Thank A Teacher #LifeThisWeek

It's been a frightfully long time since I was at school. Thirty years, in fact. Yikes. How did that happen?

Happen it did. Quickly. Suddenly, I was 18, with no idea of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Still haven't figured it out, to be honest. I guess I never will. Oh, well. Sigh.

Anyway, long story short, I ended up enrolling in a TAFE course in library practice. I schlepped into the city replete with my infamous mullet perm. The 80s were just about over, but I hadn't received the memo.

Throughout my years at primary school and high school one thing had become apparent. I was excruciatingly shy and quiet. Furthermore, this was a heinous character defect.

There must be some sort of magical spell or secret knowledge I didn't possess. Knowledge that would enable me to come out of my shell immediately. If not, I was doomed.

It seems that being quiet is viewed as suspicious in our society. Case in point: have you ever noticed that a popular trope in fiction is the killer turning out to be the quiet unassuming character? 

Likewise when a gruesome murder takes place, neighbours of the perpetrator are seen on the news, appalled. "He was pretty quiet. Kept to himself," they mumble to the camera. The subtext being, all quiet folk are psychopaths waiting to happen. HMPH. Not true. Granted, I am weird, but in a completely harmless way.

Look, I'm getting to the thanking a teacher bit shortly. The point is, I had been conditioned to believe that being quiet and shy was tantamount to a crime. A hideous, awful, shameful flaw. Something that had to be changed at all costs. If only I tried hard enough,  I should be able to do the thing that people commanded: come out of my shell.

I grew to loathe those words. Sadly not as much I loathed myself. I desperately wanted to be bubbly and outgoing. The opposite of my true self in every way.

To complicate matters, I didn't know that I'm autistic at the time. I believed that all my struggles to communicate were simply shyness. And yes, I AM shy. Like I've said before, I scored the ultimate trifecta of social awkwardness: shy, introverted (yes, they are two different things) and autistic.

But to get to the thanking a teacher bit! As part of the library practice TAFE course we had to do a communication module.

My teacher for this subject was a lovely lady with the unusual name of Gill Goater. She wore dangly earrings and a warm smile.

It transpired that one of our assessments involved giving a speech on a topic of our choice. OH. MY. GOD. Naturally my shy little soul shriveled at such a prospect. The thing was impossible. A knot of dread settled in my stomach.

The dread was also suffused in shame. Here I was, ostensibly an adult and I was no closer to 'coming out of my shell'. The very idea of standing in front of the class set me quivering.

But Gill smiled at me and said something to the effect: I just want you to know that I know you're shy and that's okay.

Wait. What?

"It's okay to do things in your own time," she continued. I was thunderstruck yet thrilled. No one had ever said such a thing to me before.

The upshot of it was, she gave me a get of jail for free card. I didn't have to do the speech if I didn't want to, she told me. A funny thing happened. I mulled it over, as I am want to do.

A number of people in the class were from non English speaking backgrounds. A speech would be a challenge for them, too. Upon reflection, it didn't seem fair that they should have to do it, while I was excused.

I went back and told Gill I'd do it. She suggested a topic I knew a lot about: Why not talk about shyness? Explain what it's like. Make people understand.

So that's what I did. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I do remember that you couldn't hear a pin drop until I finished and the room erupted into applause.

Gill was beaming. "I'm giving you an 11 out of ten because I know how hard that was for you!" she said.

Shortly afterwards, she left to go travelling and we had a different teacher. But I never forgot her. So, thank you, Gill Goater, for your acceptance and understanding. I wish more teachers were like you.

Interestingly, I googled Gill's name and discovered she is now a poet, with a book of poetry in print. Highly unlikely she would remember me, but now I'm keen to read her poetry. 

Meanwhile, I now know I'm autistic. In retrospect, it could have been an even more interesting speech! It certainly explains why I could never just 'come out of my shell'.

But I've never become a murderer either. And never will! That's something.

What about you?

Is there a teacher you'd like to thank? 

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How I Learn Best

Good morning, dear people! Today I will be talking about learning. Pacifically, how I learn best. Except I meant 'specifically'. I have learnt that much. I'm so funny!  Humorous type funny. Also, you know, funny...

Anyway, onto the learning thing. Should be a short post. Related: I never learn. Just kidding. I do. Sort of Well, sometimes. For example, the specifically vs pacifically thing. However, I'm asking
the intriguing question: how do I learn best? 

