left problems


When you are a person who is very far to the “left”.. (and by ‘very far’ I mean sitting with your back to the wall on the furthest side of leftness, because that way there is one less side that you have people on) sometimes a it is easy to forget that most people are not like you. Most people don’t want to sit near you. That many people will actually take offence that you don’t take offence at things other people do that have nothing to do with you and hurt nobody. Sometimes it almost feels like in these non-open-minded people’s views, my open-mindedness actually makes me worse than the people doing something that the non-open-minded people don’t like, because I think it’s fine for them to be doing that. Because some of the people going around doing shocking things like being gay or tattooed or sweary or female or black or .. whatever.. some of them feel guilty because they have been conditioned to feel that they are less because of this arbitrary attribute. And if they feel guilty then clearly they know that they are bad and wrong. Which just demonstrates that the non-open-minded people are right. And that makes me more wrong, because not only do I not believe that anyone in one of the aforementioned minorities is doing anything wrong, I also believe that people who do think that way shouldn’t be allowed to be assholes about it.

How does it make any sense that this part of myself, my determination to be accepting and non-judgemental – what I think is one of my best qualities – is also what makes me feel most judged and isolated when I encounter people with less leftliberalhippy views than me?




A few weeks ago Stephanie had an assignment for English where she had to write two things, and one of the suggested types was a persuasive essay. She wanted to do it about the current issue du jour.. marriage equality. But what she came to me and asked for some assistance with was “why gay people should be allowed to get married.”

She decided in the end to two imaginative pieces, but her question, combined with the prominence of this issue in the media (wtg, Ireland,) and some discussions happening on my local MP’s facebook page have caused me to think further on the topic. (Not that I have ever really suffered from a shortage of thoughts in this arena.)

It was the way Stephanie worded her question. Why should gay people be able to get married? Well, why does anyone get married? I simulated* a highly scientific, carefully planned double blind placebo controlled survey, and asked already married people why they got married. 98% of people said “Because I love [the other person] and I wanted to.” 2% said “Because [the other person] is really rich and I wanted to.”

So, why should gay people be able to get married? Well, how about BECAUSE THEY FUCKING WANT TO. The question should not be why gay people should be able to get married, but why should selfish ignorant bigots not be allowed to prevent marriage equality becoming a reality?

One of the problems you encounter when you are 

* Because I couldn’t be bothered actually asking.

[blogus interruptus]

c’est la


I have never quite understood why some people have some tea towels for using and some tea towels just for looking at. Now I am considering that perhaps I just never had cool enough tea towels to want to protect from the inevitable wear and tear that comes from drying dishes. I have reached this theory due to the fact that I now own such a tea towel.

I have secretly admired these art works for some time (it is not a secret that I appreciate the art of a well used expletive). They are a fun blend of traditional (the embroidery) and modern (the designs) with the added benefit of SWEAR WORDS!! Well, last week my mum won a giveaway for an apron and tea towel by cate bolt. And she said I could have the tea towel. So I chose this lovely c’est la fucking vie one. She just chose one of the boring not sweary items. Ok, they aren’t boring. Just prude friendly ;)

A bit tired today. Seeing as how I had to get up in the middle of the night to clean up someone’s sick. That was pretty much everywhere except in the bucket she had put beside her bed earlier incase she threw up. Because when she woke up and felt sick she sat up and sat there waiting and did not see the point of a safe > sorry policy with regards to the bucket. 

I still love her and I cleaned that shit up but.. it is really hard to be sympathetic and caring when it is cold and I am not asleep and it stinks and the other person is yelling about her toys and the ..


Hugh Jackman teaches Jimmy Fallon the correct way to eat Vegemite


FINALLY! Every time anybody non-Australian tries Vegemite in a video every single person here yells at the screen “THAT’S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!” Now, Hugh Jackman has taken it upon himself to set the record straight and demonstrate proper Vegemiting technique. And funnily enough, the foreigners didn’t hate the Vegemite when it was done right! I already thought Hugh Jackman was cool, but now I’m thinking.. PM maybe?



