Meditation. Yay or Nay?

Greetings, spectacular humans! How are you? I am feeling quite content right now. It's Saturday evening as I type this, and I'm sitting here blogging with a lovely meal in my immediate future. We ordered Chinese takeout. Because health fanatics, obviously!

Although, I am a little bummed about my lack of wine to wash it down with. I gotta be honest. Oh, well. We can't have everything.

If all goes well, I will be hitting publish on Monday, and I'm sure I'll be over the wine thing by then. All good.

On with the show! Or, you know, the blog post. 

Let's talk meditation. Yes, I segued from wine to meditation. As you do.

Except I'm NOT. HMPH! 

It's time to join in the fun for Life This Week. This week, the wonderful Denyse, over at Denyse Whelan Blogs , is asking this question:

Meditation: Yay or Nay?

I love this question. I am going to answer it. That's the whole point. Here goes. 

Well, my answer would be this: In theory I'm all about the yay when it comes to meditation. But with much more enthusiasm. As in, YAY! Meditation! Except I think you're supposed to be all chilled and zen during the process, so I should probably tone it down a bit. 

In pratice, however, I'm afraid my answer would have to be a rather stressed and mournful nay. Sigh.

I WANT to able to meditate. In fact, I DO mediate from time to time. I mean, meditate. (I mediate my boys arguments as well, so that boo boo sort of works...).

Well, I TRY to meditate. But my monkey mind is having none of it. Not one little bit. It wants to tell me I'm dizzy, remind me of dumb things, make me fidget and squirm and just not cooperate in making me feel all floaty and peaceful and calm. Yet another sigh. 

Image credit:https://tenor.com/view/zen-shakira-gif-5626538

Furthermore, I also fail at visualisation exercises. I am meant to be practicing an exercise in which I dump all my thoughts and worries into an imaginary boat and watch them drift away. The thing is, I don't like boats.

I probably should have mentioned that to my shrink. I kind of have a water phobia. Using 'kind of' in the sense of definitely. Therefore, I've only tried to do this exercise once. 

It's weird because I'm a chronic daydreamer. I've gone so far as to wonder if I'm what is called a maladaptive daydreamer.

Maybe. There is a strong possibility...  Ahem. I can zone out at inconvenient times, but when I try to do it a formal or structured way it doesn't work. 

I might be better off trying something like yoga or tai chi,which (I think) is meant to be 'meditation in motion'? 

Mickey Blue Eyes was always someone who was scathing about meditation but when he was going through cancer treatment he became a reluctant convert. He reported being able to get into such a relaxed state that he was floating. I figured if someone like him could do it, I should be able to master it. But alas, no luck! 

I wonder if, ironically, worrying about the inability to meditate is making me more stressed. I mean, it's supposed to be a relaxing activity, not another thing on a to-do list!

I find reading, listening to music and even patting my dog to be relaxing. Aren't those things good enough? Do I really need to meditate?

There was a time when I thought I'd never be able to cope with panic attacks or sit with uncomfortable feelings and face fear. However, I've managed to do these things in the last few years. I guess having no choice makes you do things you never thought you'd do. So, maybe I'll eventually be able to meditate. I just have to find the right way for me. 

In the meantime, it's now Monday and I'm certainly NOT over the wine thing. Pffffft. As if!

What about you? 

Do you meditate? 

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Letter To My 20 Year Old Self

Dear 20 year old Ness,

Hello, dear girl! Well, actually you're a young woman now. A proper grown up. I know! You certainly don't feel like one. I suspect you never will.

And you know what? It's okay. Most people are faking it, anyway. Besides, being a grown up is totally overrated, as you are discovering.

Image credit:https://www.facebook.com/purpleclvr/photos/a.375609882543951.1073741828.369508529820753/1953758248062432/?type=3&theater

Oh yes, it's me by the way, your 46 year old self. Yes, you do make it to such a frightfully ancient number. There's a lot ahead of you. Some of it good. Some of it bad. Just like everyone else.

I expect you already got the letter I wrote to our sixteen year old self and was somewhat puzzled and intrigued. But what I said then still stands.

The thing is, I was going to provide you with a long list of do's and don't s:

DO ditch that boyfriend.

DON'T  perm your hair anymore.

DO keep working in libraries.

DON'T put up with toxic 'friends'.

But recently I had something of an epiphany around the concept of regrets.

