Where do I begin?

Beginnings are HARD.

Image credit: https://www.loishermann.com/year-new-beginnings/

Writing one for this post is proving to be problematic. It's Monday (a bit of the old Captain Obvious there) and the beginning of another week full of exciting things. Using exciting in the sense of rather ordinary. Additionally, another week ended in which I did not suddenly become a millionaire. RUDE. Because I was all set to begin my new life of luxury. 

And while we're on the subject of beginnings, which we are. 
Just an FYI there. Because I do tend to waffle and have a short attention span.  I can't promise I won't meander onto another subject mid paragraph...

What were we talking about again? Oh, yeah. Beginnings. 

Life began for me one balmy day on January 15th 1971. Well, I assume it was balmy. I don't actually remember. That would be pretty impressive if I could, but I can't even remember five minutes ago let alone the day I was born. However, it's a fair guess, 
considering that January is summer time in the good old land of Oz. Also known as Australia. Which is where I was born. Each birthday I do remember has always been hideously hot. 

In a surprising coincidence I was born in a hospital in the same suburb where I currently live 45 years later. Yes, I've gone far in life. Winning! 

According to my Mum I was rather reluctant to leave the cosy cocoon of her womb. She spent hours and HOURS in labour. I finally arrived at around 6 pm. Just in time for dinner. Typical. 

Throughout my life I've shown a distinct lack of interest in beginning each day. Read that as I hated getting out of bed. Mum would be calling me and trying to wake me. When I finally surfaced I was grumpy and surly. Beware anyone who committed the heinous act of glancing sideways at me. Especially my brother. 

"Muuuuuum!" I would wail "Mark's LOOKING at me!"

As an adult I'm still not a morning person. I never spring out of bed eager to begin my day. 

In 1976 I began kindergarten. I remember clutching a red suitcase, unimpressed by the proceedings. 

Many years later I was terrified of the new beginning called high school. Even more scared when it ended. I had no idea what I wanted to do when I grew up. Still don't. 

But I trudged off to TAFE and a couple of years later I finally began working. It was a shaky start and I never really found my footing career wise. Enter Mickey Blue Eyes and the beginning of being a wife and then a mother. 


Without a doubt the scariest beginning was my breast cancer diagnonsense. I began the most challenging ride of my life. And now it's all over and yet only just begun.The start of a 'new kind of normal'. Adjusting to life as a breast cancer survivor. Have I mentioned that that I don't really like pink?  Yes, I WILL survive. Now let's all break into a rousing chorus of the old Gloria Gaynor hit.

Hang on, I prefer The Carpenters. And this song fits in with the theme of the post. Sorry, I couldn't help myself. 

I even tried to write an eloquent and deep poem about beginnings full of  my thoughts and feelings and shit. Totally nailed the shit part.

Check it out:


This poem needs to have a snappy beginning
To hook you and have you instantly grinning
Something unique, using words to entice
To make you read on, and then read it twice

So why do I sit and just stare at the screen?
How do I begin? And what do I mean?
There must be interesting words I can write
To make you a fan of this glorious site

All I have to do is simply commence
Just tap away, I don't have to make sense
Think about all the beginnings in my life
As a daughter, a sister, a friend and a wife

Even then my life had only just begun
When I was expecting son number one
The start of this thing called being a mother
Then soon I welcomed his cute baby brother

A family of two had now become four
But wait, said fate, there has to be more
Alas. our dear baby boy number three
Didn't survive, it just wasn't to be

Dismal days with housework a bore
The joyful birth of boy number four
Along the way, many shaky starts
Fears and struggles with heavy hearts

But for every beginning, there is an end
To make way for change and start again
Seasons change, days come and go
Learning to live with this constant flow

Decisions to make, life is curious
Emotions change, joyful then furious
Bored, elated, forlorn or excited
Impatient, determined, defeated, delighted
Battles fought and ultimately won
Playing The Carpenters We've Only Just Begun

Beginnings are hard, but so is the end
I fear you may never read here again
Through all our beginnings we're never alone
And that is the end of this woeful poem.



You're welcome. 

Linking up for Life This Week.