Everytime I come out of somewhere and have to go to my car it is strange because one of the main things I look at when I’m looking around to pick out my car amongst the others is the number plate. And it is different now. I will get used to it. It is like when someone you know gets new glasses or a different haircut or something. They still mostly look like themselves but something in your brain sets of a little alert each time you see them, saying “this isn’t right!”

thought dump


I’d really like a penseive. (God damnit, autocorrect, no, I do not mean ‘pensive!’) One that was perhaps a combination of magical and muggle technology would be ideal. I could use a wand to pull certain threads of thoughts out of my head and put them into this device that would translate them into the words I want to express to other people. Or no one. 

The one thing I always wondered about a penseive, though, is that is you have taken the thought out of your head does that mean it isn’t in your head anymore? Because I don’t recall it ever being specifically said that it’s more like a copy of a thought but it does seem like people are still aware of thoughts even after they’ve taken it out for putting in a penseive but then on the other hand Dumbledore talks about being able to organize his head better by taking out some thoughts that he wasn’t using or something. Can’t remember exactly, been a while since I read and do not have the books on hand.

So anyway. I have wanted a few times recently to sit down and relieve myself of some thoughts but one thing or another meant that it didn’t happen. So today I am going to do a bulk thought cache dump. (Imagine how much more efficient brains could be if that were really possible.)

1. Anzac Day. I’m not a fan. And this is pretty much the most un-Australian thing I can say, except for perhaps “Steve Irwin is a dickhead.” (Relax, I thought he was as cool as everyone else did.) The problem I have with Anzac Day is not the sentiment of it, it’s the… publicness of it. People talk about dawn services and marches and this event and that event to commemorate the service people of our past and it is heavily implied that if you are not doing one (or more) of those things then you are an ungrateful, unfeeling, selfish asshole who doesn’t care about the sacrifices of the past. And that annoys me. Because I do care. I just don’t care to do my caring in the middle of the night with hundreds or thousands of other people. And I think it’s a little bit like religion, or faith, which I also don’t want to do with other people at a set time every week or year or whatever. My appreciation is in my memories of sitting on the lap of an old man and examining his hands with the innocent curiosity of a child, running my fingers over the scarred skin where his index finger should have been, but wasn’t, because it was blown off in the war. In having to consciously look at his face to notice the scarring and the eye that was different, because to us he was just silly Uncle Gary who would not go in the pool with us because he did not like wet water. But every now and then you see those things and remember that war is serious business and many people lost lots of things.

It seems like the marches and services and stuff are more so that you can make sure people have seen you doing something and they know that you appropriately appreciate the freedoms we have rather than actually appreciating and enjoying them.

This entry has been a saved draft WIP for about a week. Everything gets interrupted. My train of thought gets lost, then when it is found again it is not always in the same condition it was before.

So, anyway. Cars. Have been being vexatious this last week or so. We essentially have three of the things (one is technically Allan’s but he is in a different country so he does not need to use it right now.) Something went bad with Horatio (Daniel’s car.) So he started using Allan’s instead. It had needed a new battery and to be registered which we did. This car does not have a name. (When Allan first got it, some suggestions were made but he did not seem keen on any of them and he didn’t think of anything himself. I don’t think he realises how important a name is for a car’s sense of identity.) It was all going nicely and Horatio was on “the list” to be fixed when we had money and Richard had time. My Neville is faithful and he is very good to me. He needed a new battery recently but that was reasonably simple. But then last week something went fucky in the blue car so Daniel had to take Neville. One day while he was at work someone decided to steal Neville’s number plate. They only took the rear one but the front appeared to have been fiddled with too. I don’t understand why someone would do that except to be an asshat. It’s not like they can be of any use what with plate recognition and stuff. So someone just wanted to make our lives annoyed and inconvenienced. It is reasonably simple to go to Qld Transport and get new ones but it’s just annoying, not to mention costs us $26 for the privelige. 

once again


It is school holidays yet again. There are good things about school holidays and less good things. The primary good thing about this particular holiday is, of course, the chocolate. And the public holidays, so it started off with four whole days of Daniel and that is very nice. 

I do like not having to necessarily get dressed by a certain time in order to take everyone to school. I especially like not having to go in to school sometimes. And not having to plan the rest of my activities around school times is handy. It makes the day seem so much longer. Which is sometimes good and sometimes not. The biggest challenge for me is that I run out of charge so much more quickly when there are three people there all day who like to talk and sing and play games and go to the park and whatever else they might think of, all while I am still trying to manage the usual jobs. They are incapable of being quiet and quiet is an essential thing for me. 

