger, then two, until she had formed a perfect tiny devils horn. Sure she had it right, it flung up and swayed with the music. At the beginning of every song, she signed with the crowd. I refrained from asking if I could take a photo, because let’s face it…that’s just a bit creepy. But the world really missed out on seeing this. She lasted the entire show, and then walked out telling Dad how fun it was. I know 30 year olds that probably couldn’t do that!

Today, the heavens opened with a vengeance. The lightning show was dazzling and the thunder actually frightening. Walking down a laneway, the woman next to me screamed so loud, that it actually made me jump.
But, bunny-hopping along the next street, giving not a single fuck in the world that it could be the storm to end us all…was a little girl. She wore teeny little leopard print gumboots, and her eyes scanned the walk ahead of her for the biggest and best puddles to play in. She would ready like a pouncing cat, and jump with a splash. Satisfied with her effort, onto the next reservoir she moved. Her eyes held nothing but concentration and fulfilment.

As I wandered home, I wondered when exactly it is, that we lose our wonder with puddles, and nature, getting caught in the rain, the beauty of a storm, and all the other simple things in the world? It seems that life and love are simple, but people make it complicated.
I stopped to pet the resident street cat, and from there I figured…when in Rome.

Let’s just say there were plenty of puddles along the rest of the way home 😉
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Cheers Kids-enjoy the little things-again.
V

Deep down and hurty

In the past two weeks, I have been told that I am broken in 3 different contexts, none particularly nasty, yet quite resounding. This pertains to the physical.  My poor shell has been a little worse for wear lately, which unfortunately has affected the inner workings also. Some stuff happened, which left me somewhat bent out of shape like a crunchy pretzel, and I currently have Vertigo. I have had it once before, and it really messes with me. It encapsulates about 3 of my fears into one awful affliction. Perhaps self inflicted, perhaps not, yet it still leaves me in a state of constant fear and disorientation.

Today, only after discovering acute pain points in my back yesterday, I thought I’d finally try and get something done about it. I booked a massage. What could be the worst outcome…I said to myself. If it didn’t work, at least I would have had a nice massage right? Oh. My. Fucking. Holy. Mother. Of. GOD!

To begin with, being mostly naked has a distinct way of making you feel quite vulnerable, especially in front of a complete stranger, who is about to become intimately acquainted with your skin. This fragile looking young woman slips into the dimly lit room and puts on some soft music. Towels are draped carefully to cover all exposed skin initially. Shuffling…then silence, broken only by the lilting of pan flutes. Pan flutes! They create an air of tranquility right? It was a LIE!

Now, I don’t know exactly how she got there, but the next thing I feel…she is kneeling on my back with her elbows firmly embedded in the soles of my feet. She proceeds to (what I can only assume, as I was too scared to look) tear clumps of muscle from my calves and reattach it. She spins around and works her way up my back on her hands and knees, quietly adding “Let me know if too hard?” At this point, if I had any breath left in my body, I’m not sure what I could have said.

Her deceivingly strong, devil fingers applied oil and heat balm (in all likelihood in case I died) then pierced my upper back, and wrapped around under my shoulder blades, to lift them from under the skin, and twist them to the correct angle. As she bunched the muscles in my arms, fists were involuntarily clenched and released, and I think there’s a possibility my shoulder muscles are now contained safely under the flesh of my palms. She lifted my skull and tucked my spinal chord back under there, possibly reattaching it to whatever had become disconnected. And at the end, I’m pretty sure she twisted my neck to breaking point. Hot towel, little pat on the back, and “You can sit up now”. Umm…nope.

After a few minutes, I feebly redressed, and made my way out feeling numb and unable to face daylight. I’m fairly confident that there is a strong impression of my breasts, hips, and some internal organs left on that bench. When the feeling fully returns to my body, I’m hoping that it worked, or at least helped some.

Always read the fine print. Ow.
Cheers Kids.