How do you feel about beginnings? 

Which song do you think of? 

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Friday Reflections: Careful What You Wish For

Hello there shakers and groovers!  It should probably be groovers and shakers, but I thought I'd mix it up a bit.  Isn't it great to wake up and realise it's Friday? Until you remember that you're a parent and Fridays mean nothing anymore. NOTHING! No weekends off from this parenting gig. How rude! 

Anyway, today is exciting because I've decided to join in with the gang for Friday Reflections. 

Just for fun and something different I wrote a short piece of fiction based on the following prompt: 

Write a story or poem that begins with a character throwing a coin into a fountain.

Please note: I am not wonderful at writing fiction, but for the sake of pushing myself out of my comfort zone I gave it a go. I haven't written much of it since high school. So I probably write like a pretentious fifteen year old. But it's fun. So why not? 


Anyway, here it is:

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

She'd only closed her eyes for a nanosecond. The coin splashed. A wish was made. She immediately felt foolish. Ordinarily she didn't believe in such fanciful things.  

They strolled through the park at least twice a week. Every time they passed the fountain Ava would squeak "Mummy! Wish!" 

She  would shake her head "No." As soon as she agreed, that would be the end of it. It would become a ritual. They might as well save their coinage for something else.

Somehow today had been different. Spring had arrived,in all it's bewitching brilliance. Manda felt relaxed for the first time in ages. She wanted to make an effort to wander and linger. To be present with her daughter, instead of rushing to the next thing on her to-do list.  She paused near the fountain in the afternoon sunshine. 

"Let's make a wish." 

Her daughter's eyes lit up. Maybe she'd been wrong in denying her this moment of joy, of blind faith. It was only a coin. When she opened her eyes, the smile dissolved from her face.

Ava was gone. 

She scanned the park, her heart wild.

"Ava!" She tried to stop her voice from shaking.  She stepped closer to the fountain. Don't faint! She told herself. The water glimmered and gushed. Coins littered the bottom of the fountain. Nothing else.  
"AVA!" Stronger this time. Louder. Shrill. She headed back towards the swings, almost stumbling in her haste. People were staring. 

"Did you lose your daughter?" A man asked. 

No shit, sherlock! The thought slapped her. She didn't have time for pleasantries.

Racing towards the swings, she was hysterical. She was shouting now, uncaring about the perplexed stares of strangers. Ava was nowhere to be seen. She wasn't on the swings, the slide, or caught inside the complicated jungle gyms.

The wish Manda had whispered to herself just moments earlier lurked in the back of her mind, taunting her.

Selfish bitch, her mocking inner voice told her. See? Be careful what you wish for! 

But all I wanted was some quiet time! She wailed back inwardly. 

All she wished for right now was to see her daughter safe, unharmed. That was the only thing that was important. 

A crowd had gathered now. "What did she look like?" 

Shakily she pulled out her phone to display a photo. It was taken last month. What kind of mother was she? She didn't even take photos of her own daughter. 

In the minutes that followed, a million thoughts flitted through Manda's mind. Each one more horrifying. More frantic searching and shouting ensued, but still no Ava. 

"Maybe we should call the police?" A woman suggested. 

"Mummy!"  Ava was running toward her. "You left me!" 

A sheepish young woman with a dog on a leash gave Manda a nervous smile.

"She came over to pat my dog. Then we couldn't find you," she explained. 

Manda was in tears. Relief washed over her. She hugged Ava, but she struggled free. Clearly she thought the whole kerfuffle was Manda's fault. 

The crowd dissipated, losing interest now. The sun was starting to disappear behind the clouds. Manda thanked the young woman and began the slow walk home. Her most important wish had been answered. 


Linking up with Sanch for Friday Reflections.

Do you believe in wishes? 

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My Mum's Sayings

It's funny how certain people have their own expressions and phrases. I always wonder if there are any particular ones that my loved ones associate with me because I'm not very verbal. 

Although lately I  have noticed that I'm starting to repeat of few of the classics I heard when I was growing up, courtesy of my mother. 

My Mum's Sayings

Mum and I at my 21st birthday party.

What do you want me to do about it? Turn cartwheels? 