This is because it's today's prompt for  Life This Week. If it were up to me I'm more likely to ask the question: can today be cancelled so we can all go back to bed? No? HMPH. 

I had to think about this, because to be honest I'm not really sure how I learn best. Most likely through reading. But how did I learn to read? 

I was always a  patchy learner. This is due to the fact that I hyper focus on things that interest me and completely tune out if they don't. I'm weird. 

Additionally, I could still manage to bomb in exams. Even in subjects that interest me. It's a gift, people! Apparently, many autistic people are visual thinkers, but I tend to think mostly in language. Maybe a bit of both. 

Unfortunately, I often tuned out when I was at school and missed entire lessons. There was also those occasions when I read a sneaky book under the desk, but we won't talk about that... I can't focus or concentrate for long periods, or focus on more than one thing at a time. 

If I'm given verbal instructions I forget, so having stuff written down or reading something works best for me. My mum taught me to read by sounding the words out. (which answers my earlier question...). I seemed to be a natural reader and speller. When it came to other subjects like maths and science I just tuned out. I simply didn't care. Who knows what goes on in this brain of mine. It's a vacuum up there. 

These days I'm not involved in any sort of formal learning and I have to admit I struggle big time to be of assistance with my kids homework or assessment tasks. It's very embarrassing and disconcerting.

Occasionally, I have these awful dreams where I'm back at school and/or having to do exams. I always wake up in a panic. I guess the academic world wasn't meant for me. Also, I always knew emphatically that I could never be a teacher. I admire and respect people who are because it's beyond my capabilities. 

Thinking about it, I have come to the conclusion that I'm mostly a slow learner. It's always taken me longer than others to do certain things, such as learning to drive. I was never the type of a person who could pick things up easily and bluff my way through assignments or exams. I had a friend at school who could do that. She would put in minimal effort, often not even turning up for most of the school year and then still come dux almost every year. It was really quite extraordinary. 

Of course I do love to read. So I guess reading is my preferred way of learning. Besides, what I lack in academic ability I make up for by being stupendously GORGEOUS. 

Um, I just compared myself to a dog... But luckily dogs are awesome. All good! 

What about you?

How do you learn best? 

Are you really, really, ridiculously good looking? 

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Messy Nessy

Hello again! I have finally madeit back to another Friday Reflections link up. I'm sure you've been beside yourselves missing me. What's that? You hadn't noticed I was gone? How rude. Sniff. Oh well, I'm back, anyway. I did expect trumpets, streamers and exclamations of joy to mark this momentous occasion. But you're right. A quiet and graceful return to the fold is much classier. Though I can't help thinkng, couldn't you even manage just ONE balloon? Some people.

Enough about that. Let's get on with it.

The prompt I have chosen is this:

 Are you messy or neat? What about your family/people you share your house with? Does it work well?

Here goes...

Have you ever looked around at your surroundings, the place you call home, your sanctuary, your precious abode and beamed with satisfaction and pride? Have you surveyed the gleaming surfaces and pristine rooms while a surge of sheer euphoria engulfed you at the blissful state of Konmari perfection you have created? Yes?

HMPH. Well, good for you. I'm sorry to say, I'm not sure we'd get along. For I am your worst nightmare.

There is no doubt about it. I'm a messy little minx.You can call me Messy Nessy if you want. I've been called worse things.

It's not that I don't TRY. Honestly, I do. No, TRULY!  Sometimes I try SO HARD. And the harder I try the more ridiculous it is.

It's a funny thing about me. Like a lot of things. I seem to be all or nothing. Either I am going batshit crazy and cleaning ALL THE THINGS like a possessed person, or I literally have less than zero interest. It's like trying to motivate myself to dress in a chicken suit and run down the street singing bah bah black  sheep at the tops of my lungs. The idea is absurd, repugnant and I just CAN'T EVEN.

Luckily, Mickey Blue Eyes and I are similar. We're both fairly messy and disorganised. Although, to be fair, he does do all the clothes washing. He washes and hangs it out it, while I have the unenviable task of folding and putting away. This seems to work for us. And we take turns doing the dishes by hand because we don't have a dishwasher. I know! What are we like?

