An Enemy Named Agnes

Today I was determined to move my body. Thirty minutes into my workout, my arch nemesis arrives. Agnes taps on my shoulder, snarling. I call her that only because it's a name that starts with an A and ends with an S (although Y would work here too). And it's not one of my favourite names, to be honest. Apologies to any Agnes's out there. I'm sure you're lovely.

My Agnes isn't. I don't really like her at all, but I've more or less accepted her presence in my life. I knew she'd turn up.

For the past week I've marvelled at my equilibrium. It felt so good not to have Agnes around. But she's a sneaky one. It's like she just has to remind you of her evil existence.

"Don't get too contented!" she will snap. I never try to reason with Agnes these days. I just wait her out. Eventually she lopes away, tail between her legs.

I was able to get on with my day. Later, I turned on the television (apparently I'm a masochist - daytime TV SUCKS), to be greeted with the news that actress Julia Louis-Dreyfus has been diagnosed with breast cancer. My heart sank.

Recently I received the all clear for the second year, which is a huge relief. But whenever these things happen - Olivia Newton John's recent recurrence after 25 years, for example - I am reminded of all the uncertainty I am left with.

No matter how many years go by with the all clear I can never truly be at ease and think I am untouchable and immune. Of course Agnes simply loves to crow about this.

I remind myself that my cancer was found 'early'. But then I wonder... Is the whole 'early detection' thing somewhat flawed? I say this because it was completely random that mine was found when it was. I went to the doctor for another reason (my smear), and luckily my GP is very thorough so she always does a breast exam as well. But what if my smear hadn't been due then, or I put it off the way so many women do? 

How long would it have taken for me to notice there were any changes, that I had a lump? By the time I did notice I'm sure it wouldn't have been 'early'. I am just not sure that 'early detection' is as easy and straight forward as we think. 

Having said that, I urge every one of you to have a good look and feel of your girls. At the moment it seems that early detection is all we've got until a cure is found. 

Meanwhile, I am doing my best to stay in the present moment and tell myself I am OK. I am a survivor. That I was lucky in an odd sort of way. 

No matter what Agnes thinks. 

Do you have a visitor like Agnes? 

Do you have your regular check-ups? Do it! 

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Taking Stock - September Edition

Making: You know what? I don't really make things, unless you count breakfast, lunch and dinner. And even then it's often toast. 

Cooking: Dinner. See above. What exciting and delectable delights have I concocted of late? Um. Yeah, just the toast thing. 

Drinking: My usual cups of tea. Sometimes I mix it up and have coffee. But mostly tea. Also GALLONS of water because I'm just getting over a cold. 

Reading: Just finished a novel I borrowed from the library called Beside Myself by Ann Morgan. It was SO GOOD. Now I'm having trouble letting it go and moving on to another book. What am gonna DO??? *starts reading ten other books* 

Trawling: Through all the mess and dust and cobwebs. Related: I began cleaning the other day and thought I was making good progress until I paused to put on my glasses so I could actually see properly. Big mistake. 

Wanting: New clothes. I hate all my clothes. 

Looking: Mournfully into my wardrobe and sighing. See above. 

Deciding: I don't know anything about everything in the whole entire world ever. Also, I can't make decisions. So, I can't decide what I'm deciding. I've decided.

Wishing: That I could afford an entire wardrobe of new clothes. Because I hate my clothes. Did I mention that? 

Enjoying: Oh! I actually started bullet journaling and I'm ENJOYING it. I suspected it'd be more like bullshit journaling to scatty old me. But blow me down and woosh me all the way back to ancient Egypt if I didn't surprise myself by liking it. I mean, I'm still a hot mess, but I have a pretty book and pens with lists and symbols and shit in it, so that's something. 

Waiting: For the wheels to fall off  my bullet journal experiment. Metaphorically speaking. It doesn't actually have wheels. 

Liking: Bullet-journaling! See above. 

Wondering: The first thing that came to mind was the Wombles theme song... I wondered how it went. Haven't heard it for YEARS. I thought it said something about wondering wombles or wombles are wondering... Or something. Anyway, I was wrong. But at least I get the important issues resolved. You're welcome. 

Loving: The sunshiney spring weather. I want it to linger before the seventh circle of hell that is summer arrives. 

Pondering: How long it will take to get the Wombles theme song out of my head... 

Listening: To the voices in my head. It's chatty up there. Too bad that never translates to real life situations. Oh,well. Meh. 