This was usually in response to being told something that was supposed to be urgent, but turned out to be completely underwhelming. It was delivered deadpan, with heavy sarcasm. Mum couldn't actually turn cartwheels. So I'm not sure what her plan was if we'd replied in the affirmative. 


I could work the clock around when I was your age!


This expression referred to the fact that Mum worked her butt off from sunrise until late. To be utterly fair, this was quite true. My Mum is a ninja. One of those capable creatures who is up at 5 am and has done some gardening, baked scones, ploughed through several baskets of ironing plus a billion other things before 9 am. She may insist that she can no longer achieve the above (working the clock around), but she still runs rings around me at age 75. 


That's as boring as a nanny goat pooping on a tin dish.


Well yes, I suppose that would be rather boring when you think about it. But do goats really poop on tin dishes? This expression actually originated from my Pop, Mum's dad. A true classic in the tradition of something being 'as boring as batshit'. Love it!


You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.


My poor Mum had to trot this old cliche out (pun intended) many times to my teachers. She was cornered in parent/teacher interviews about my antipathy to anything sport related. Not to mention my excruciating shyness. They advised her to drag me to girl guides or something, anything to 'fix' me. I did end up doing a whole year of jazz ballet when I was ten, but I had two left feet. At 45 I'm still shy and exceptionally non sporty. Personally I don't believe there was or ever will be any sport or activity that will change that. Yep, you can lead the horse to water but you can't make it drink. Well, this horse doesn't mind a wine...

Image credit: 

http://jokideo.com/you-can-lead-a-horse-to-water-funny-quotes/

Because Y's a crooked letter and Z's no better!


This was Mum's exasperated answer to my brother and I's endless round of but WHYS??? I must admit I've used this on my boys. The response: a disgusted glare with a groan. 


Because I said so. 


No negotiations. All I could do was sulk or pout after this was said. But Mum meant it. She said so. The end. And who hasn't tried this one as a parent? 

He's got a head on him like a racing tadpole.


An expression used to indicate that some one wasn't very attractive. I can't say I've ever examined a tadpole that closely, so I'll have to take my Mum's word for it.  This ties in with the next expression...


As ugly as a tub full of arseholes (tossed up and down). 


Similar meaning here to the previous tadpole one, except a notch more insulting. And if you wanted to take the insult up even one more level, you tossed the tub full of arseholes up and down. Interesting. 


Five foot tall and nine foot up themselves.


This describes someone who is insufferably pretentious, fake, phony and conceited. A total wanker, in other words. 


Bread and duck under the table.


This was Mum's answer to the inevitable and dreaded question: What's for dinner? I've definitely resorted to this answer when my boys query me. There's no sensible answer to the question that can please everyone.

However, as a child I was confused about this. I actually wondered if there really was, in fact, a duck under the table, that we were going to eat with bread. If this wasn't an example of my Aspie brain and it's literal interpretation, I don't know what was. I had thought that this was just one of my Mum's unique expressions, but a quick google search reveals that it dates back to the depression era when food was scarce and you may have only had bread to eat. You learn something new everyday! 


She went mad and they shot her!


Another saying that was wailed in sheer desperation to our endless cries of : "MUUUUUUUUUUM!" It's true what 'they' say. You never understand your parents until you have kids of your own. 


I'm not Houdini!


I've found myself muttering this lately when it seems like everyone wants you or wants something all at once, just like Mum did. I'm not a great multi-tasker, so the ability to do so seems like the equivalent of magical powers to me. 


And last but not least, my absolute FAVOURITE of my Mum's sayings...


If my brains were dynamite they wouldn't blow a part in my hair!


GOLD. A rueful expression, often exclaimed when you've forgotten something you were supposed to buy or do. I say this to myself frequently.


Looking back at Mum's expressions, it strikes me that she must have been stressed and exhausted, despite giving the appearance of a Super Mum Ninja. So thanks Mum, you're a legend! I totally get what a hard job it is now. And thanks for providing me with these classic expressions. 

Mum and I on my 40th birthday.

Now I'd better go and do some housework. Even if it is as boring as a nanny goat pooping on a tin dish. 