Meanwhile, the boys are fairly typical of most teens/kids. Cleaning is not high on their list of priorities, but they will do it if we insist upon it. The only thing is, I have to admit I struggle to teach them to be something that I am not. How do you teach another person to be neat, tidy and well organised if you're not any of those things yourself? It's a tough one for me.

As I've mentioned before, I struggle with executive functioning due to my ASD. I have this weird dichotomy where my actual preference is for order and cleanliness but I am ABSOLUTELY HOPELESS at being the person who can create it. It's super frustrating and depressing at times. Sigh.

I've tried various techniques. Lists, online sites or apps such as Evernote and Todoist and read a tonne of books. I even attended a de-cluttering workshop which I talked about here.

For the record, I'm not a hoarder. My house doesn't resemble something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried Alive (books don't count!). Tables and lounges can be used for what they are intended for and there is no climbing over things. However, it's just not as neat and tidy as I would like. Sigh.

 After attending the above workshop, I did come to the conclusion that I'm doing reasonably okay for someone who has ASD (officially diagnosed) and ADD (self-diagnosed). So I guess I've kinda sorta made my peace with it. But not really. It does upset me. I often wish I was one of those organised, meticulous people who have towels that match and spotless white furniture and fittings.

It's just not going to happen. Sorry, Mickey Blue Eyes! Sorry, Mum!

On the plus side, there is indisputable evidence that messy people are, in fact, geniuses.
Articles on the internet are concrete evidence, right?As Einstein was alleged to have stated: If a cluttered desk a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?

So there you have it. I'm a messy monster and not a neat freak. Messy Nessy. But I'm also a GENIUS. Though why a genius can't figure out stuff that is basically menial tasks is curious...

HMPH. Details!

Right, I'm off to be all genius-like and, erm...make mess. Or something.

What about you?

Are you a genius/messy monster or a neat freak? 

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So long and thanks for all the confessions...

It's hard to believe that I started this blog all the way back in 2012. For those of you who may remember, those were my good old Ness of Boganville days, before I became all classy and elegant. Shut up. 

I started blogging not knowing what I was doing. Clearly nothing has changed in that regard. I was quite clueless about the whole big blogosphere out there. Then somehow I stumbled upon another blog called My Home Truths by Kirsty Russell. 

Kirsty hosted a link up every Monday called I Must Confess. I began joining in with the confessions most weeks. I must admit, being the kind of ad hoc, lazy, disorganised type of person and blogger that I am, the link up motivated me to keep going and also gave me a prompt to write about it.  So it's thanks to Kirsty that I'm here so many years later still boring entertaining you with my shit wit. Sadly, Kirsty has decided to retire the link up after an amazing five-year run, so today is the very last I Must Confess. Sigh. Sad face. 

Seeing as though it's the last confession, Kirsty has asked us to go out with a bang and reveal our biggest confession EVER.

Look, there are some things that I will never divulge even if you tied me up and tortured me. Well, maybe if the torture was being denied cake, I'd probably give in. But that's just me. 

What I'm getting at is, I don't have any huge, monumental, shocking thing to tell. 

But the link up ending makes me think about my resistance to change.

I must confess I often feel sheepish and redundant. As if everyone else is moving on with their lives: making decisions and doing all the things and all I seem to do is struggle with illness. 

I set up my life in such a way; being a stay at home mother, because I was certain that it was the right thing for me in order to protect my mental and physical health. Being an introvert and also on the spectrum the whole multi-tasking, working, soccer mum thing is overwhelming to me. Then I ended up struggling with anxiety anyway and ultimately getting breast cancer. Yeah, my plan worked out well.  

You can probably hear violin music swelling right about now. I promise I'll only indulge in my pity party for another paragraph (or two) and then mention cake again. Cake fixes everything. 

And here's another thing: sometimes it seems like getting my ASD diagnonsense wasn't exactly what it was cracked up to be. To be blunt it kind of felt like: Yes, you have ASD. FUCK YOU. Apart from understanding myself better, there wasn't much to be gained from it. Five years down the track, I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It's a huge, revealing thing to discover about yourself, but a gigantic yawn to everyone else. Furthermore, it probably just comes across as something to use to make excuses for things. Only others who are also on the spectrum can understand. And even then, all of us are different. 