You're inclined to a lot of introspection - you can't help it, you're a massive introvert among other things - but you have to be mindful of not spiralling into too much rumination and over thinking. Besides, you don't spend too much more time with the boyfriend or toxic friends anyway. 

So the only thing I really need to say is, you're actually okay. Just be kind to yourself.

This will be the last little self indulgent letter to myself, I'm fairly certain. After all, you now have a blog all about yourself. Coughs...

There are so many things you can write. Give them ago.

No wait. I lied.There IS another letter from your future self coming at 35. What I said there stands as well.  Some hair curling shit will happen, but you'll be okay. Seriously. 

At 46 you've realised that you're an odd contradiction of sweet, childlike and naive and an old nanna soul. And it's all good.

You will never be hip and cool and groovy. I mean, you just used the word groovy. Enough said.  

So, what other interesting things can I report about the future?

2017 is...

Interesting and challenging. 

We certainly don't live like those Jetsons cartoons, and alas, as I mentioned before, there are no hover boards. Hanna-barbera and Steven Spielberg are great big fat LIARS. Of course, you didn't fair too well with roller skates, so I'm sure you won't be too disappointed to discover this. 

Sadly I am unable to divulge any future lotto numbers. This is truly tragic. I dunno, it's like the whole 'letters to past selves thing' don't work or something? 

If I didn't know any better I'd swear The Magic Faraway Tree wasn't real and Samantha from Bewitched wasn't an actual witch...

Okay, maybe they weren't, but it doesn't hurt to believe in magic sometimes in this bat shit crazy, frightening, bewildering world. Yes, you're still a dreamer. So what? 

So yeah, the only things I need to say are, be kind to yourself and don't take it all so seriously. No one gets out of this thing alive anyway. You may as well laugh at the absurdity and sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

Which is why the perms weren't such a bad thing after all. They're freaking hilarious in retrospect. 

Me at age 20 in 1991 ready
for my TAFE graduation.

At my 21st birthday. 

See what I mean? 


Sincerely,

46 year old Ness

What would you tell your 20 year old self?

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About Being The Baby (With Bonus Dilly Dallying)

Hello again, dear and delightful people. Okay, person. There must be at least one person reading out there. I hope...

 And I can say you're delightful because you're inside the computer. This makes it SO much easier. I don't even have to get dressed, although I am. Badly. See? Easier all round. I can wear awful clothes and your eyeballs are spared that atrocity. 

Anyway, on with the show. Or the blog post. You know what I mean... 

This popped up in my Facebook memories this morning:

It made me realise that I am quite fond of a bit of dilly dallying. I do it here all the time, popping in and out at my fancy.  Nothing wrong with that, right?

But I'm here now, so let's get on with it. I'm wondering if my propensity towards dilly dallying has anything to do with my birth order? I was the baby of the family. I have one older brother.

The first thing I discover when I google birth order is, the stereo-type for the 'baby' of the family is being a free spirit, a risk taker and charming. Well yes, I am quite charming in my own way. Aren't I?

But as for the other two - forgeddaboutit! I am definitely not a risk taker, at any rate.

Meanwhile, I did go on to have three children of my own, despite being a hard core introvert. Hmmmm, maybe I AM a risk taker? 

Anyway, what I was going to say was,  I didn't really think 'middle child syndrome' was  a thing until I had three children.  All I am going to tactfully say is, my middle child and my youngest have an interesting relationship. It could certainly be described as love/hate at times. It can be quite difficult and complicated to navigate as a parent. 

I remember watching The Brady Bunch as a kid. It was always Jan and Peter, the middle siblings, who seemed to be having a permanent identity crisis.  The Brady Bunch is a totally credible, realistic and cutting edge show to use as a reference. Or something. Okay, maybe not. But I just like to bring up a random daggy pop culture reference, because that's how I roll. Deal with it. 

Incidentally, my 'baby', aka Mr 8, is off on his first ever overnight camp tonight. I did find myself becoming considerably more anxious about this fact than I remember being for the other two. Are we inclined to be more over protective towards the youngest child? On the other hand, there is also the theory that by the time you get to number three you're much more... ahem...relaxed...

