730 odd days…

It’s been 2 years/ish since my melting down weekend in Sydney.

2 years since I was so exhausted that I finally couldn’t pretend to be okay anymore.

2 years since I realised how unhappy I really was.

I had a chat to my beautiful friend who witnessed my initial crashing down of self and all the drama and consequences that came with that on the weekend.

She asked “what’s changed?”

Obviously the meds have smoothed out the rush edges and stopped my small little sail boat from capsizing in crazy waves.

But I’ve also learnt along the way though that you can capsize and drown in the shallowest of waters if you’re not vigilant.

Another friend asked recently about side effects of long term use of antidepressants and I replied that I didn’t care and that it had to be better than the short term effects without them.

2 years ago I had my mum living half an hour away and I would see her 3-4 times a week. My husband wasn’t traveling as much as he is now and I was working 3 days a week as apprised to the 4 days I do now.

It’s gotten worse. The structure of my circumstances have gotten worse.

There is less support around me and less of my time to go around.

The things I was supposed to have fixed have become more damaged or are no longer even salvageable.

The days are longer, the hours are shorter and the kids have attitudes that don’t extend to kindness for a mum in need.

So I’m sticking with my low dose meds until the pendulum swings me back up on to my feet and I can stop the one step forward, two steps backwards tango that I’ve been dancing.

I think my medication dulls some of my sparkle but also saves me from some of the glittery mess that’s left behind when I would catch my breath and realize that the fall was too quick.

You might think I’m speaking in rhymes and riddles. Spewing forth words of no logic or meaning.

Well you’re right of course but I’ll blame that on the magic meds too. xxoo

Away from home…

Here I am in Sydney.

For the weekend. Staying with my bestie and her family.

I used to come up here a lot to visit her. Now we’re both a bit busy.

Her busy is her business but my busy I’ll happily share.

My husband arrived home from a few days away for work last night (Thursday) and goes away again at 4:30 am Monday morning. He would normally leave on a Sunday night but I get home Sunday night so it will be nice to spend a couple of hours together before he gets up at 4AM eeeek!

I left him home with 2 sick kids.

Which is how he’d left me at the start of the week so we’re even.

Although when the younger one swallowed a hard caramel lolly on the way to the airport and my husband asked if he was blue like last time I did feel a small rush of guilt.

But he wasn’t blue and wasn’t choking but has gone off dairy which is quite unlike him.

Anyway back to me and my Sydney get away.

I’ve been to Sydney a few times for boys. Actually 2 boys that I’ve been quite serious about live up this way. I loved them both so there must be something in the water up here. Both long gone from my life now but still the memories are reverberating around today.

And what about the guy that I met on the phone from the credit card company that I flew up to meet and then spent half an hour with playing video games on a screen at a duty free shop before asking my bestie to come and pick me up.

That was a little disappointing but the weekend was still filled with coffee and laughter.

I could now reminisce about selling pewter at the Sydney Olympics but I worked long hours and slept on the floor at a friends house and wore beige pants that were too tight so it was great and I think Cathy Freeman probably has better memories of it than me.

I like catching the ferries. I like cafes by the beach. I like lounging in my pjs at my friends house eating ice cream and watching telle and being myself around others.

I like Sydney but I like it most because my friend lives here and she loves me and that awesome.

Also the Thai restaurant near her house is great and sells pink lemonade.

So travel blogger I’m not but I’m relaxed, haven’t been coughed on for hours now and I’m full of coffee.

So the winner is Syd-en-ey… and me.


I know you’re not really the hugging type but I can give you one right now if you like?

I said to the woman standing one metre away from me in the office kitchen.

Her tears of frustration, disappointment and desperation rendered me as helpless as her.

She showed me the messages on her phone from her son.

He didn’t get out of bed and go to work that morning. He sent her aggressive and abusive messages asking her why she was hassling him so much.

She told me that she plays bad cop to her husbands good cop in regards to his ice addiction.

How sometimes if she pushes him hard enough he’ll crack and tell her the truth. Tell her what’s really bothering him. Give her a chance to hopefully show him that people care about him.

But not so hard that when pushed he shuts down and the whole process starts again.

She asked me if she was a bad mum.

I said of course not.

I said that he was safe.

She told me she was going to go home and check his Facebook page because he sometimes stays logged in and it’s one of the rare chances to actually find out what he’s up to and how bad it is.

She cried for a while and then wiped her tears on her sleeves.

A little while later I asked her if she wanted a biscuit or a chocolate and she politely refused just as she had done with the hug offer earlier.

You don’t have to like them you just have to love them.

And even now days later I picture this incredibly strong brash woman crying for a son who doesn’t want her help.

Yet. (I hope.)

Hey good looking!

Look I don’t want to alarm anyone but I seem to be at peak attractiveness at the moment.