Anyway, not sure where I'm going with this. I guess I just wanted to have my little whinge. Most likely because I've been through a prolonged period of stress. A breast cancer diagnonsense will do that to you. Funny that. When this happens, you have no choice but to get on with things and do what you have to do to get through treatment. Some months later it hits you and you have all the feels. So I just allow myself to have my sooky la la moments and then snap myself out of it and move on. After all, I saw my doctor last Friday and she was very happy with my outcome. She wants to see me again in twelve months time. Yay! Anyway, enough about that.

Now let's move onto the cake! 

It's been fun making these confessions every Monday. I hope you've enjoyed reading them as much as I've enjoyed writing them. 

Over the years I've revealed so many underwhelming fascinating things: 

From the things I don't get about sport to what's in my handbag, 
to my worst habit. And I'm sure you slept better after reading all of those posts. You're welcome.

Therefore, you'll be pleased to know I'm not going anywhere. I'll still be blogging away about nothing. It's a gift, so I can't waste it. Duh. 

And the other good news is that the I Must Confess community isn't totally kaput. Kirsty also has an amazing Facebook group
where we can all vent our spleen (terrific expression, that), have a little whinge or rant and share our triumphs and joy. The great thing about it is, you don't even have to be a blogger to join in! So pop over and join us here!

Plus, the other great news is there will be a brand new, shiny Monday link-up starting over at  Denyse Whelan Blogs. 
You'll be able to find me joining in the fun over there! 

Finally, thanks a million to Kirsty and I wish her all the great things in moving her blog forward. And now let's have some celebratory cake!  Of course they are virtual cakies, so we have to imagine them or go and buy or bake our own. I think wine is needed as well, even though it's Monday morning. Details! 

And for some reason I feel the need for the final ever I Must Confess to fade out while serenading Kirsty with an 80s power ballad. Because I'm pretty sure that as a dedicated Eurovision fan, she's quite partial to a good old 80s power ballad. Take it away, Taylor Dayne! 

Saying goodbye
Is never an easy thing
But you  never said
You'd stay forever
So if you must go
Well darlin' I'll set you free
But I know in time
We'll be together

I won't try
To stop you now from leaving
'Cause in my heart I know

Love will lead you back
Someday I just know that
Love will lead you back to my arms
Where you belong

I'm sure, sure as stars are shining
One day you will find me again
And it won't be long
One of these days 
Our love will lead you back

One of these nights
I'll hear your voice again
You're gonna say 
How much you miss me
You'll walk out that door
But someday you'll walk back in
Darlin' I know, I know this will be

Sometimes it takes
Some time out on your own now
To find your way back home

Love will lead you back
Someday I just know that
Love will lead you back to my arms
Where you belong

I'm sure, sure as stars are shining
One day you will find me again
And it won't be long
One of these days
Our love will lead you back

Written by Diane Eve Warren • Copyright © RealSongs

What is your biggest confession EVER?

Do you cope with change?

Which 80s power ballad would you serenade Kirsty with? 



Linking up for the last ever I Must Confess. 

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My Biggest Fashion Flop

I must confess that I've worn some truly hideous outfits over the years. I've blogged about them before. The thing is, I can't decide which one is the worst, so I'll let you draw your own conclusions. Go on, take a look! You will instantly feel ever so stylish if you do. You're welcome.

So, what do you think? Pretty bad, right?

It's a community service I offer, really. I wear daggy clothes to make everyone else feel like a fashionista. See? I'm just thinking of you!

But even after revealing all of the outfits in that post, I think I can recall yet another that was quite the shocker in retrospect.

Picture it: Sydney, 1989.

A young 18 year old Ness is clopping around to the Entertainment Centre, in all her innocence, to see a Simply Red concert (cutting edge taste in music, as usual), wearing a denim skirt with a red blouse and denim jacket with hideous, huge shoulder pads, and...erm...tassels. To complete this lovely look, I wore high-heeled, ankle length, lace-up boots and my smokin' hawt mullet-perm. Noice.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, as the case may be, I do not appear to have photographic evidence of the above. Your eyeballs are spared that atrocity. But I'm sure you all have a mental vision and it's not pretty.

It's interesting, because I'm on the spectrum but I was always something of girly girl. Apparently we're not supposed to be. I did like wearing frocks and jewellery and make-up. On the other hand I detest high heels (I did wear them occasionally when I was young - see above), pantyhose or stockings and bras. I like to be contradictory.