Thinking about it, I guess it would have been interesting for me had my parents decided to have more children. That would have made me the middle child.  Evidently my mum was firm in her decision to only have two children, so I stayed the 'baby'. To this day I am still a mummy's (and daddy's) girl. I am not sure how much of this is due to my birth order or my personality. I've always been shy, quiet and introverted. And, as it turned out, autistic. But I didn't know about the latter growing up.

Oh! Random segue: I suddenly recalled a funny incident when we brought my second born son home from the hospital. His brother, then Mr 3, suggested to me that we could put him in the bin and the garbage truck would come and get him! So there was definitely a bit of jealousy going on at the beginning. They're good buddies now, thankfully.

And I think that is all I have to say about birth order. The conclusion: I have no idea. But this 'baby' still likes dilly dallying. I'm off to do so right now. 

What about you?

What is your birth order? Do you think it effects your personality?

Are you a middle child? Or a dilly dallyer? 

Have I asked enough pointless questions? Should I throw in one more? 


Someone make me stop asking questions...

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Something About Selfies

For some one who can be terribly self absorbed, I am certainly not into the whole selfie phenomenon. I suspect it's partly because I'm shy and an introvert, but mainly I'm just a lazy technophobe with a dodgy old phone. I have no idea how to disguise double chins and add filters. Shrugs.

I don't really understand the whole get your boobs out on the internet and no make up selfies lauded as 'brave'. I must be extremely brave if that's the case... (Almost) no make up is my normal way of life these days.

Anyway, I've managed to take a few over the last year or two, even when I was going through cancer treatment. My bald noggin scared off one or two people. I lost a couple of 'likes' after posting it. But as the saying goes: it's like the trash took itself out.

Apparently it was National Selfie Day the other day. I didn't even know that was a thing. Thinking about it, my boys appear to not be into selfies either. It would appear we are a very introverted family.

The other thing is, I kind of have resting bitch face. Or something. I don't have much expression even when I feel really happy.

Having said all of that, I suppose I do take in interest in other folks selfies on social media. It's always nice to see someone else's smiling face, but  not so much my own resting bitch face (which will henceforth be known as RBF). 

I know I should take more selfies, it doesn't matter what I look like. Double chins, wrinkles, RBF, the whole shebang. Otherwise my funeral will rock around (hopefully many years from now!) and there will only be ancient photos from years ago available for my kids to remember me. 

My mum actually bought me a selfie stick some time ago and I never used it. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure where I put it. Weird. Hmmmm, where is that thing...

Anyway, a quick perusal of my Facebook photos shows me that my selfies have revolved around the sad saga of my hair. My tresses appear to have had an entire life of their own. See below.

THE TRAGIC TALE OF NESS'S TRESSES IN SELFIES

Me with 'normal' hair a few years ago.

Me when I decided to become a Hare Krishna.
Just kidding! Me during chemo last year.

Me being smokin' hawt in a beanie. Also during
chemo last year.

My Nanna Ness look when my hair started to
grow back. 

And finally...

Me a few weeks ago.

Now you can see why I'm not into selfies. They're all blurry and just ghastly and frightfully horrid and all those other expressions out of Enid Blyton books.

Any tips on how to make them less blurry when you have a crap phone? Plus, how do you hide double chins and add filters? Oh, that's right... I could just google that myself. Oops. Will do. As you were.

What are your thoughts about selfies?

Do you celebrate National Selfie Day?

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Mistakes

Greetings and salutations! Here we are again on another fabulous Friday! Which means it's time for Friday Reflections. 

I have to chosen to write a post for the prompt: write a post about making mistakes.This may be a mistake...  You decide. 

I make lots of little scatter brained mistakes on a daily basis. In fact, I came to the conclusion that I am some sort of hapless doddering Mrs Bean character long ago. Read it about here. It's funny to read about... Well, if I didn't laugh I'd cry...

Now it's time for a random list for no particular reason: 

LIST OF LITTLE MISTAKES I MAKE IN EVERYDAY LIFE

• Putting the wrong clothes away in the wrong drawers.
• Leaving the shopping list at home.
• Forgetting to even write a list.
• Writing a list, then leaving it at home.
• Taking the list, but still forgetting to buy essential items written on it. 
• Getting the dodgy trolley at the supermarket.
• Choosing the slowest check out. 
• Forgetting to replace the loo roll (I gather this is generally more of a dude thing, but I'm special...)
• Buying/borrowing more books before I've read the ones I've got... No wait. This is NEVER a mistake! 
• Forgetting the pizza that was in the oven... (on the plus side that means I burned a bazillion calories in just half an hour!  BOOM TISH) 
• Picking up the wrong kind of schnitzels at the supermarket (the ones with corn instead of plain), an act of vile, callous and unforgivable EVIL as far as Mr 8 is concerned. 
• Forgetting where I put my glasses/keys/phone five minutes ago....

