The good news:
I have not drunk coffee in almost a week.
I weigh 61 kg.
The bad news:
I think i should go and get a blood test.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Summer! Sunshine! This enthusiasm is not sustainable!
Hello friends!
I am exhausting myself with this enthusiasm for good weather and sunshine and having finished school. There is a ripeness in the air. Life is good and simple and sunny.
Yesterday i spent the day at the William Ricketts Sanctuary and took photos like this
and went and ate and drank this:
and suddenly, i was reconnected with my creativity. I wanted to paint and draw and sculpt and mould for the first time in a few weeks. I rushed home and looked through my visual diaries from the last two years. So much material! So much data for reflection and consideration!!
I am exhausting myself with this enthusiasm for good weather and sunshine and having finished school. There is a ripeness in the air. Life is good and simple and sunny.
Yesterday i spent the day at the William Ricketts Sanctuary and took photos like this
and went and ate and drank this:
and suddenly, i was reconnected with my creativity. I wanted to paint and draw and sculpt and mould for the first time in a few weeks. I rushed home and looked through my visual diaries from the last two years. So much material! So much data for reflection and consideration!!
Monday, November 15, 2010
We are family.
Things have been a bit quiet here on the ol' jog'n'blog this week.
I've been up in sunny Queensland soaking up some sunshine and family time.
My family.
My family is a close one. We are knitted and entwined and monkey locked in ways that i am not sure all familys are.
My immediate family (five of us) plus the ring-ins (my gorgeous brother in laws) plus my niece and nephew (AKA my favourite people in the world) all ventured into Boonah for my dads brothers birthday, which essentially turned into a family reunion of sorts.
Once there, we drank and laughed, sat around a bon fire, chased bulls in the paddock, got reintroduced to cousins, met other cousins for the first time, slept under the stars and talked. Oh the talking! You would NOT believe how much we talked. About life, about love, about each other, about ourselves, turning over the pebbles of truths and history, polishing them with "and i remember when you were born"s and "I really, really love you"s.
My family.
Sure, there are the demons that have weaved their way into the fabric. The aunty who is really my cousin who is actually my friend. My uncles attempted murder charge. The sick to my stomach things my cousin endured as a child. Affairs. Fist fights. Questions which go unanswered. But no one has been kicked out. The family sits like a living, pulsating entity that you can choose to be in or out of. You can immerse yourself there and never leave or just take a sip now and then for strength. It can be draining, inspiring, frustrating, wonderful. It is all these things.
My family.
4 Aunties and 4 uncle. They ask about my marriage. They understand marriage. Between them there have been 8. So they know about marriage. The also know about divorce. There is the advice, the "we never liked him anyway"s, the tears shed over the sheer injustice of love gone wrong. They see me in my best possible light. They see potential. They see strength. They see themselves.
5 children run around the property, shoeless, nappyless, slapped with sunscreen and not much else. There are no high chairs here. The babies eat in the crook of their grandfathers arms. Take afternoon naps squished on a couch between their fathers and uncles. They play and fight and play and fight and just as my Aunties see themselves in me, i see myself in my niece. My dad accidently calls her by my name. Around we go again.
And we all look the same. Strong genes forcing broad shoulders upon the boys. My cousin is like my brother from another mother. He calls me "stunning" once he realises we could pass for twins, then cackles out the same laugh as his father. My sister and I meet each others eyes. I mistake my aunty for my grandmother, out of the corner of my eye, more than once.
We are family. The threads all looping together.
There are no loose ends.
I've been up in sunny Queensland soaking up some sunshine and family time.
My family.
My family is a close one. We are knitted and entwined and monkey locked in ways that i am not sure all familys are.
My immediate family (five of us) plus the ring-ins (my gorgeous brother in laws) plus my niece and nephew (AKA my favourite people in the world) all ventured into Boonah for my dads brothers birthday, which essentially turned into a family reunion of sorts.
Once there, we drank and laughed, sat around a bon fire, chased bulls in the paddock, got reintroduced to cousins, met other cousins for the first time, slept under the stars and talked. Oh the talking! You would NOT believe how much we talked. About life, about love, about each other, about ourselves, turning over the pebbles of truths and history, polishing them with "and i remember when you were born"s and "I really, really love you"s.
My family.
Sure, there are the demons that have weaved their way into the fabric. The aunty who is really my cousin who is actually my friend. My uncles attempted murder charge. The sick to my stomach things my cousin endured as a child. Affairs. Fist fights. Questions which go unanswered. But no one has been kicked out. The family sits like a living, pulsating entity that you can choose to be in or out of. You can immerse yourself there and never leave or just take a sip now and then for strength. It can be draining, inspiring, frustrating, wonderful. It is all these things.
My family.
4 Aunties and 4 uncle. They ask about my marriage. They understand marriage. Between them there have been 8. So they know about marriage. The also know about divorce. There is the advice, the "we never liked him anyway"s, the tears shed over the sheer injustice of love gone wrong. They see me in my best possible light. They see potential. They see strength. They see themselves.