Image credit: https://au.pinterest.com/pin/178244097730294241/

As I've gotten older I've become more and more lazy low maintenance. I very rarely wear skirts or dresses these days. I'm a pants girl. NOT skinny jeans. Skinny jeans are stupid. Especially when you're not. Skinny, that is.

As for the whole 'leggings as pants' debate. I'll wear them with a long top or tunic type arrangement that covers my arse. Otherwise, no. Well, only around the house.

I usually have similar taste in fashion to my Mum. Which means that I'm either dressing like some one 30 years older than me, or my Mum is a really groovy granny who dresses 30 years younger. Definitely the latter, right? Shut up.

I also find that a lot of women's fashion is very impractical. Even pants don't have pockets, let alone dresses. Then there are all sorts of floaty tops that seem to be virtually see through. Which is fine if you're comfortable with that, but I'd rather keep my love handles and back fat safely camouflaged, thanks very much.

No wonder I have back fat. Ahem.

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/SOML/

Anyway, the basic conclusion I've come to is that my entire life is a bit of a fashion flop, with very rare exception. I did look exquisite in my wedding gown. Prim, but exquisite.

And I'm sure table cloth tops and pinnies will be back in fashion very soon, proving that I was cutting edge all along.

Snorts.

Linking up  (late!) for I Must Confess

What's your biggest fashion flop?

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One thing I wish I did differently

There was a time when I wished I did absolutely everything differently. Every single personality trait I have, I wished was the opposite.


Everything I wished was different


I'm quiet - I wished I was... not loud exactly, but bubbly and articulate.
I'm an introvert - I wished I was an extrovert. 
I'm shy- I wished I was outgoing, fearless and confident.
I'm scatter-brained and disorganised - I wished I was focused and efficient.
I'm a drifter and daydreamer - I wished I was driven and disciplined.
I'm nonathletic and uncoordinated - I wished I was sporty. 
I'm a night owl - I wished I was a morning person.

Blah blah blah.

Luckily, I don't have any gender confusion. I don't wish I was a man. Except for rare moments in grotty public toilets when the ability to be able to pee standing up would be an asset. But I digress.


Have I come to terms with all of the above?


I would like to be able to say that I've triumphed over all of the above and am blissfully happy and contented with my quiet, scatter-brained, nonathletic, night-owl self. But I can't. Well, to be honest, being quiet and introverted doesn't bother me as much as it used to, (although it often continues to bother others). However, I still find myself wishing I was much more organised, driven and disciplined. 

I guess it's because I'd like to be able to have something to point to in self-defence. People may like to point out that I'm quiet, but then I'd like to be able say "Well yes, I am, but on the other hand I'm really efficient and organised."

Um, no. No, I'm not. And it kind of irks me, to be honest. I get all whiny and pouty and pissed off like a three year old being denied cake. Or a 45 year old. Details. Shut up.

 If I'm going to struggle in one area, why can't I have another that is a strength? Nope. Lucky me, I get to struggle with social skills and executive functioning.


Always be yourself


And to make matters worse, it's not like my Aspie brain decided to fixate on a really helpful special interest like say, math or, I dunno, gardening or something. My mind decides to fixate on Karen Carpenter. I can remember every little tiny detail I've read or heard about her career and life both good and bad, yet I can't remember where I put my glasses five minutes ago or which school notes are due or what day it is. It's probably Monday if I've posted this. Is it Monday?

The only thing this (my Karen Carpenter obsession) is useful for is time-wasting and making people look at you like you have two heads. Winning! 

That's why expressions like 'be yourself' and 'feeling comfortable in your own skin' annoy me. 

It seems like when advice like the former is doled out it really means: be yourself, but only if you're an outgoing, type A, driven extrovert. 

And I don't know if I'll ever be truly one hundred percent comfortable in my own skin at all times. Maybe accepting that I'm always going to be just a tiny bit awkward is as good as it gets. In this way perhaps I'll worry about it less. I can already see this working. I know I'm always the most quiet person in any given situation, but I can still show up and sit there with my resting bitch face on. It's all good. 

The ONE thing I wish I did differently


Of course I'm just over thinking. As usual. 

So I guess if I was going to pinpoint one thing that I wish I did differently it would be that. I wish I didn't over think about stuff. Especially all of the above. After all, people still genuinely like me the way I am. Some of them even love me and would lose a kidney for me if necessary. And they feel this way without me changing a thing. They like quiet, scatter-brained me, complete with a cake and Karen Carpenter obsession. Well, I'm sure Mickey Blue Eyes wishes I'd get over it at times, but I wish he'd get over his soccer obsession, so we're even. 