You get the picture. This list could go on and on and ON. 

And that list hasn't even covered other past mistakes, such as my infamous mullet-perm of 1987, and the time I thought wearing shirts that looked like table cloths was attractive.  See below. What was I thinking? 

BIG MISTAKE

However, the biggest mistake I am currently making is this:

Not getting enough exercise. Followed closely by eating too much. OOPS. 

This in turn causes me to a) gain weight, and b) become more prone to anxiety.

This is also after choosing the word MOVE as my  one word for this year. Oh dear. 

So, yesterday I was at the shops and I had a big, wobbly, stupid, batshit crazy panic attack. Not fun. I haven't had one for ages, so it's very disconcerting when that bastard pops up. Well, it can go f#*k itself. I am making myself move again. I've always found exercise is one of the best strategies to combat it. 

As 'Anne' says, tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it.

Or you know, fresh with no CAKES in it.  Since my mistakes often seem to feature baked goods. Ahem.  

Now I am signing off, because I really and truly need to get up and MOVE. 

What mistakes do you make? Do you learn from them?

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Ten Reasons I Love Tea

Greetings, Earthlings.  How are we all? Well? Happy it's Friday? Bursting with enthusiasm and joy? All of the above? Nice. I'm not. Sniff. 

Nah, I'm good. Just have a pesky old headache, that's all. Nothing a good cup of coffee and some ibuprofen won't fix. Which segues neatly into today's topic:

TEA! 

I know. I said coffee before, but I like to surprise you with twists and unexpected turns. Since my head is pounding, I'm taking the easy option with the lovely old list-post. Why not? 

Here are ten reasons I love tea:

1. Tea warms me up on a cold winter's day. 

2. Tea never talks. I can sip it in blissful silence. 

3. Tea comes in convenient bags, with or without strings. 

4. Tea is one of the simple pleasures in life which is supposedly good for you, due to its antioxidants or something. I'm far to lazy and headachey to do the proper research. Shut up. 

5. You can drink it in lovely, pretty, dainty cups with saucers and pretend you're a character on Downton Abbey. Just me? 

6. Tea is the perfect companion for CAKE. Unless you prefer coffee. That works, too. 

7. You can have it in a pot or a cup. There is something so comforting about pouring it from the pot into those dainty cups. See above. This time you can pretend you're one of the servants on Downton Abbey, fantasising about spilling the scalding liquid on snooty Lady Mary's frightfully expensive gown. Again, just me? 

8. Cup of tea + good book + rainy day = Perfection, with a capital P. It's the simple things in life, people. 

9. Tea fixes everything. Have you ever noticed how in the middle of a crisis or something emotionally draining, the first thing people do is pop the kettle on for a refreshing brew? Or is that just in those historical saga type novels I read from time to time...? 

10. Tea provides the illusion that I'm much less socially awkward than I am. I'll take my small talk with tea, thanks. At least that way, when I can't think of anything to say, I can sip away. Luckily, I am not prone to spilling hot drinks or this theory could go awry quite easily...

And there you have it.  The ten reasons I love tea. Oh, and I do like the taste of it. That helps, too!

What about you? 

Are you a coffee or tea person? 

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Stuff I Do When I Should Do Something Else

Every day I have a to-do list. Well, most days. Okay, some days. Look, I actually prefer the idea of a ta-da list. 

I've mentioned before that I'm very easily distracted. In addition to this helpful trait, I'm also a daydreamer. An off with the pixies space cadet. This means that my lovely little to-do list can be found languishing and lonely while I'm otherwise preoccupied.