Linking up for IBOT. 

Linking up for FYBF

What classic expressions do you remember?

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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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The Month That Was August

Image credit: http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/assessment/2001/07/august.html

Another month has breezed by. Farewell August, you contradictory creature! You provided us with lovely days, then changed your mind and brought out blustery, bitterly cold days. There were days suffused with sunshine, interspersed with days spent with feet and hands like blocks of ice. I'm glad the latter is over. 

Reflecting upon the month of August makes me realise something: I need to get out more. I certainly don't have an action packed schedule to report.

However, one very exciting and fabulous thing happened. I had my tits crushed. Also known as a mammogram. Okay, so that part wasn't exactly fabulous. The results were! It was all completely normal! I am totally cancer free! YAY! Happy dance. 

Image credit: http://www.reactiongifs.com/crazy-dancing/

I reckon the only times I left the house during August were to go to grocery shopping, do the school pick up, go to a Weight Witches meeting or to have my tits crushed. Additionally, I went to the library. I like to be cutting edge.

Oh, and I got jabbed the other day. Meaning I had a blood test. While we're on that subject, it's pretty disconcerting to realise that I'm 45 years old, I've given birth four times and beaten cancer, but I still get freaked out and nervy having a blood test. What the...? Of course this phenomenon is now multiplied by a billion, because I'm even more paranoid about test results now. Brilliant.

The blood test is simply a routine thing to check my cholesterol, thyroid, sugar and hormones. Because I now have menopause thrown into the mix. Fun times. I see my GP next Wednesday to get the results. In the meantime I haven't had any urgent phone calls, so I hope that's a good sign. 

Meanwhile, today I am back to see my specialist/surgeon. My GP already informed me that my mammogram was all good. It's hard to believe that I'm already having my first six-monthly check up since my diagnonsense. So basically that is the highlight of my very ordinary August. 

I also became quite wistful and reflective. On the 24th it was the ninth anniversary of the day I gave birth to my deceased baby boy, Daniel. It's weird. These days I don't always think about him on the exact day, but at other random times. It's been nine years, which seems bizarre. On the one hand it seems like yesterday, but on the other, a billion years ago. So much has happened since then. Anyway, I can think of him with a smile and only a hint of sadness now. I imagine what he might have been like, and wonder if he'd be as cheeky and gorgeous as his brothers. I wonder how he would be different from them, too. My boys are all different. 

Oh yes! I finally got my very own laptop. As a result I think I've blogged a bit more consistently throughout August. Well, for me anyway. I'm always so ad hoc here.  

In other news, I now possess a full head of curly hair. Consequently, I finally understand curly hair problems. Related: I am going to be the whitest woman ever with a 'fro.  Except it doesn't look cool and cutting edge. I just look like a Nanna with a bad perm. Sigh. Well, my GP reckons I have a young face. So ner! A young face with Nanna hair and a double chin. Different. 

What else can I tell you about August? I could report that Weight Witches isn't going well. Oops. In fact, I am going to retire my broomstick. It isn't working out for me. Even though I admit some of it is my own fault due to lack of commitment, it also irks me somewhat that they keep changing it. Just when you have become used to one way, it's all changed. This means you have to purchase a lot of stuff all over again. I find this rather annoying. I don't cope with change. But that's a whole other post. I'm still aware that I need to shift some weight and stay healthy, so I'm going to discuss some other possible options with my GP. Wish me luck! 

So that concludes my rather lacklustre August. But if there's one thing I've learnt in the past year it's this: boring is GOOD.

Bring on a boring September!

And I can't resist going out with yet another happy dance!

Image crhttp://www.reactiongifs.com/seinfeld-happy-dance/edit:

Linking up with Sanch for 

The Month That Was and Grace for FYBF. 

How was your August? Any happy dance worthy moments? 

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Conversation with a wedding dress

If I could talk to my wedding dress I'd sigh and say: "Why don't you fit me anymore?" To which it would reply: "One word: CAKE."

And then I would get quite grumpy and sulky because I don't like to be reminded that it's my own fault I'm a chubster. I prefer to think there was some sort of weird invasion of the body snatchers thing going on. In other words, I'm delusional. 