And some people will simply never like you even if you gave them a Ferrari, and that's OK. Being liked by everyone sounds exhausting to an introvert like me! 

I suppose I could try an experiment George Costanza style and do the opposite of every instinct I have for a day or two to see how it goes? But then I'd have to not eat cakies. Bugger that!

Yep, it's definitely time to stop over thinking. Now if only I could stop over thinking about over thinking....

I'll have to think about that...



Linking up for I Must Confess.

Linking up again for Friday Reflections.

What's the one thing you wish you did differently?

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I Have Never...

It's often quite disconcerting to realise that I've reached the mature age of 45 without doing a great deal things you might have expected a 45 year old woman to do. 

The list is long and comprehensive. I have never:

Had a career.

Been on a plane by myself (without my parents or Mick). 

Gotten a tattoo.

Taken illegal drugs.

Or even smoked a cigarette.

Stood naked in the rain.

Skinny-dipped.

Been thoroughly grown up and competent.

Had an affair (Mickey Blue Eyes will be not at all surprised shocked and relieved here). 

Broken someone's heart. 

Been a total bitch. 

Seen snow.

Been surfing.

Learnt to swim (shut up). 

Liked sport. This makes me somewhat of a freakish Australian. 
Bungee jumped.
Parachuted.
Ridden a motor-cycle.
Played an instrument.
Been able to raise my voice much above a whisper.
I've never been to me, just like Charlene, (and I've never exactly understood what that song meant). 
Liked rides or amusement parks. 
Worn a bikini. 

The thing is, though, for the most part I have never really wanted to do these things. I've never had a sort of bucket list of adrenaline packed adventures that I've wanted to tick off in my life-time. 

I've pondered over why I'm such a drifter/daydreamer with a lack of ambition or wanderlust and the only possible explanation I can come up with is that if you're like me: shy, quiet, introverted, Aspie and anxious then you spend a lot of time just wishing to be 'normal' in inverted commas (because who decides what normal is) and mediocre. This probably doesn't make one little bit of sense to anyone but me, but when the simplest of things like talking or making eye-contact are a huge challenge, you pretty much take yourself out of the running for things like high-powered careers or sole travelling. 

Anyway, as far as I'm concerned people who like amusement park rides or bungee-jumping are the crazy ones. Good luck with that. I'm a two feet firmly on the ground kind of girl. 

I've never understood the attraction to smoking. I find the smell alone to be repulsive and skin-crawling. Again - this must be an ASD sensory thing. Therefore, I've never had any curiosity to try it, not even once. I can't really tolerate alcohol well. Any more than two drinks maximum and my head will be spinning. And I really detest that out of control, queasy, hungover feeling, so I've never been tempted to try any drugs. Not that I've ever been offered any. It's weirdly ironic to think I've grown up in good old Mt. Druitt and am utterly clueless about drugs. Food is my drug. 

As Dolly Parton said: I'll take a sandwich and a shake over a jug and a joint any day. You'll have to imagine the Dolly twang. 


When it comes to swimming and any other water related activities, I guess I have a water phobia. I dislike putting my head under water. Anyway, my 77 year old father still doesn't know how to swim, so I'm prepared to carry on that tradition. And I'll never need that bikini. I'm naturally fair-skinned, so it doesn't make sense to wear one, anyway. Instead I need 20 litres of 50 plus sunscreen and head to toe clothing and I'll still get burnt.  HMPH. 

As far as I know I've never broken anyone's heart. In reality, there could be dozens of men (and women who wish I'd turn) weeping and devastated that I'm not available. Yeah, RIGHT. Snorts. 

And yes, I'm too much of a goody goody Pollyanna type to be a bitch. It would be handy to be able to think of cutting remarks in reply to certain people. Sometimes I manage it, but only at 4am after the event. Sigh. 

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/purpleclvr/?fref=ts
I AM sick of bullshit! Why can't I be a bitch??!!

Speaking of 'I have never...' I have never quite known how to bring my rambling posts to a seamless conclusion, so why start now? 

The end. 

Yes, that was abrupt. 

Awkward. 

How would you finish the phrase 'I have never...'?

Linking up for I Must Confess, Open Slather and 
Mummy Mondays. 

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