The things I do most often when I'm meant to be doing something else:

• Scroll through Facebook and observe everyone's bright shiny happy highlight reels. No, I'm not jealous AT ALL. Sniff.  
• Reading. Books, books books and MORE BOOKS. So many books, not enough time! 
• Daydreaming (see above).
• Writing or blogging (I do add these things to my to-do list, but for some reason I still feel guilty and like I should be something else that is housework related.) Sigh. 
• Pole Dancing. It's a passion of mine. In my daydreams. Again - see above. 
• Watching TV. I don't have Netflix, and I'm not a reality show fan. But lately I've found myself watching programmes about murderers. Or, true crime documentaries. I blame Mickey Blue Eyes. He got me started on this stuff. There is something totally icky about these programmes. I don't feel like any of these psychopaths should be given any air time. We should remember and honour the victims. Yet I still find myself watching them when I should definitely be doing something else. I know, I hate myself.
•  Over-thinking. Ruminating. Pondering. Mulling things over.  
•  Obsessing over Karen Carpenter by watching Youtube videos for HOURS. But she was SO CUTE. And talented. 
• Hang gliding. 
• Taking a nanna nap. This would appear to confirm that I did indeed make the previous point up. Shut up, I had to make this list interesting somehow! 
• Making cups of tea.
• Drinking cups of tea. Once made, they must be drunk. Drank? I should learn proper grammar one of these days... Snorts. 

Well, that was a comprehensive list. I could go on, but it all boils down to what my mother would call 'fiddle fart arseing around'. I'm a fiddle fart arser extraordinaire. It's a gift, people.

Without a doubt, good old Facebook is the biggest time waster for me. I don't even play Candy crush or Farmville, or any of those games, but I can still manage to spend ages scrolling away. Apparently I'm gifted. Or something. Besides, fiddle fart arseing around on Facebook has a certain ring to it. Doesn't it? 

It's a weird and wonderful thing, this here social media, don't you think? At the click of the mouse you can connect with like minded people, access information and endless entertainment. There are so many advantages. But if you're like me, you also need to remind yourself to pull back a bit and engage in the real world. 

Others would argue that the online world IS just as real and valid these days. And I suppose it is, but there needs to be a balance. for some one like me who finds it difficult to switch attention between tasks, it can certainly be problematic.

One strategy would be to set the timer on my phone as a reminder. That way I can limit myself to fifteen or twenty minutes and stop and do something else for a set time as well. I have been implementing this as a strategy. Sort of. Kind of. Sometimes. When I remember. Yes, I am a very bad person. 

Oh, well. I had better stop fiddle fart arseing around. (And, you know, saying 'fiddle fart arseing around...').  I'm sure there's something else I'm supposed to be doing right now. I had better go and do it. If only I could remember what it was...

Linking up for Friday Reflections. 

What's the thing you do most often when you're meant to be doing something else? 

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Horror Scopes

Hello there! It's the weekend again, lovely people. Now, make yourself comfortable, sit down with a glass of wine, and let's talk about horror scopes. Erm... I mean... horoscopes. 

Do you read yours? I must confess, I do not. This may come as no surprise, but I'm quite the cynical old soul in regards to such frivolities.  However, I figured why not? Let's have a look into this nonsense, shall we? At any rate, I can't think of anything else to write, and I've had a scotch or two, so this should be interesting... 

Yep. I am a Greedy Emo. 

I made my way into this mad old world on January 15th of 1971. According to astrology this makes me a Capricorn. And a Greedy Emo. See above.

It is an indisputable FACT that all Capricorns are dazzlingly clever and divinely beautiful. Okay, I may have made that up. (Or stolen it from LM Montgomery...). There was no need for the word 'may' in that sentence... But aren't all horoscopes fiction? So why can't I invent whatever it is that I want? HMPH.

Anyway, I just did a bit of the old googling and this is my horoscope for yesterday:

It's a good time to build up your self-esteem in terms of expressing yourself. Deep down inside, you're a very creative person, and today is a good day to let that show. Get involved in planning or cooking a meal, and volunteer to set the table. You can arrange the settings in a unique way -- let yourself do something that strikes people as downright odd. It's all part of encouraging yourself to take chances and express your natural talents.

Indeed, I have been cooking a lot lately, as well as setting the table in my own unique way. This involves flinging mismatching crockery and cutlery at the table in a most random fashion. Food follows likewise, because by the time I get to this point of the proceedings I am completely over it all and don't care anymore, so they can eat it or starve. 

But back to me being a Capricorn. 

According to Google, Capricorn personality traits are as follows:

Capricorn Traits : The Capricorn-born people are the most determined of the entire Zodiac. The most prominent qualities of the Goats, as they are called, are that they are ambitious, conservative, determined, practical and helpful.