 

Just play

Tonight, as the pungent aroma of sex lingered in the cool air (more specifically Dr Marten black shoe polish and the scent of fidgety hands from a leather steering wheel) someone reiterated the fact to me that I was not ‘girly’. Nodding, I gave my kick-arse boots a last flick with the soft flannel cloth, and smiled at the shine they had freshly acquired. They’re right, I’ve never been good at the super-femme thing. The surprise that I now have my nails ‘done’ reflects on faces (I only do it so they get stronger and I can change colours). Wearing a dress never fails to inspire comment, and heels even further. It’s not that I don’t like feminine things..I just don’t think it’s really important, and I would rather be real or interesting, than pretty.

Everyone is born with natural talents, and it just takes a while for them to discover what they are. I guess some never really do, but most would, simply because these things just come naturally to them. The below quote from one of my favourite flicks, illustrates it perfectly…
Skylar: I don’t understand how your mind works.
Will: Do you play the piano?
Skylar: I wanna talk about this.
Will: No, I’m tryin’ to explain it to you. Do you play the piano?
Skylar: Yeah, a bit.
Will: Okay, when you look at a piano you see Mozart, right?
Skylar: I see “Chopsticks.”
Will: Beethoven, okay. He looked at a piano, and it just made sense to him. He could just play.
Skylar: So what are you saying? You play the piano?
Will: No, not a lick. I mean, I look at a piano, I see a bunch of keys, three pedals, and a box of wood. But Beethoven, Mozart, they saw it, they could just play. I couldn’t paint you a picture, I probably can’t hit the ball out of Fenway, and I can’t play the piano.
Skylar: But you can do my o-chem paper in under an hour.
Will: Right. Well, I mean when it came to stuff like that… I could always just play.
PeopleDoBestNaturally_124721There are certain things that I could always…’just play’. English, writing, reading, composing words, is the first. I’m not perfect at it. Hell I’m not even great…but I love to do it, all of it. At school and university, it took absolutely no effort whatsoever to breeze top grades at it, and endear myself to its teachers. If a passion can be loosely defined as some thing you love, and love to do, then these would be in the realms of one of mine.

Art is another. I excel at this even less than words…but I love it also, for many reasons. I find it quite difficult to maintain my confidence in myself with my artwork, as it is so easy to be misled or distracted by the work of others in comparison. It has taken me a very long time to stop comparing and let others simply inspire, motivate and challenge me.
21291718_10213047451634681_1007559060_nBut art gives me something that I cannot function well without-time. In the space when I create, everything else blurs and dissolves away. My brain switches all the other tabs to ‘sleep’ and focuses on the details, the curves, the ink, the lines. Invaluable time.

The third thing I have always wanted to ‘just play’ is literal-the guitar. From the first time I picked one up, I was intrigued with what type of sound I would ever be able to extract from it. They feel comfortable and nestle against your body like they were made to love you back. To be held and wrapped around and become a part of you.
For the first 37 years of my life, nobody ever took the time to show me, teach me, allow me to learn (except briefly my 5th grade teacher Mr Gonzales). Finally I found someone I could learn from, who inspired me, who actually wanted to teach me, and had the patience to… so I grasped at the basics. At this point, I should probably add, that guitar sadly is not one of the things I can ‘just play’. But determination and desire is going to win here, and I am slowly learning little by little.
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The last few weeks have been ridiculously busy, early mornings, late nights and little free time. So today, with a day off…I went and got my girly claws cut back to ground zero (only on one hand-haha) and booked in some proper lessons. I can’t wait. I’m sure they can’t either…I already explained that I’m neurotic, nervous and basic, so they have been forewarned. But I will do this. If I can, or I can’t…I will give it the shot it deserves, because it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. If nothing else is reason enough, that is.

What is your thing? What can you just ‘do’ with your eyes shut? What do you gravitate to naturally?…it could be your calling. It could give you the direction you need, or the peace that you crave.
Food for thought Kids.
V

Desert-ed

how-to-find-water-when-youre-stuck-in-the-desertThere is a time when you know you need to just change everything, when you feel boxed in and dark. So you take that step, that huge step, off the edge, and into the abyss. And you fall and fall and fall…and then gently land…and you’re alright. And slowly, the dark fades, and the light starts to creep back into your life, and your eyes. You start to not only feel, but to appreciate. All the small things seem somehow beautiful, because you are finally taking the time to notice them, instead of just focusing on what’s inside, you see around you also. You gain a whole new love of the world, and the beauty of all its tiny intricacies. You renew all the emotions you have lost.
7c23d5d83519aa9362743f7ddf4c577eSo you picture yourself in this massive wide open space, this huge expansive desert. And there you are…this tiny speck from above, in a sea of rolling dunes. There is nobody near for miles and it feels great…all that space. But for just a split second you grow weary from standing, arms stretched to the sky, loving all your space and freedom, the sun raining down on you, and think. Right there is where you should stop that dream. That’s where the dream ends and becomes something entirely different. It becomes alone.