I’ve been flirted with a lot. And for once I’m not starting it.

Last week it was the guy with the snake at work who said something suggestive as he placed the 3m long creature around my neck.

Wait. What? Did that make sense? The man who was in charge of the reptile incursion at my preschool flirted with me.

And the guy who delivered the packages. The big packages. Of paper and paste and sticky tape. He complimented me on my ability to sign the electronic pad in a very flirty way.

Today when the postman delivered my book I order I gave him my name and he said to me “oh I know who you are.” Again in a flirty way or maybe he just remembered me from last time.

On my way home I picked up a pizza and the man asked if my husband was away again and I said yes and he said that if he was my husband he wouldn’t travel so much.

I refrained from pointing out that he owns a pizza shop. A profession not known for lots of interstate and overseas business trips.

He then told me that he made my pizza extra special and he opened the box and showed me. And sure enough there was lots of cheese.

It’s hard being an attractive woman in your mid 30’s. People are naturally drawn to me, it’s tiring.

So maybe it’s time I turned down the pheromones or maybe wore little less dark eyeliner and Jessica Simpson perfume.

Maybe I shouldn’t wear that $8 dress I got from the local supermarket out in public.

Or maybe it’s all in my head and I’ve forgotten how to act around other humans.

Either way a little flattery and flirting can be good for the soul.

If only I know how to wolf whistle. xx

Joining the sisterhood…

Right. Well. I swear I can’t remember what I’ve written about and I’m too lazy to look back but I want to write about my sisters.

All of them. And how much I love them.

Technically in real life I am the eldest of 2 children. My brother is 2.5 years younger than me.

We were close growing up but now we’re not and I hate that with all the hates. But I don’t think about it or I get sad.

(As I was typing sad I accidentally typed Sade which is kind of funny. I don’t Sade.)

Anyway. Sisters. I have 2 sister in laws who are beautiful but they also have amazing relationships with their younger sisters and we don’t have a close bond.

Earlier this year my mum remarried so now I also have a 55 year old step sister who has 3 grown children and 2 grandsons.

My step sister lives a 4 hour flight away and is busy with her own life but she’s lovely. Well she seems to be from the 2 times I’ve spent time with her.

But now here I am. All busy with life and stuff and yet I seem to be collecting wonderful sisters.

One of the mums at my work who makes the sweetest Turkish coffee called me her sister this week and it was the highlight of a crappy week. This gorgeous woman also had a cholesterol test on Thursday and her levels came back really good so she celebrated by buying me chocolate so we could celebrate together.

One of my delightful sisters posted me a card this week saying that she is thinking of me. I read it to myself today in her Irish accent. She took time out of her busy life raising 3 energetic boys to send me a card. For no reason. Other than that she cares. And man doesn’t that just mean the most ever.

One of my sisters I’ve known since High School but it’s only been the last year or so that we’ve begun messaging each other every day. She tells me she thinks that I’m strong and praises me for coping when my husband is away so much. But she has issues that are so big and wide that I don’t know where they start and where they end and her resilience and honesty blows my mind. We share truths with each other and support each other.

My sisters are strong women who have gone through plenty and been tested physically and mentally but still give all that they have to make the world better for their families and their communities.

They think of others. They’re selfless. They’ve got my back and I’ve got theirs.

Sisters might be doing it for themselves but they’re also doing it for me and I’m doing it for them too.


All that jazz…

Let me preface this post by saying that I don’t know much about music.

But tonight I listened to music that made me cry with just, with just, with just emotion I guess.

Megan Washington singing Begin Again accompanied by an amazing jazz quartet in a venue that sounds brilliant resulted in some tears that I wasn’t expecting.

And then a guest saxophone player who made me want to take off my clothes with the first note he played.

Regarding the above comment… that’s normal right? I mean not Kenny G but a low tone that sounds like sex.

Anyways back to the music. A night out. Great seats. A standing ovation and a Romanian pianist whose fingers flew so quickly and so lightly that it made you hold your breath.

A drummer with no neck playing with brushes and seemingly standing out and blending in at the same time.

And the double bass player. What is it with the bass players? He bounced, he laughed, he slapped that thing hard and fast and with a skill that made you mirror his absurd facial expressions.

Joy. Pure joy. Held together by a veteran trumpet aficionado who was clearly in his element playing with his peers in front of an audience that have known him for decades.

And this, ladies and gentlemen is why I don’t write music reviews. I don’t know much about music but I felt it tonight. I had to keep reminding myself to relax as my posture tensed with concentration.

But hey peeps, I got out of the house. I went out. Past my bedtime and was mostly civil towards my husband after we’d left the house.

Dancing in the carpark afterwards on my own as though nobody was watching.

But those that were watching smiled at me.

Good music. Good company. Good night. xx