Considering: Having a go at NaNoWriMo. Starting a strenght-training routine like I did YEARS ago. Doing yoga (also been years...) . Meditating. Failing yet another attempt at becoming veggo. Just considering all this, mind you. Probably never do any of it. Except the failing thing. I can manage that. 

Buying: I totally SPLURGED the other day and bought a two dollar shirt and journal in KMart. I know! What am I like? SO frivolous. 

Watching: Ummm. Offspring (finished now). The Wrong Girl and Pulse. Also, SBS Insight... And other random shit. 

Hoping: That we might be able to go on one of our glamorous holidays some time in the future. Denman, here we come! Don't ask...

Marvelling: At the juxtaposition of how complicated yet boring as batshit life can be. 

Cringing: At my weight that is creeping up and up and up.... eeeeek...

Needing: To lose weight. Sigh.

Questioning: Why I can't just buy all the clothes. I REALLY hate my clothes.

Smelling: My signature dish: Toast.

Wearing: Revolting clothes that I HATE. Also, more clothes that I hate. And then I have to wear clothes that utterly repulse me. Yeah. Cause I hate my clothes. 

Noticing: I'm pretty sure I hate my clothes. 

Knowing: Yep. HATE. MY. CLOTHES. 

Thinking: About all the clothes I would buy, but then I'd probably just hate them too.

Admiring: Other people's clothes. 

Getting: Well, I'm certainly not getting any clothes. Sniff. 

Disliking: Do I really have to answer that? Okay, then. Books with dumb or disappointing endings. There! Tricked you! You thought I was I gonna say my clothes! So ner.

Opening: Books. I still love a good old-fashioned paper book.

Closing: My wardrobe doors. It's too utterly devastating and soul-destroying to look at the ATROCITIES in there. Now would be a good time to Konmari the f@*k out of my wardrobe. None of my clothes 'spark joy'. But then I would have to walk about naked and nobody wants that. 

Feeling: Fat. Also, like I want to eat all the chocolate. Is it possible the two are related? Hmmmm...

Celebrating: My yearly mammogram results were ALL GOOD! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Pretending: That the washing up will do itself if I wait long enough. I don't think it's gonna work. Sigh. 

Embracing: Bullet-journaling, clothes-hating. My children. Well, Mr 8 - the other boys are less huggy these days. It happens.

Done! That's my stock-taking for September.

What are you celebrating in the month of September? 

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Problems Or Opportunities?

Hello again, lovely people. Here I am on another rocking weekend. It's been a good week. On Monday I did some shopping. Tuesday involved a visit to my shrink (I can never spell the  correct word). Psychologist? Um. I think that's right... (And yes, unfortunately I am still demented, but we are working on it). Look, I 'll probably always be a little bit demented, but in a good way. I hope. But back to my week.

On Wednesday, I enjoyed some blissful alone time while Mickey Blue Eyes took the car to be serviced. And on Thursday I tagged along with my mum and her sewing buddies for a delightful lunch, because FOOD.

Meanwhile, Friday was spent cleaning, cleaning cleaning. Truly. Shut up, I do clean sometimes. Much to my disgust, as I sit here today there doesn't appear to be any evidence of this. Rude. It all just seems impossible... 

Which brings me to this lovely little prompt: 


"We are all faced with a series of great opportunities brilliantly disguised as impossible situations.” - Charles Swindoll


First of all, I had no idea who this Charles Swindoll chap is so I googled, as you do, and it turns out he's an evangelical christian pastor/preacher type dude. Which explains why I had not heard of him, being a total heathen and all. 

My initial reaction to the above quote was that it seemed like another trite take on the old nugget: when life gives you lemons turn them into lemonade. Not to mention the old 'everything happens for a reason' cliche that irritates the bejesus out of me. 

My first instinct is to roll my eyes and dismiss it as claptrap. Also, I just wanted to say claptrap. Because, CLAPTRAP.

The thing is, I truly am trying to be more positive. It occurs to me that I'm some sort of weird dichotomy of sweet but sarcastic. I make no sense. Hence, the demented shrink thing... But I digress. 

Since I am prone to over thinking, I mulled it over some more. Upon reflection I recalled a similar saying from the illustrious Dowager of Downton Abbey. Yes, she's a fictional character. Who cares. She still had some classic lines. Such as this:

Life is a series of problems which we must try and solve, first one and the the next, and then the next, until at last we die  - The Dowager Countess from Downton Abbey.

