Would it be totally uncool for me to swoon right now...?

Holy fuckity-fuck-fucking-Jesus-Christ-in-a-teacup Batman!

I just got home and checked my email and I found THIS... 

I stole her avatar too...

Just in case you can't see it properly, here's a close-up...

She loves me. She really loves me.

Yes that is an email from Ms Jenny The Bloggess Lawson herself replying to me regarding my putting her quote on my wall. I feel like I just got a letter from the Queen!

*Sigh*

P.S. Wentworth Miller, you're next!

I am the Wizard of Oz of Housewives

Okay. So I read Jenny Lawson's (The Bloggess) book Let's Pretend This Never Happened.

Why yes, that is a dead mouse.

It's fantastic. Like utterly amazing.

Now I read a lot. I mean, A LOT a lot. And I'm warning you in advance, this post is going to border on being stalker-ish. The Bloggess' book moved me more than any I've read in a really long time. I cringed in horror, laughed until a little bit of pee came out and sobbed as if my heart was broken. And scarily of all I could relate. To everything. single. word.

It's absolutely terrifying for me to read a book like this because I feel as though she burrowed deep down inside of me and retched up all the stuff I'm ashamed of and keep hidden, and exposed it for everyone to judge. It's heart-wrenching, and embarrassing, and absolutely wonderful. Just to know there is someone else out there that is just as fucked up as I am is empowering.

I have so much respect and admiration for this woman, the strength it would take to be able to write with such honesty and rawness, to lay it all out there for the world to see. It's humbling.

One thing in particular spoke to me and perfectly captured the inner conflict that wars within me on a daily basis. The 23rd chapter is titled;

"I am the Wizard of Oz of Housewives (In that I am both "Great and Terrible" and because sometimes I hide behind the Curtains)"

This quote not only sums up the entire book for me, but also encompasses my whole life. I am wonderful and horrible, sometimes simultaneously, on a daily basis. And at times I am so overwhelmed by either the sheer wonder, or utter hopelessness of it all I find myself curled up in the foetal position in a corner. 

That page (p 191), drew me back to re-read, over and over. And each time I found something new. A brutally honest thought. Deeper insight. Some new complexity that made me go, "Oh! Yes. There you are."

I thumbed through the pages to get to that quote so many times I ruined the book.

So I stole it.

I made it bigger.

And I put it on my wall.

And it is awesome.

Hmmmmm...

New career in cold-call telemarketing?

Stupid Boy, Silly Girl.

I thought I'd give Mama Kat's Writers Workshop a go again.

It's been ages but I'm feeling bitter and twisted today and one of her prompts for this week gives me the perfect outlet for my overall yukkiness.

I've chosen prompt number 3. Write a poem that about a time you felt betrayed.

I had a relationship many years ago with a stupid horrible little boy younger man who was initially attracted to the pure awesomeness of me. I was 28 and he was 8 years younger than me (do the math) and had a body that reduced me to a puddle of teenage hormones. He was also a controlling, abusive, drug user, who made it his job (the only one he had) to stamp out my spirit. He would smoke, snort or inject anything he could find, then tell me what a horrible person I was. The guy was a prince. Of darkness. So why did I stay? Unfortunately his youth, cockiness (pun intended), and lack of inhibitions made him fan-fucking-tastic in bed. Oh and my mum was dying and I had absolutely no self-esteem. But mainly the sex thing. The relationship started in the years leading up to my mothers death and finished not long after when I finally recognized what he had done to me. It was the biggest mistake I ever made and it almost ruined me. I can still feel the effects of it. Or maybe that's lingering second-hand smoke. Either way it left me scarred. And semi-high. I wrote this, and a few others like it, to try to cleanse myself. A kind of mental detox. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger right?

Stupid Boy, Silly Girl

I listen to music, and all day I read.
     Inspiring words, that relate to me.
           Pulling me in, sayin' Silly Girl.
Why’d you let this boy, take over your world?

I trusted you, and made us a home.
     I gave you my love, shared all that I owned.
          You took ev'ry breath, and demanded more.
 If I didn't submit, you showed me the door.