A song plays faintly in the distance from nowhere, someone in a printed shirt, a car, an accent, a look. Fuck you universe. Leave me alone in my desert. That’s why I came here…so you couldn’t find me. Leave me to my peace and strength. But instead you wait for a crack. A 7 day stretch of tiresome days, and consistent wearing down at the emotional rock. You start missing things that are missing, a little too much. The wrong things, the right things….just the missing things. You distort the good and the bad, and just remember what felt good, when it felt good. And those are the nights and days you long for. But the people that held you up when you fell, they are gone too.

You recall with great definition and detail, the way true love and passion felt, purely because it felt real to you, real at the time. You remember the feeling of holding what you wanted in your hands, your arms, your heart. You ignore the rest. The pain and constant heartache and lies. You forget the “I’ll try”s and “soon”s. You wash away ignoring the facts in plain sight, and uncovered secrets whispered in your other ear, by those who cared…more. You remember the touch, the look, the peace. You forget the broken sleep, and more importantly, the broken promises.
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And all the deceit and secrecy now, does it not take a heavy toll? Its burden sits squarely on your shoulders driving you to the ground, to your knees. And in a desert, there is nothing to hold you up but sand. Your dreams are gone, your fairy-tales, replaced with resolve, reality and whiskey on the rocks, and the ground falls away. Alone.
51436cfa144a55810ea2c53c9418b174I have not changed. I am simply becoming myself again. I am the master of my own desert. I am strong and passionate, empathetic, emotional, strong-willed, stubborn and more than fucking enough. I am more than people know, and than I truly believe.

Tomorrow the sun will rise again, and I will step onto the sand feeling new again. The songs will not play as loudly, and the heartache will ease in proportion…I will see friends, and laugh and joke and life will go on, as it does…but for tonight, the desert is a lonely, place, on the rocks.

Stay warm kids, the desert can get cold. Like hearts.
Cheers
V

 

69 just means F*cked either way

So, it seems that one topic keeps surfacing lately. Maybe from lack thereof, or maybe it’s just the universe reminding me it exists…Sex. *omg she said it* we hear them whisper in hushed tones of discomfort.
It seems that no matter who I am talking to, or about what, it gets a special mention for one reason or the other. So why not just bring it out into the open forum. Never really been one for shying away from blunt topics anyway.

I told someone in jest today that it feels like I might just die soon, because it’s been so long without, and they went on to trump my meagre timeframe by at least double…and this was a guy. And he didn’t even care. Huh?
I told someone I was ill this week, and they joked that perhaps my virginity was growing back. I’m sure my use of the term ‘re-hymenating’ in the conversation would amuse a certain friend to no end. I should have been angry at the suggestion considering the circumstance, but I’ve not ruled it out as an actual reality, so I couldn’t be…As much.

In any case, it may not have been quite so long as it sounds (and no, that number is none of your business), but what I’m talking about when I say ‘sex’ is the real stuff. Not the shallow, meaningless, whatever kind. The intimate, passionate, connected, comfortably amazing kind. And it’s out there, just not from the people that send a plethora of dick pics and one line, badly spelled text messages.
It’s in late nights and early mornings. It’s in short drives and hotel rooms. It’s in nights of drunkenness and laughter. It’s in sleepy Sunday mornings and midnight awakenings. It’s in short greetings after long absences. It’s in every days and beach picnics.
It’s in glass houses and steamy kitchens. It’s in hot showers and big, soft, sprawling beds. It’s in distracting thoughts and carpet burns. It’s in tilting your phone, so nobody else can see the picture. It’s in moments you can’t forget, even if you try. It’s in a simple touch or look. It’s still there.