Yikes. 

Very comforting words indeed. Using 'comforting' in the sense of confronting and disconcerting. 

 It's quite true when you think about it. For me, things seem truly insurmountable when I  think I have to solve lots of things at once

Oddly enough, it seems to be a thing I do. I think I have to have everything in my life sorted by half past eight in the morning yesterday and have morphed into some sort of superwoman. As a result, this thing I have heard of called autistic inertia kicks in and I end up doing nothing at all. Sigh.

Even my shrink advised me to tackle things slowly, one at a time, instead of doing too much at once. Or nothing at all, as the case often is. See above. 

So I just have to remember that problems can be opportunities. And tackle them slowly, one at a time. 

As I face all these problems opportunities I will imagine the Dowager's piercing stare and direct words. And just get on with it. 

What about you?

 Do you see problems as opportunities? 

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Alone Together

Hello! How are you? All well and bursting with vitality and joie de vivre? I certainly hope so. I am not. Presently I appear to be suffering from Mum Flu. You know the one. It's like Man Flu except no one gives a shit. Yep. That's the one.

Despite this, I figured it was about time I made a guest appearance on my own blog. As is my usual fashion, I have started posts numerous times only to trail off unable to articulate what I wanted to say. It's always unpleasant when this happens. I usually express myself better through writing. But anyway, here I am. Even clunky words are better than none. At least that's what I'm telling myself. Draw your own conclusions.

Apart from the ghastly old Mum flu phenomenon I also have blue screen of death issues. Yes, it is with great sorrow that I announce the tragic passing of my trusty laptop. I thought I  may be able to revive it. In vain, I tried for hours to find a solution. Sadly, it now won't even switch on. With that goes the laptop and my promising career in IT. Snorts.

So here I am using an ancient dodgy laptop that only works while plugged in. Nice. Problem solving, people. That's what creativity is. I'm nothing if creative. Or something...

Anyway, I wanted to chime in on last weeks Friday Reflections prompt before it's too late: Alone,Together.

An odd coincidence occurred. When I sat down to write my thoughts about this I flipped open one of my many paper journals/notebooks to find an old entry from July. This is what I had written:

It's a really mellow time of the afternoon. A sort of peaceful vibe has descended over the day. It's lovely. There are sounds of distant birds and cars, but they're a pleasing murmur. Everyone is in their own world. It's good to slow down. I wonder when exactly is it considered to be dusk? Or twilight? I need to turn the light on, but I don't want to get up and break the mood. I quite like sitting here while the gentle darkness tiptoes in around me. I am savouring the relative calmness I feel in the moment. Whenever I am in another horrible moment I can remind myself that moments like this exist as well. There are not enough places here in this house for all of us to be alone. Alone, together. I like that. 

Okay, so that wasn't particularly riveting upon reading it again. But my point is, I quite like the alone, together thing. I suspect many folk would view this as a negative thing. I don't. We are a very introverted family. In fact, I reckon, 'alone, together' could be our motto. In my opinion, alone time is essential to re-charge. Solitude is soothing and necessary for equilibrium. It doesn't mean we're not a family, a team, a united front. We are.

Alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely, to my way of thinking. I've experienced loneliness as a teenager and that is a very different thing. I certainly wouldn't want to be lonely again. I do want to be alone quite frequently.


Luckily, I am enjoying this very thing as I type this. I'm loving the peace and quiet. Later, I will welcome the noise and togetherness of my family but for now I enjoy the tranquillity... Of course I also have lots of stuff to do. But it's nice to it without interruptions. 

In other exciting developments, I have begun bullet journaling. I had heard of it before, but didn't expect it to work for a scatter-brain like me. However, I really like it. Plus, I have so many  notebooks to use up, so why not? Speaking of excitement, I also managed to make it to the library last week after my shrink appointment. Yes, I am still as cutting edge as ever. Some things never change.

Before I go, it's also the one year birthday of  Denyse Whelan's Life This Week link-up.  I am a little late to the party, but better late than never! So congratulations and thanks to Denyse. I like to link up whenever I can and the prompts are helpful as well. In future I will endeavour to be less erratic and join in more often. And now we all get CAKE! Am I right? 


Okay, just a short and sweet one. Gotta go. Things to do. Lists to tick. Serenity to saviour. 

Seeya! 