There is also the whole love-hate sibling relationship thing that taxes my brain’s capacity for understanding. I find it difficult enough to understand how people in general can be intentionally hurtful to ‘mere’ friends or acquaintances; to see it happening between siblings when just a short while ago they were playing, giggling and whispering, pretending and imaginating just defies my only child comprehension. Sometimes they make me cry. Sometimes because they are so absofuckinglutely hateful to each other. And sometimes because they do the simplest, littlest nice thing for their brother or sister for no reason other than because they are siblings.

I have been doing some thinking about my back. About a month or so ago I had a particularly nasty muscle tension knot headache event which coincided with monthly menstrual migraine and they kind of fed each other and it was not good. Because of the muscular pain I could not relax enough to get any kind of useful sleep to help the migraine and that made me more tense and continuing cycle bla bla. After several days Daniel stayed home so he could take me to the doctor to get knocked out. Sometimes when I am washing my arm in the shower I can still feel the tender area from the injection. But so, so worth it. I slept through about 18 hours or so and was much better feeling once I woke up. If a little groggy.




Before I had children I kind of thought that essentially I knew what to expect in terms of how they would interact with me. Drawing on my own past experience of being a child. And I made that mistake of assuming that my experience was the normal experience, that my children would behave much as I did, and it would all be lovely. I hindsight, I don’t know why I had this expectation. It is not like I was ever unaware that I was an odd child, different to most of the others. But maybe it’s because you are a different person when you are at home than you are elsewhere. While it was clear that I was strange compared to the other kids at school, there was not really anything to indicate that at home, everyone else was not just as agreeable and unobtrusive as I was.

My children disagree with me all the time. They tell me so. They tell me exactly what they think of my choices, decisions and opinions and do not hold back in making me understand how very wrong I am. They ask the same question over and over and over in the hope that I might give a different answer this time. If I didn’t like what my mum said regarding any particular topic I would have probably just pouted and went to sulk with my face in a book. Or three. 

I wasn’t a perfect child but I never had to be nagged about doing my homework or brushing my teeth. I do recall some discussion about my tooth brushing technique which involved little pink tablets that highlighted all the bits you hadn’t done properly. Other than a few isolated things I was never really naughty. I think the main problem was that my bedroom wasn’t as tidy as my mum would have liked. And I got told to tidy it up and that I wasn’t allowed to read until it was done. So I did it.  Sometimes it did take me a while (because I got distracted by stuff as I was tidying it up.) My children.. bitch and moan and whine like you have asked them to remove a limb. And then bitch and moan and whine some more when whatever consequence they were warned about comes to pass. 

If I was told to do something then generally I would do it. Not always cheerily and efficiently, but I did do it. We have to ask, tell, order and threaten time and time again when we want someone to do something. I pretty much did as I was told and asked because I did not want to make people annoyed, angry or upset. The same desire to avoid causing conflict seems to be quite absent in my children.

I started this while I was waiting to pick them up from school. Now I am sitting ‘watching’ while they play in the pool. That’s not different. I liked to go in the pool after school too.

The other day Stephanie asked me if I could buy some fish fingers. 

“Yes, I suppose I could,” I told her. “But you will have to wait until the custard is all gone.”

“Ugh! That’s not fair!”



I am having to work extra hard this week to keep myself from slipping too far into the dark. It is really difficult sometimes to find things to be hopeful about. Aside from my own personal battles and worries, there are just times when the world at large seems to be lacking compassion and love. I would like to think that people can make positive changes in the world, but when you are already tired from your own struggles and the world is only showing it’s mean face, you have to wonder where you are supposed to look to find hope.

Australia has been found to be violating international standards regarding torture by the United Nations. It almost seems like it could be a parody headline or something, because last time I considered what my country stood for, it certainly wasn’t assholism and cruelty. People who claim to represent me are creating conditions where people that come to us for help are living in a state akin to a concentration camp. I don’t suppose that this should be a surprise to me, since they don’t even want to help people here who need it. Well, not until they have had 6 months to become truly desperate, anyway.