5 children run around the property, shoeless, nappyless, slapped with sunscreen and not much else. There are no high chairs here. The babies eat in the crook of their grandfathers arms. Take afternoon naps squished on a couch between their fathers and uncles. They play and fight and play and fight and just as my Aunties see themselves in me, i see myself in my niece. My dad accidently calls her by my name. Around we go again.
And we all look the same. Strong genes forcing broad shoulders upon the boys. My cousin is like my brother from another mother. He calls me "stunning" once he realises we could pass for twins, then cackles out the same laugh as his father. My sister and I meet each others eyes. I mistake my aunty for my grandmother, out of the corner of my eye, more than once.
We are family. The threads all looping together.
There are no loose ends.
Monday, November 8, 2010
We all know how it ended
But how did it begin?
Like all love stories do. We met, i thought his eyes looked kind. He seemed so much younger than he was. He was unusual. He rode a bike to work for Gods sake and ate muesli every single morning. He played obscure music and told me his favourite colour was brown. I remember thinking could i kiss his mouth for the rest of my life? I also remember thinking yes i could.
He proposed in the living room. It was two months after we had first kissed and for some reason, it didn't seem like the worst idea in the world. He had almost proposed the night before but we were so drunk and we had a fight about something or rather and so the ring stayed in his pocket.
The first time i met him, he said I have been waiting for you (I was late for our meeting.)
He dinked me home from a Tegan and Sara concert once. He dinked me home from a new years eve party once. Eventually he bought me a pink bike with a basket.
He told me he loved me for the first time at the Prince of Wales. I was sitting on a bar stool at the time and i almost fell off it. We had been together less than two weeks and we were ridiculously happy.
That's how it started.
Like all love stories do. We met, i thought his eyes looked kind. He seemed so much younger than he was. He was unusual. He rode a bike to work for Gods sake and ate muesli every single morning. He played obscure music and told me his favourite colour was brown. I remember thinking could i kiss his mouth for the rest of my life? I also remember thinking yes i could.
He proposed in the living room. It was two months after we had first kissed and for some reason, it didn't seem like the worst idea in the world. He had almost proposed the night before but we were so drunk and we had a fight about something or rather and so the ring stayed in his pocket.
The first time i met him, he said I have been waiting for you (I was late for our meeting.)
He dinked me home from a Tegan and Sara concert once. He dinked me home from a new years eve party once. Eventually he bought me a pink bike with a basket.
He told me he loved me for the first time at the Prince of Wales. I was sitting on a bar stool at the time and i almost fell off it. We had been together less than two weeks and we were ridiculously happy.
That's how it started.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Optimism is the new black.
This whole romance gig is bit like a sociology thesis on optimism.
I have loads of friends who have fallen in love with people from Other Parts Of The World. For example, my lovely friend K met her boyf in a bar in the city one night in Melbourne. I forced them upon each other and take 99% of the responsibility for losing said friend to Germany. Another friend is currently divorcing his wife who is Japanese. She lives in Japan. And there has been tooing and froing for another couple i know and i really worry about where they will end up and the sacrifices that will have to be made. One of them has to leave behind family and friends. One of them has to navigate a new culture, restart a career, watch their nieces and nephews grow up through photographs.
It's an interesting thing you know because i see all this happening. I watch the heartbreak and the bilingual arguments but still, STILL I am jumping into this thing with a man who will most likely get deported and take my heart with him. Why? For the same reason that all of us make stupid decisions.
I think it will be different for me, simply because i want it to be different for me.
I have loads of friends who have fallen in love with people from Other Parts Of The World. For example, my lovely friend K met her boyf in a bar in the city one night in Melbourne. I forced them upon each other and take 99% of the responsibility for losing said friend to Germany. Another friend is currently divorcing his wife who is Japanese. She lives in Japan. And there has been tooing and froing for another couple i know and i really worry about where they will end up and the sacrifices that will have to be made. One of them has to leave behind family and friends. One of them has to navigate a new culture, restart a career, watch their nieces and nephews grow up through photographs.
It's an interesting thing you know because i see all this happening. I watch the heartbreak and the bilingual arguments but still, STILL I am jumping into this thing with a man who will most likely get deported and take my heart with him. Why? For the same reason that all of us make stupid decisions.
I think it will be different for me, simply because i want it to be different for me.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
What i think about when i should be writing essays.
Sometimes when i look at the story of my life, i feel like the protagonist. The hero who is standing firm against the winds and wills of all the other players. The person we can all shout "You can do it!" to as they climb the mountain/run their race/chase the boy.
Other times, i feel like the antagonist-my own worst enemy. I boo and hiss at myself as i make terrible decisions, wait for karma to catch up with me and carelessly fumble my way through life.
But most of the time I am not the protagonist or the antagonist, I am just me. I look at these fingers as they tap, tap, tap on the key board and i realise something;
I am the story.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
How to: Get over a divorce.
For me, divorce is not like any other kind of break up i have been through. Maybe i was never really in love before. Maybe it is the breaking apart of hopes and dreams of your future together. Maybe it's as simple as timing and age and other compounding factors.