I think the problem, or not problem if you should look at it in another way, is really that I don’t want to just settle. I don’t need to lie on a bed next to just any warm body that’s around, to feel like I have obtained worthiness or popularity. I’m not selling out my emotional to the physical, or vice versa…I want both or nothing.
I don’t want to be with someone I don’t feel that connection with, with all the passion I have. I don’t want the ‘next best’ thing. I don’t need to be with someone I wouldn’t want to give my all to, regardless of whether or not I ever would again. I don’t need the easy road. I know what I want. And regardless of what anyone else thinks, I know that it’s as simple as simple can be, no strings, no bullshit, no empty promises.So while the world concentrates on hunger, poverty and missile warfare, I’ll just be over here sulking about my own completely selfish first world problem. The struggle is real, for now.

I hope whatever you’re getting, is putting a crazy wicked smile on your face. Life is short, and long, and hard. Own it.
Sweet dreams Kids
V

 

 

The importance of being important

I see a guy on the street, and he has a dog (not actual pic below). They have a blanket and a bowl, and a bag of things. If I have time, I talk to him, and take him treats or other assorted cash or items, and every day I see him, I can’t help but think that in a way, they are lucky. Not to have nothing, but to have more than some people really do. They have each other, loyalty, and they are grateful for everything they get. He is always lovely and polite. He never asks for anything more than a belly rub for his pup. They make me feel like I have so much more than I deserve, they make me realise a lot…and they make me smile.
I see a woman who travels alone. She is old, and far from where she is from. She uses a roller walker and dresses warmly and beautifully. She sits at the front, and watches the streets pass, the signs and waits for her stop. She offers her seat to all the newcomers, though she is entitled to it in every way. She makes sure she doesn’t take up space or brush people that rudely push past her. I help her each day, get safely down the stairs to solid ground, and she thanks me with a blessing in her sweet old voice, always thanking the driver on her way past. She has and deserves respect…and she makes me smile.

I see a man who gets on the tram in his half expensive suit, with his half expensive tie tucked neatly into it. Scanning the crowd, a small grimace crosses his face, and he blinks it quickly away. He takes all of two seconds to decide that the priority seating is where he should be seated. Unfolding a newspaper, or flipping through very important papers. Perhaps unfolding a very important laptop. Obviously he is very important. Obviously he takes the tram, only because it is accepted in the more mainstream section of the business world. A public chauffeur, because obviously his own personal one is off sick. Or perhaps his very important sports car is in the shop today.
But peeking out from the bottom of his suit legs are well worn, comfortably creased leather shoes, that have lost the majority of their shine. And fraying from the edge of his scarf, is a telltale thread or two, that says he has worn it often to combat the cold. He seems uncomfortable because, well…because he wants to be much more important than to have to travel on a tram with everyone else, like everyone else. And he makes me sad.

Every day, we are creating our own version of a living hell, just by following the greed and calculated insanity of human nature. Progressiveness is leading us into an isolated concrete cubicle, to bend us all over. George Orwell, eat your heart out.
A society where creatures will pay to store in boxes, the things they have collected , but neither use nor need, yet refuse to let go of. Hoarding possessions they are too protective and greedy to relinquish, yet too rational to have filling their lives. Things they have earned. Their things. Precious Thingsssssss.

I admit, I have some of these things…but I am learning to let go. I am feeling how much lighter my life feels, without the clutter of heavy burdens, and the things I no longer need. Because most things are meaningless. They are just things that can be changed, replaced or done without. They are not what makes our lives rich, or make us any more or less important. Things don’t care about you. And they can all be taken away so easily. Property, money…stuff. None of these are any measure, to genuine love, trust, respect or reliability.
What is important is who you are and what you do, not what you have or where you work. What is important is how you treat others, that are simply trying to live inside this same world.

And quite honestly, this doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice anything for anyone else. It doesn’t mean you have to give a fuck what other people think of you. It doesn’t even mean you have to go out of your way to impress or placate..but if you can inspire admiration or respect from strangers, or friends, or lovers without trying to…then I think you are doing it right.

Cheers Kids, have you made anyone smile today?
V