This morning I saw a news article about an advertisement that was shown last night during coverage of the Mardi Gras. Well, on some channels. SBS declined to show it. Good on them. I can’t believe that the ones who did didn’t find there to be a huge problem with the message it was giving. Primarily, that there should be no marriage equality because it would prevent children from having both a mother and a father, and of course everyone knows that all children who lack that grow up hugely disadvantaged in every way compared to the properly raised children whose right to a parent of each gender hasn’t been compromised. What about a child’s right to feel like their family is every bit as valid and important as any one of their friends’ families – no matter what shape it takes, one parent, two parents, three parents, grandparents or an aunt or uncle or even just an adult who loves you and wants the best for you? What about the children’s right to not have their family discriminated against by the government which is supposed to exist to support and protect everybody’s right to equality and fairness? What would you say to the child who comes home in tears after the other children have been cruel to them because their family is different and the other kids think it is ok to belittle these children because the law itself says that they are not equal to you, not deserving of the same respect and consideration you’d want for yourself? Marriage is nothing to do with parenthood in this day and age. Plenty of “mother AND father” families aren’t even married, either. Whatever, if that’s what they want. They got to make that choice for themselves. That’s all anyone wants and the minimum that everyone should have.

So, yeah. This is a bit of a downer of an entry but that is where I am at today. So, so disillusioned with the world. Struggling to not let that disillusionment overwhelm my limited ability to persevere.



Sometimes when I want to write an entry I start thinking about what has been in my head for the day and it seems like it is more of the same crazy and that becomes frustrating because I don’t want to be forever crazy. Sometimes I start to think that things are getting better and then I have a whole lot of Bad Head Days in a row and I’m floundering and wondering if I will ever find a way to be what I should be.

A Bad Head Day is kind of like a Bad Hair Day. Despite best efforts it is just so hard to make my thoughts and feelings not blow away and be a knotted mess. They squeeze at my throat and my chest and push heavily on the top of my tummy and make me feel so inadequate, useless, unable to be and do all the things I wish I could. Sometimes for me but mostly for Daniel or the kids. The problem is also that the two aspects of my illness feed into each other. Things make me anxious, scared, terrified and because of that fear I can’t just go about life like a normal person. Then my inability to be a normal person makes me feel depressed. Then I feel more worried that struggling with those feelings, I will be someone unfamiliar that Daniel or the children or my mum does not want to have to deal with. Then I feel more depressed at the thought of not being wanted or needed. Then it’s a fifty-fifty between whether I will be filled with fight or filled with the sense that I should just give up and let them be free from the burden of me. Or sometimes it is both because even when I feel the second way I hate that for them to be free of me, I would be free of them, and that would be worse than anything.

So anyway. Sometimes I don’t want to write the same things and I’d imagine that nobody really wants to read the same depressing shit all the time either. But I think my mum might be the only person who really reads this anyway and it’s not like anyone else is actually being forced to read it. And I feel that way about telling people or telling Daniel that I am having a bad moment or a bad week or a bad whatever. I know he already knows that I am crazy but him knowing and me calling attention to it are two different things. I don’t want to be his broken wife. I want to be his awesome wife. I don’t want him to work hard at his job all day and then have to deal with my failings when he comes home. I look forward to him getting home because I feel better when he is there and I can talk to him or do things with him or watch something with him or even just do something by myself while he is doing something else but sitting next to me. And I want him to be able to look forward to coming home for the same things. Talking about all the things I worry about and all the ways in which I feel pathetic and unworthy of being his wife and our children’s mother is not really fun times.

I didn’t realise when I was younger just how hard it could be to live in the world like this sometimes. I’ve always felt this way, inadequate, less, wrong. But it only affected me before. If something was too hard then it was ok to not do it. There was nothing I wanted to do so much that it was worth the internal seasick tornado to do it. Well, there was one thing. And I managed that mainly because the thought of not taking that chance and missing out on how amazing it would be with Daniel was more terrifying than the thought of doing it. But now when I have other people who rely on me I don’t want to disappoint them. I don’t want to say no. Everytime they need something I feel unable to give it is a choice between making them angry or disappointed or somehow trying to do it and feeling the anxiety, the shivering self-consciousness, the fucking uselessness and trying to not let that show and keep it under control enough that I don’t need to spend an extended period hiding in a dark place afterwards. Sometimes I risk the angry people (and some of my family members have quite prodigious tempers) but usually it is the second option. Being Atlas. Wondering if one day it will be too heavy.