Whatever the reason, my divorce hit me like a ton of bricks. And those bricks sat, sat, sat on my shoulders for a long time.
I considered having an Elizabeth Gilbert moment and moving to another country. I thought about quitting my job, dropping out of school, adopting a little baby and moving to the country side. Therapy, begging for forgiveness, promising to change, burning down his house. These were all options.
But instead, I ran.
3 days after we separated i put on my sneakers and i ran. The day after that, i ran again. And the day after that, i met my personal trainer for the first time. I ran until i could run past the park where we said our wedding vows, without stopping. I ran until his house was just a blur on my periphery as I sped past. I ran until my ankle packed it in and my knee stopped bending. Then i flirted with my Physio until i could run again.
I pounded the treadmill.
Kicked a boxing bag.
I ran, ran, ran until my lungs ached and my heart didn't.
With each step, i thought of him. I thought of our lives. I thought of who i really want to be, the kind of relationship i would one day hope to have. i thought about how sad i was when we were together. I thought about that all encompassing grief that swallowed us whole. I thought about his face, his smile, and his sad, sad eyes. I thought about me. I thought about putting myself first for a change. I thought about where i want to work, who i want to spend time with, who i want to become. And each time my foot hit the ground, I let it go a little.
And through it all, i lost weight. A kg of bitterness, 600 grams of blame, an ounce of guilt. All adding up to that ton of bricks that fell all those months ago.
And I suppose, my dear friends, that is how i got over my divorce.
I still love running. But today i think I'll just walk.
xxxx
Whatever the reason, my divorce hit me like a ton of bricks. And those bricks sat, sat, sat on my shoulders for a long time.
I considered having an Elizabeth Gilbert moment and moving to another country. I thought about quitting my job, dropping out of school, adopting a little baby and moving to the country side. Therapy, begging for forgiveness, promising to change, burning down his house. These were all options.
But instead, I ran.
3 days after we separated i put on my sneakers and i ran. The day after that, i ran again. And the day after that, i met my personal trainer for the first time. I ran until i could run past the park where we said our wedding vows, without stopping. I ran until his house was just a blur on my periphery as I sped past. I ran until my ankle packed it in and my knee stopped bending. Then i flirted with my Physio until i could run again.
I pounded the treadmill.
Kicked a boxing bag.
I ran, ran, ran until my lungs ached and my heart didn't.
With each step, i thought of him. I thought of our lives. I thought of who i really want to be, the kind of relationship i would one day hope to have. i thought about how sad i was when we were together. I thought about that all encompassing grief that swallowed us whole. I thought about his face, his smile, and his sad, sad eyes. I thought about me. I thought about putting myself first for a change. I thought about where i want to work, who i want to spend time with, who i want to become. And each time my foot hit the ground, I let it go a little.
And through it all, i lost weight. A kg of bitterness, 600 grams of blame, an ounce of guilt. All adding up to that ton of bricks that fell all those months ago.
And I suppose, my dear friends, that is how i got over my divorce.
I still love running. But today i think I'll just walk.
xxxx
This is how we met. (It's a great story)
I was standing at the bar, fighting with my ex husband.
(get ready for a massive double standard)
And he is saying something like "You are the most annoying ex wife in the world."
And i am saying "I am not your EX wife douche bag, i am still your WIFE"
And he says "No you're not"
"Yes I am"
"Nope"
"YES I AM!"
"NO"
"I am i am i am i am i am!" (I am extremely mature at times.)
He shakes his head. One little gesture. An annoying smirk.
I.
See.
Red.
So i spin on my heel (that actually happens in real life) and shout into the face i am now looking at:
"This man and I are still married. I just need someone to acknowledge the fact that I am married to this person, even though i am not married to him!"
And this face smiles. And this face looks me in the eye. And this face says:
"I know exactly how you feel."
And as the red dissipates i notice a quarter of his right iris is a different colour to the rest. I like stuff like that.
(get ready for a massive double standard)
And he is saying something like "You are the most annoying ex wife in the world."
And i am saying "I am not your EX wife douche bag, i am still your WIFE"
And he says "No you're not"
"Yes I am"
"Nope"
"YES I AM!"
"NO"
"I am i am i am i am i am!" (I am extremely mature at times.)
He shakes his head. One little gesture. An annoying smirk.
I.
See.
Red.
So i spin on my heel (that actually happens in real life) and shout into the face i am now looking at:
"This man and I are still married. I just need someone to acknowledge the fact that I am married to this person, even though i am not married to him!"
And this face smiles. And this face looks me in the eye. And this face says:
"I know exactly how you feel."
And as the red dissipates i notice a quarter of his right iris is a different colour to the rest. I like stuff like that.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Things I didn't know.
I had no idea the words "You are so beautiful" in Welsh could sound, well, so beautiful.
I also didn't know that I would be this excited about finishing school.
And one more thing I didn't know. Turns out, taking 100% control of my life is the best thing I could have ever done.
I also didn't know that I would be this excited about finishing school.
And one more thing I didn't know. Turns out, taking 100% control of my life is the best thing I could have ever done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