I had it all, was a flame so bright.
      A different thing to do ev’ry night.
           You locked me away, threw away the key.
And ev’ry one forgot about me.

You set out to break me, you told me so.
      And even then I couldn’t let you go.
           You challenged yourself, you made me succumb.
You even hurt me, while I buried my mum.

Did it ever occur to you it was wrong?
     (Stupid Boy)
I cannot believe that I stayed for so long.
     (Silly Girl)
You couldn’t decide between me and your bong.
     (Stupid Boy)
I suppose I should thank you for making me strong.
     (Silly Girl)

You left me alone dunno how many times.
      Coz I’m not as important as the boyz and some lines.
           Does your dope and your speed keep you warm in bed?
Can they make you dinner? Do they give good head?

You don’t own me no more, I’m out and I’m free.
     When I left you that day, I went out found me.
           I can live life again, friends still know my name.
I have people who love me, can you say the same?

I. Should. Never. Watch. Infomercials... Ever.

Wednesday night I was up until 4am. Why? I hear you cry. One word. Info-fucking-mercials. Ok, so maybe that's two words.

I told myself I was studying. I was supposed to be studying. But really? Watchin' the damn infomercials.

They lure me in every. time.

THAT night I bought:

Because apparently I couldn't get shampoo at Coles...

But in the past I have been sucked in by:

Tried it. Lasted 3 weeks.

There's only so much canned tuna you can eat. Next...!

Uhh Huh... See above comment.

Without this I look like Shrek.

Ok, these I use daily. 

They make your boobs look like a uni-boob but they are so damn comfortable!

Used it once... 

I do have it prominently displayed so that when people visit I can look down my nose at them and say, "Sure. I use it every day... Don't you?"

This is actually pretty cool. I have steamed everything.

Anyone else got anything for sale? A crudely put together PowerPoint presentation is apparently all you need to lure me in. Free trial? Love it. Only pay for postage? Sign me up!

I suck at impulse control.

I'm sorry? This is your beezwax, how exactly?

 

The past three hours of my time has been used-up preparing, editing and re-editing, honing and perfecting this post. I. am. exhausted. I'm also fairly confident it will offend some people. Sue me.

So here goes..

I have just spent what seems like the better part of today AGAIN defending my decision to write about my daughter on this blog.

Seriously guys? What ever happened to the old saying, "People in glass houses, shouldn't throw stones."

What is it about me that makes people think that it's ok for them to not only judge me, but feel that it's ok to TELL ME WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO BRING UP MY CHILD??? She's happy. She's healthy. She's a normal teenager. She does shitty things. She gets into trouble. So do your kids. She is also a wonderful person. 

I. did. that. 

I make sure she is happy and safe every day, so it stands to reason that I'm not going to do anything to hurt her. Yes I write about her. Yes I include her real name. But you know what? So do other mums! I don't include our Surname. I don't include identifying landmarks. Facebook does. So does Twitter. So does YouTube and Tumblr and Instagram. By including LBS  or what we all know as GPS mapping in their posts, everyone knows EXACTLY where you are.

I. don't. do. that.

So to those people I say simply:

The choice to include Tomika in my blog was deliberate and not made lightly. I am not the first parent to write about their children online, and I will definitely not be the last

To quote another mother/blogger, who also writes about her kids:

"Here’s the thing. There are people more important and more famous than us who’s entire lives are photographed and tracked. We know their kids’ names, we know where they live, we know where they vacation, etc.

Are we taking risks by allowing people to see our children on the internet? Yes. How great are the risks? I don’t know. Are there freaks out there? Yes and they scare the crap out of me. But are we taking those same risks when I take my kids ANYWHERE in public? Yes. There will always be creeps. I refuse to live in fear of them." - Mama's losin' It!

I have questioned and questioned and questioned my decision. And upon endless reflection, I am ok with it.

Now, if you have come here to judge, my suggestion is thus: Move on. Nothing to see here. Click on the back button, or whatever brought you here and visit elsewhere.

You will not like this blog. We are not a match made in heaven, and I can guarantee we will both be happier not crossing paths again.