Bwahahahahahahaha! NO.

How I fervently wish that the above was true for me! I am not at all determined or ambitious. I suppose I'm conservative, with a teensy little subversive streak that makes a guest appearance now and again. Like when I write rambling blog posts while I'm tipsy (or stone cold sober...). Living on the edge! 

Additionally, us goats are reputed to be quite stubborn. I've never thought of myself as stubborn. However, I don't cope with change whatsoever, so I'm wondering if that is, in fact, a form of stubbornness? What say you? 

Meanwhile, I just read the following passage and it certainly does resonate: 

Capricorn women typically enjoy people though they are often thoughtful, self-contained and shy. Their quiet exterior can make them appear to be loners, often building a wall of reserve around themselves. They are very loyal to those they care for, but often cold to those outside of their circle of friends and family. They are often highly cautious and analytical when making new friends.

CONCLUSION

My initial thoughts were that I am NOTHING like a Capricorn. However, after my drunken online reading, some of it does resonate. I reckon it's all open to interpretation and you can read whatever you want into it. I'd still never take horror scopes too seriously, but they're quite fun some of the time. Or maybe that's the scotch talking... You be the judge.

And now a final look at all of our horror scopes for the for the future...

I think that sums it up. 

What do you think? What star sign are you? Does it reflect your personality? Or do you think it's all a load of bollocks? 

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Mrs Picklebottom Is Properly Horrified

Well hello, groovers and shakers. Or shakers and groovers, either way works. I'm back to talk all about LUURRRRVE.

Today is the 13th of February. See how sharp I am? This means that tomorrow is the 14th (razor sharp!), and you know what that means?!!

Yep, it's just another day. Well, it is to me. But for some folk, it's the most romantic day of the year: Valentine's Day. 

This means that Mickey Blue Eyes will be getting some very special treatment tomorrow. I might even make him a sandwich. And, when I serve up the burnt sausages and veg for dinner, I'll even do a little tomato sauce love heart. I'm thoughtful like that. 

Why am a such a cynical little soul? I mean, considering I love the Carpenters who usually sung about love. Birds suddenly appearing, sharing horizons and all that shit.  I guess I'm a weird mass of contradictions. 

The thing is, I don't really need a bunch of over priced roses to know that  my husband loves me. After all, why would he put up with my Carpenters addiction. That shit must be maddening.  Poor bastard. 

I will, however, take a million dollars and a life time supply of chocolate. I'm not greedy. 

Truthfully, I did fall in love for the first time at the tender age of around seven or eight. As soon as we touched I was besotted. My eyes met with the object of my affection and it was love at first sight.

I couldn't wait to meet with my new love for our daily trysts. We were together all the time. In bed. At school. Under the desk. In the playground. Parting was always heartbreaking. It was like leaving a piece of me behind whenever I forgot my books. Yes, books. What did YOU think I was talking about?

Forget about playing kiss/chasey in the playground, when you can sit in the corner with a book! Besides, fictional boys are better. Case in point: Gilbert Blythe. Swoooon. I wouldn't have minded if he'd called ME carrots! 

Books were definitely the first love of my life. This continued into my teens. When I was in Year 9, I had this English teacher. As you do. Honestly, I can't even remember her name, so I should probably make something up.

Let's just call her Mrs Picklebottom. Because if you're going to make up a name, it might as well be something ridiculous.  Now, since this blog is just me repeating myself ad nauseam, there's a good chance I've told this story before. But it's a good one, so here it is again...

It was during this particular time in my life that I enjoyed reading Mills & Boon romances.  Before you judge me, bear in mind that we didn't have the internet in 1985, so I had to find out about sex somewhere. I certainly wasn't the type to be off 'pashing' and being fingered behind the demountables. No judgement whatsoever if you were. I certainly hope you enjoyed it. Just wasn't my thing. So I stuck to the books. 

Mrs Picklebottom was completely horrified by my choice of reading material. So much so, that she immediately contacted my mother and demanded a meeting. The next thing you know, my bewildered mother was being informed by Mrs Picklebottom that allowing girls to read these type of novels would make them grow up to think that if they have sex and have an orgasm, they're in love! 

As my late aunt pointed out when Mum told her, you can have an orgasm masturbating, and it doesn't mean you're in love with your hand! I wish mum had sent my aunt to the meeting. Would have been interesting. 