Of course you have to pretend dresses can talk for this scenario. Perhaps it would be helpful for me if all my clothes COULD talk. They would give me a stern lecture about my love of cakies. Then again, they already do this without the need for words. Every time I try to ease my pants or top over my expanding belly, the warning is whispered. And I ignore it. Because CAKE. Sigh. 

But getting back to my wedding dress. I LOVE my wedding dress. It was a very traditional, prim dress with a high neckline, long sleeves and a train. There were pearl buttons on the sleeves and back. It was ivory, even though it appears to look white in photos. This dress was made for me by my mum from a Vogue pattern. For this reason it's very special to me. Years later, my aunt made a christening gown for my son with remnants from my wedding gown. 

I look back at the woman in the photos and think about how young and naive she was. Fast forward almost 21 years and this dress would look quite ridiculous on me. Especially since I could only wear it on one leg. It's actually a good thing that we can't see into the future. If I had known I what was before me perhaps I would have ran shrieking from the church a la Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride.

No, there's nothing wrong with my marriage. But to say that Mickey Blue Eyes and I have certainly been through the whole 'for better or worse' and 'in sickness and in health' thing would be putting it mildly. I'm still waiting for the richer part of 'for richer or poorer'. Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Anyway, I was going to say that I'm not really sure why I had such traditional ideas about my wedding dress. I think what I wanted was some sort of Anne Of Green Gables theme, like THIS. However, Mickey Blue Eyes might have thought I was nuts and not married me. I waited until after our vows to bring out the crazy. OOPS. Too late! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 

Here is the exact Vogue pattern that my Mum used. I'm pretty certain it's that one, anyway.

We were married in a church. I'm not sure why I wanted to get married in a church, considering that I never attend church whatsoever.  I didn't even go to church as a child. In fact, I don't even believe in God. Weird.

This was a dress I have only worn once. It would look a bit odd if I wore it to go shopping. Although if it actually fit me, I'd would just BECAUSE I COULD. Not possible.

As well as feeling beautiful in the gown, I felt calm and serene. There were no wedding jitters for me on this day in 1995. Or the 'olden days' as our boys refer to it.

For this post I believe I should let the photos speak for themselves. These two are my favourites because they are just candid and not posed. 

I feel wistful and weird thinking about this dress. Life has been a bit of a struggle in the past year and I suppose I look back at those innocent times with more than a bit of nostalgia. It's hard for me to pinpoint exactly what I want to say.

My wedding dress is still hanging in a wardrobe at my parents house. I haven't looked at it in a long time. Our 21st wedding anniversary is coming up on November 11th. It was such a long time ago. One of my most vivid memories is the priest who married us saying: "You'll look back at photos and think 'we looked pretty good in those days!'" Yep. Even more so, because since I had cancer, my hair grew back strange and curly. I don't look like myself anymore. Sigh. 

It's certainly true that when you're planning a wedding you put a lot of thought and energy into things such as a dress that you will only wear for one day. Poof! The day's over and it's almost 21 years later. 

In the space of that 21 years we've faced infertility (bizarrely), then babies (luckily), the loss of a baby, cancer (both of us have had cancer), the loss of loved ones, and a million other boring and brilliant things. 

I don't have a daughter to give my dress to, and I suppose it's a bit dated now anyway. It was kind of dated even in 1995. 

But I still can't bear to part with it. I'll always love that dress. 

And I simply can't believe that we were not included on this cover:

RUDE! Of course, we're not celebrities. But we look exactly like Brangelina, so same thing really. 

I did mention I was delusional. 

What do you think about wedding dresses? Beautiful or baloney? 



Linking up for Conversations Over Coffee and IBOT. 

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When I'm Sad I...

It happens to everyone. The blues. The 'blahs'. I'm not talking about clinical depression. Just the ordinary ups and downs that everyone has from time to time.

I must confess it's been a bit of a hard old slog for the last year. Cancer and chemotherapy and radiation will do that to a person, strangely enough. I know! I'm supposed to be positive all the time! What am I like? 