I will write about whatever I deem appropriate, and nothing you say will change that. I am sorry if you find that offensive, but I recommend you save your typing fingers and maybe comment on a blog you DO enjoy.

I will also not turn this blog into a soapbox for people to debate whether or not exposing MY child to the internet is a good idea. This is not a Democracy. You do not get a vote.

I will, however, take your concerns into consideration, and I genuinely thank you for expressing them.

However, ultimately I think it's best that we go our own separate ways, and never the twain shall meet.

Thank you.

(You can see some of Mama Kat's other blogging tips here. Including the top tip on internet safety)

Goodbye Brain...

I've been really nutty lately.

Every thing I do, see, hear makes me want to laugh out loud, then cry. 

Ads on TV, shows, songs I hear, things people say to me... 

It all gives me that fluttery feeling in my belly, my eyes want to pop out and I want to burst into crazed psychotic laughter, then I get a tight feeling in the back of my throat, and the tingle in my eyes that proceeds me bawling my eyes out.

I'm not sure why this is happening. I've decided I'm finally losing my mind.

Goodbye brain, it was nice knowing you.

Procrastination.

I'm supposed to be studying.

I'm aimlessly web surfing.

I'm not looking for anything in particular.

I'm not sick.

I'm not hungry.

I'm not bored.

I'm procrastinating.

Sue me.

Internet woes. i.e. I'd like to use a lifeline please Eddie.

You would think with the amount of internet providers you can choose from these days I would be able to find just one that wants my business, right? Wrong.

In the past week, I have tried to sign up with three different providers, only to be told AFTER going through the entire. signup. process. that they don't have coverage in my area. One of them even went so far as to actually connect my phone, set up my internet account and deduct $238.00 from my bank in preparation of the signup, only to disconnect me 4 days later. Without telling me. How does THAT work?

Comes with free connection. And dis-connection.

"Ummm, Ms Befuddled? Thanks for your money but we've decided that we don't want to give you internet after all. Oh also, we're not going to tell you. Instead, to save money we're going to think it at you really hard and hope that you get the message telepathically."

Grrr... Don't they have some sort of pre-checking process that enables them to click a button and tell me up front whether they service my area? I mean, the sheer amount of different types of internet connections are confusing enough. They should be all begging me to sign with them and I should be all like, "No thanks, I'll try the next guy. He's cheaper." And they should be all like, "But we'll give you a puppy." And I'd be all like, "Nice try, I'm a cat person."

"We're so sorry Ms Befuddled, we don't provide internet in your area. The moon is unfortunately out of our coverage zone. We can, however, offer you a great deal on a satellite phone."

Seriously WTF?

Hungry or Bored?

Dear Brain,

Please learn to tell the difference between hungry and bored.

Sincerely,
Fat Ass

Crunchy Nut Cornflakes in a Zippy bag.

Let me ask a hypothetical question...

IS

MY

GIRL

GORGEOUS

OR

WHAT?

Apparently I have nothing better to blog about...

This is another post about a cat. Sue me.

Actually it's about my other cat. The girl. The boy is normally the freaky-weird one who does crazy stuff.

But lately my girl has taken to eating the strangest things. Strawberry yoghurt. Potatoes. Vegemite toast.

Tonight she topped the list with the best one yet.

Yep. She's eating tomato soup.

???

Feline Frustrations...

 My cat is an idiot.

I have a glass sliding door in my bedroom and he has gotten into this habit lately where he scratches on it in the middle of the night wanting to go out. There is an open window 5 metres away, but still he scratches on the door. Every. Night.

So I wake up. I get up. Out of my nice warm bed. Out from under my soft fluffy doona. Into the freezing cold night. I turn on the light. I open the door.

And he bolts. The other way. Away from the open door. Into the house. Under my bed.

So I shut the door. I turn off the light. I go back to my nice warm bed. I get under my soft fluffy doona. I curl up on my side. I close my eyes.

And the cat scratches madly on the door.

So I get up. Out of my warm bed. Out from under my doona. Into the freezing cold night. I turn on the light. I open the door.