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The Subject Of Selfies

Reasons I rarely take selfies: 

• I have a dinosaur phone with a flip case. Apparently it's a 'mum' thing. I thought it was just a broke economical thing. Silly me. 
• I AM a dinosaur. Consequently I can't take a decent photo to save my life. And I use idiotic expressions like 'can't take a photo to save my life'.
• Duck face selfies are stupid. Related: they should be called cat's bum selfies instead. See above.
• I don't like my double chin. Okay, chins.
• I have no idea where I put my selfie stick... Hmmmm....
• My house is quite...shall we say... lived in... Nobody needs to see that.
• My life revolves around trips to Aldi and the doctor. Riveting. These occasions don't exactly strike me selfie opportunities.
• My fashion style is basically described as 'whatever still fits'. So, yeah. Nothing to show there.
• I'm told I can be quite negative. Pffft. Can't imagine why. So I don't really get into the whole hashtag blessed etc phenomenon.

Reasons I probably could (I won't say should) take selfies sometimes:

• Nobody cares about my double chins besides me, and if they do, screw them.
• My children might actually want to remember me one day, despite their current vehement antipathy to featuring in any photos with me on social media.
• If I ever become a missing person or a murder victim, the authorities will have to use a dated image of me, such as the one of my bald noggin when I had chemo. On the plus side, I was assured that I have a lovely shaped head. Related: I may have been listening to too many true crime podcasts...
• Last time I posted a selfie on Facey I had several people comment on how GORGEOUS I am. They were probably just blowing smoke up my arse, but I don't get many compliments, so I'll take it.
• Taking a selfie, however bad, might be a good distraction when I'm feeling wobbly (ie anxious) when out and about.
• Who says you have to be good at everything you do? Just do it anyway. Perfect is boring. I'd never do anything if I had that attitude. Oh wait...
• I recently had a haircut and I have finally lost the frizz! It's now just wavy but not frizzy. Okay, that's not that exciting to anyone else but me. I can finally get a brush through it again! YAY! 

So I should probably end this with a selfie, but I'm wearing an alluring combo of track suit pants and a purple Best & Lest jumper that's seen better days. Actually, I lie. It never had better days. It was always hideous. I think your mental picture should be sufficient. You're welcome.

But I will 'get in the picture' at some point...

Over and out.

Do you take selfies? What is the best way to disguise double chins? 

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Ideal Meal

 Greetings!

Here I am again. Back to talk about one of my favourite topics: FOOD!

So what is my ideal meal, you ask? 

These days, my ideal meal would have to be almost anything I don't have to cook. It's frightfully rude how I am expected to do so every single night. HMPH.

But since I like to eat every day, I do get on with it and manage to produce something vaguely edible. They're not necessarily 'ideal' or 'favourite' meals, but they're good enough. 

My actual favourites would have to be anything cooked by my mum. Especially her roasts and desserts, including her infamous apple pie.

Other than that, I do enjoy a good lobster mornay. However, I never cook it, because I'm quite terrible at making things like mornay sauce. Consequently I haven't had this delicacy in YEARS.

I find such meals are best enjoyed with a good bottle of wine. Also; dessert afterwards. There's always room for dessert! 

There I am, above. enjoying some lobster mornay with a glass of wine. It was such a long time ago I do not remember where this photo was taken. I suspect in was way back in the grand and glorious pre-children days. It seems like a parallel universe now. We actually went on nice relaxing holidays and ate at lovely restaurants that didn't serve chicken nuggets. Those were the days. Sigh.

Of course, I couldn't get through this post without mentioning my beloved cakies. They may not be considered a meal exactly, but as I mentioned above, there's always room for dessert.

On the other hand, if I want to have cake for breakfast, why not? Yep, I am literally one of those disgusting people who could seriously eat cake for breakfast. No surprise that I struggle with my weight and cholesterol levels. Oops. 

I mean, I don't eat cake for breakfast. Well, most of the time I don't...  But I could.  Well, what is the difference between having cake or pancakes or waffles? They're all so so bad and so so GOOD. If you know what I mean. 

So there you are. Just a short and sweet serving from me, because my brain seems to not be working and I can't get the words right. 

Conclusion:  My ideal meal would involve a roast or lobster mornay and cakies. When you say that all together in one sentence, it confirms what I already suspected: I am gross and disgusting. 

Over and out. 

What about you?

Are you gross and disgusting?

Uh I mean, what is your ideal meal? 

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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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