At this point, I must apologise to my mother, some thirty odd years later. I certainly cannot imagine having to have such a conversation with a teacher. Mum replied that she disagreed. She thought it was just a phase I'd grow out of.

This proved to be true, as I no longer read Mills & Boon  novels. Enid Blyton and LM Montgomery on the other hand... 

Shhhhhhhh, don't tell anyone! 

I can't help thinking that if Mrs Picklebottom is still out there teaching high school English, she would have imploded at the Fifty Shades series. Not to mentions teens ready access to internet porn these days. 

However, maybe Mrs Picklebottom had a point. It was just a clumsy delivery. It's entirely possible that romance novels DO set people up for unrealistic expectations about love. 

That is my whole problem with Valentine's Day. It's so phoney and commercial.  Personally we don't celebrate it. We prefer to leave it for our wedding anniversary which has more personal meaning to us. We'll celebrate our 22nd wedding anniversary in November instead. 

One other thing, if you're single and feeling a bit crap because it's Valentine's Day and everyone is posting all their loved up stuff on Facey. Don't. Or, at least, don't feel crap for longer than five minutes. Feel the crappy stuff, then move on.  

Those couples enjoying a romantic meal near the beach will be the same ones who'll be pissed off with each other the next day for forgetting to replace the toilet roll. Incidentally, it's me who always forgets to replace the toilet roll in this house, not Mickey Blue Eyes. Oops. Sorry! 

So I think I finally understand what Mrs Picklebottom was saying. Love isn't about hearts and flowers on one arbitrary commercial day. There is so much more to it than that. It's all the little things your partner does every day.  And the HUGE things; like supporting each other through cancer. (That's a whole other blog post...) It's been a wild 22 years, that's all I can say...

And tomato sauce love hearts are cute sometimes, too.

Maybe I'm a romantic after all? 

What are your thoughts about love, Valentine's Day and Mills & Boon novels? 

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One Word

Why hello there! And a happy new year to you! It's still January so I can say that, right? 

Apparently there is this thing where you are supposed to choose a word that is meant to define your year ahead. 

You know, something like: 

Joy
Abundance
Gratitude
Nesstacular (Okay, I made that one up) 
Hope 
Believe 
Abso-fucking-lutely (I may have watched too many episodes of SATC) 
Contentment
Eisenbahnscheinbewegung (Yes, it's totally a word according to Buzzfeed. Reliable source, no?). 
Insert any other inspiring word you can think of...

The problem is, I seem to have no words at the moment. I've logged in here a few times and started typing only to trail off and give up. Everything I wrote seemed like blah blah blah who really cares anyway and I'm boring myself so I must be boring everyone else... I. just. can't. be. bovvered. 

On the other hand, having nothing to say has never seemed to stop me before, so why all the over thinking it now? 

As long as my one word for 2017 isn't the same as it has been every other year:

CAKE.

Well, except on my birthday...  You MUST have cake on a birthday! And it's someone's birthday somewhere every day, as the joke goes... Anyway, enough about that! Moving on. 

A bit of a google search has revealed this site called My One Word. I should have known there would be a site for everything. We never have to think for ourselves thanks to dear old Google. A quick glance at their suggested words and I've got it! 

MOVE. 

I really, really need to do more of this.

About a week or so ago I actually did shit tonnes of house work (truly!). At the end of the day I looked at my fitness tracker device and I'd clocked up almost 11,000 steps! Can housework really be good for you after all??!! 

When I'm typing I'm moving my fingers, (even if it is drivel), so that's something! It's a start, anyway. 

Just to state a bit of the old Captain Obvious (because I'm always helpful like that), it's been too furiously hot to do anything besides sit there and melt. Phew! Straya! 

These outfits would never work in Straya. Shame. 

But move I must. Somehow. Eventually. I've still got a whole eleven other months of 2017 after January ends... Shut up. 

In the usual tradition of my disjointed nonsensical rambling posts, I'll just jump onto another train of thought...

I must admit I'm rather partial to a few words from that previously mentioned Buzzfeed listicle. 

I think persiflage and panglossian  are EXACTLY what I am about in 2017! In fact it's always been about persiflage on this here blog. 

DONE.

I started out with no words and came up with three to define my year! 

My word for 2017 is: 

MOVE.