When I'm busy being a sooky la la I do the following things:

General moping, pouting and sighing and 'blahing'. Yes, blahing is totally a verb. I do it all the time. Well, not all the time. Just every 28 days or so for a number of years, for some strange reason. 

There is a tendency for me to lose interest in stuff  that I like, such as blogging. It would be preferable if I lost interest in eating. This always seems to happen to characters in books and movies. They go through heartbreak or misfortune and are totally uninterested in food. Never happens to me. Which leads me to my next point...

I eat all my feelings. They taste suspiciously like cake. When they don't taste like cake, they taste like chocolate. Weird. 


As I have mentioned before, I'm not the world's greatest talker. Not even when I'm in a quite jovial mood. I know what you're thinking. But yes, it does happen. Its just that you might not notice due to my resting bitch face. 

So you can imagine my aversion to being verbal when I'm all morose and moody. Therefore if I don't answer the phone, or frantically indicate to Mickey Blue Eyes that I'm not here if he happens to answer the phone, don't take it personally. 

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

All of social media and the entire world seems to be mocking me. The sensible thing to do would be to back away from the internet, but apparently I'm a masochist. 

However, I always manage to get myself out of my little rut. 

Here are some strategies I use:

• Watching stand up comedy on Youtube. 

• Watching my favourite feel good TV shows. I'm partial to a bit of Miranda at the moment. I know she's not everyone's cup of tea, but I quite like the goofiness. SUCH FUN! 

• Listening to music. A lot of people think that most Carpenters music is a bit sappy and miserable: "I'll say goodbye to love, no one ever cared if I should live or die..." and all that. Well, I guess they're right. But I'm weird, so it's still my happy place. Whatever works, I say. 

• Exercise, exercise, exercise! I haven't been as diligent with this one lately. A kick up the arse is desperately needed. Oftentimes it's hard to get motivated when I'm in the doldrums. Plus, I don't feel like leaving the house, because then I might have to actually talk or smile at people *shudders*. My strategy for this is to make myself exercise to a quick Youtube video for ten or fifteen minutes. 

• Write/scribble in journals (but offline because no one needs to read my moaning). In fact I'm kind of addicted to notebooks and journals. This is my most recent one: 

• Patting my dog. I don't know why, but whenever I'm feeling sulky sensitive or need to unwind, some time with our resident pooch Cookie, always puts me in a better mood. This also works for my boys (except Mr 15, who isn't as much of a dog person). Apparently studies show that having a pet is good for your mental health. I'm far too lazy to go and do the actual research, but I'm pretty sure I've heard this. Look, just google it yourself, OKAY? HMPH.

• Cuddle my boys. Well, it's mainly the 7 year old who'll cuddle and occasionally Mr 12.  I better enjoy those cuddles because I don't know how much longer they'll last. Sigh. 

• Talk to someone. Yes, this is totally contradictory. I don't like talking. But sometimes even I have to force myself. It can be hard to find the right shrink (I always say shrink because I forget how to spell the proper word) or counselor that you feel comfortable with, but when you do it's helpful. As long as I don't have to do so (talk) all the time. 

• Wait it out. Remind yourself that it's just one of those days and it will pass. A 'blah' day.

Blah, blah, blah, blah. And even more blah.

Because BLAH.

Double blah.

Triple blah. 

Quadruple blah.

A billion blahs.

ALL. THE. BLAHS.

Karen Carpenter summed it up:

What I've got they used to call the blues
Nothing is really wrong
Feeling like I don't belong

Blah, blah, blah something about rainy days (which DON'T get me down, oddly enough)

What I feel has come and gone before 
No need to talk it out
We know what it's all about...

Yep, It does come and go. Just like all moods.

Me being awesome! 

• And when it does pass I put on some smart clothes and a bit of lippy and decide to be awesome. Because I am. So ner! 

Image credit: http://www.snorgtees.com/when-i-m-sad-i-stop-being-sad-and-be-awesome-instead

Right, that's it from me. I'm off to be awesome and listen Carpenters music. Nope. I don't have the blahs. That's just what I do in any mood. You know, just for something different! Later!

Linking up for I Must Confess. 

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