And he bolts. Away from the door. Under the bed.

So I shut the door. Turn off the light. Get back into bed. Snuggle under my doona. I curl up. I close my eyes.

And the cat scratches desperately on the door.

I fly out of bed, throwing the doona off me in a frenzy, tangling myself in the sheets and tripping over myself as I jab wildly at the light switch causing the light to flicker disorientingly. Lurching towards the door, I sway uncontrollably, almost falling on my face as I yank it open. The cat freaks, fleeing towards the bed but, thinking I'm clever I anticipate that, tripping over him in my haste to get to the bed before he disappears under it again. He proves he is cleverer and eludes me by faking left, then going right and vanishing beneath. I. lose. my. shit. Swearing loudly, I grab the nearest God-knows-what and start jabbing blindly under my bed, attacking the dust and shoes and odd bits of crap like a crazy person, chopping and swinging and making a complete ass-hat out of myself. Exhausted and totally out-witted, I stop, put down my weapon, take a few deep breaths and look under the bed. The cat is staring back at me innocently, licking himself.

I go and close the door. I turn off the flickering light and trudge back to bed. I collapse on the mattress and roll on my side. I snuggle deep under the covers and close my eyes. I calm my racing pulse and relax.

The cat scratches on the door.


The cat is not an idiot.

I am.

Cat. Not an idiot. Apparently.

Independence day?

Tomika applied for her first job today.

Yep. I am that old.

She's just turned 15, and so legally allowed to work. When did THAT happen? There's nothing I can do about it. She wants to work. She's old enough. I'm sick of giving her money for clothes and makeup! So it makes sense right?

Where the hell did the time go? When did my little girl go from this:

To this?

Help!

Oh yeah! And...

I forgot to give a brief update on the thing that sent me away in the first place!

My physical health.

So after countless tests, the winner was, wait for it...

Inflammatory Bowel Disease

I'm on fire... on the inside.

Not to be confused with Irritable Bowel Syndrome which is apparently exactly the same except that there is no permanent damage.

Yay! ...not.

Basically, after all that angst and pain, I got a course of antibiotics and told to come back for a yearly colonoscopy.

Great. Thanks a lot body. Seriously.

Adventures in depression. And some other shit...

So I've been away for ages and it's been gut wrenching and sad and blah blah blah. I'm so not going there to relive it. Not all in one go anyway.

Suffice to say I went to the bottom of my own personal hell hole and came out fighting.

Do I feel better? Eh....

Will I write about it? Maybe...

Is it over? I don't know.

It was these two posts from two of my favorite bloggers - Jenny The Bloggess and Allie from Hyperbole and a Half - that made me realize that I REALLY AM NOT ALONE. In that good, fuzzy, deep down inside, I'm-not-the-freak-I-think-I-am way.

I mean, everyone who has had even one depressed day in their life has heard the form response "you're not the only one", from well meaning friends and family. But that has always made me feel worse. It always makes me feel guilty for feeling depressed. Like I can't take ownership of the shitty way I'm feeling because every man and his dog feels bad sometime. Like the people who are trying to help are saying, "Snap out of it, you'll be right, everyone feels like shit occasionally, stop feeling sorry for yourself." and the ever faithful, "Smile, you'll feel better." I know I'm not the only one. I know everyone feels shitty sometimes. That doesn't make my depression any less valid, does it?

And I really, seriously know you are trying to make me feel better, and I really, seriously appreciate you trying but...

Please, please. Stop helping.

You really want to help? Get me a Bourbon/Valium smoothie and let me cry. I don't know why I'm crying, I can't answer that so please don't ask, it only makes me cry more. Stop staring at me helplessly and put on Van Wilder: Party Liaison and laugh with me instead. Then maybe we'll both feel better.

Now I guess this isn't the best "I'm back!" post you've ever read. And I know this post is narcissistic. And I know It's all, "poor me I'm depressed". I guess I went there after all. But you want to know something?

I'm okay with that.

I am back.

I've missed writing. I need it.

Over the next weeks and months I'll try to find me again.

I promise.