With an honourable mention to PERSIFLAGE and PANGLOSSIAN.

Side note:  Just in case you couldn't be bothered reading that Buzzfeed listicle: Persiflage means frivolous and light-hearted talk; Panglossian means extreme optimism even during adversity. Perfect! 

Okey dokey, now that I've indulged in this frivolity (persiflage!) I had better actually, erm... MOVE. 

Over and out. 

Linking up for Life This Week.

What is your word for 2017?

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Taking Stock

Hello, gorgeous people! It's me again, popping up here whenever I feel like it! I accidentally typed 'pooping', but I changed it. Although that probably works, considering the general quality of posts here...

Related: I've finally done something I should have done YEARS ago. I signed up to do Blog With Pip and Blog Magic in a special two for one deal! 

Anyway, our week two assignment was this 'taking stock' thingy that I've seen around on lots of blogs.  

Too easy!  

On with the show....

Drum roll please!



Making : Everything super awkward. It's a special gift of mine!
Cooking : Dinner. Because the dinner fairy never shows up. Rude.
Drinking : Tea! Always tea. Even though it's warming up. 
Reading: Last Woman Hanged by Caroline Overington. Gruesome, but fascinating! 
Wanting: Equilibrium.
Looking: Like Kath from Kath n' Kim with my nanna curls. Noice. 

Playing: Eye spy with Mr 8. 
Deciding: Where and when to go on holidays. It will NOT be Dubbo. 
Wishing: I wasn't so anxious.
Enjoying: Getting black into exercise. Slowwwwwly. But getting there!
Waiting: For the kettle to boil. Helps if you plug it in I have discovered.  
Liking: Peace and quiet. I don't currently have any. But I would like it.
Wondering: Why I can't think of anything I'm wondering about right now, but at midnight when I should be sleeping, my mind will swirl with ALL THE THINGS.
Loving: My family. 
Pondering: See wondering.
Considering: What new template to put on this here blog. Well, in actual fact I did apply a new template (did anyone notice...?). Then I realised it doesn't look any different when viewed in mobile. Damn. So now I'm considering changing it again...  Decisions, decisions.  I am not good at them. Sigh. 
Watching: The Wrong Girl, Rosehaven and Please Like Me. 
Hoping: We get to go on that holiday. 
Marvelling: That I'm still relatively sane after the year I've had. OK, it's debatable...
Needing: Exercise! 
Smelling: Oranges.  
Wearing: My classy K-Mart attire. Be very jealous. 
Following: Um. I'm not a follower, I'm a... erm...
Not a leader either. Details.
Hmm, I dunno, haven't looked at Twatter in a while. Oh! But I signed up for Instagram, so hit me with your handles on there so I can follow YOU! 
Noticing: That time is on fast forward while I'd like to be on pause. 
Knowing: I am actually looking forward to Christmas instead of being all bah humbug! I know, right?! I don't even know who I am anymore. 
Thinking: Too much. Especially at midnight. See: Wondering and Pondering. 
Feeling: Blah, then brilliant. Then bored, then ebullient. Then bleak. And brilliant again. I'm a moody bitch. 
Admiring: My parents. They celebrated their 50th anniversary last week!
Sorting: Clothes. 
Buying: Birthday, anniversary and Christmas presents. 
Getting: Fat. Okay, fattER. Ahem. 
Bookmarking:  Um. Nothing comes to mind...
Disliking: Headaches. I had one for two days this week. Gah. 
Opening: My mouth. To eat too much food... See: Getting.
Giggling: At the cute things Mr 8 says.  
Snacking: On all those delicious summer fruits. The only good thing about summer. Nectarines and mangoes FTW! 
Coveting: Chocolate and cakies. What else? See: Opening and Getting. 
Wishing: That 2016 wasn't quite so WEIRD. 

Helping: Hmmmm. I tried to 'help' Mr 15 with an assessment. All I can say is I'm glad I'm not in high school anymore... 
Hearing: My stomach grumbling. Apparently it's lunch time. It always comes back to food with me, doesn't it? Oh dear. 

And that is me 'taking stock' on this fine day!

Wish me luck with the rest of the course(s). I need it! 

Linking up with Bloggers & Bacon for Archive Love.

What have you been opening and getting? Um, perhaps I should rephrase that...

How are you 'taking stock'? 

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