I finally understand where i kept on going wrong…

All my life I’ve been your regular, look-up-into-his-steely-eyes-and-know-that-he’s-the-one kind of girl, only to discover.. through a friend’s behaviour, that in fact i’ve been going about it the wrong way… for 20 odd years. Shit.

I watch her go for the same type of man over and over again, same patterns of behaviour, same mock heartbreak, same lack of sense or regard for her professional reputation, same victim mentality crap after they zip their pants and walk out and same hours upon hours of listening to sad music and crying herself to sleep – “FOR FUCK SAKE WHAT DO YOU EXPECT?!” I want to scream at her whilst shaking her tiny shoulders. How can she not SEE that she is making such horrible choices? How can she have so little regard for herself and her health and safety? How can she switch off from being a single parent for THOSE decisions to be made…? Decisions that could affect her forever? How can she judge me for feeding my children CAPSICUM or using a 30 minute wash cycle?! SERIOUSLY? WHAT THE FUCK???

So… I was chatting to an old friend – he needed a cheer up, i reminded him that 12 years ago, i fell in love with his mind and * S L A P !!! It hit me like a tonne of bricks…. THIS is my problem… i keep on checking out hot guys and wondering why i don’t actually have any interest in dating them. I watch my friend shag countless ‘hot guys’ and be heartbroken afterward… THIS is the problem…. what happened to falling in love with someones intellect? Developing a relationship based on common interests or shared passion or common awe in something? Bonding over mastery, reading to each other, dancing to jazz, laying still and watching the birds play in the fading light, talking about the shadows on the ceiling or the shapes the clouds make…. pointing out stars? WHAT HAPPENED to the real things? Why must everything revolve around looks and status and income and happiness projected via iPhone onto social media? Of all of the guys i have loved, the only ones i truly miss are the ones whose minds i loved, who i shared a soul connection with. They were the deepest hurts, they were the saddest breakups, they were the heaviest losses. Not even ending my marriage left me that shattered.

Much better sex with those guys too…

I get it now. So do I explain it to my friend? Or let her work it out herself?

Why do we think we can control animals?

I’m in the bath… Silent house, dark but for moonlight and suddenly the hairs on my arm prickle up. I hold my breath, thinking I’ve seen a shadow… Boom boom boom… My pulse in my head… “Catty?” I say… I make three little kiss sounds… and his naughty grey & white face appears around the bathroom door. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. I haven’t seen the little jerk since December. It’s almost May. 

Last January a friend of my sisters found a litter of newborn kittens, no mother in sight she took them in and set about finding homes for the nine of them. A single mother, lonely when my children are at their Dad’s, I thought why not? We could all use a little companionship, a little responsibility & I was potentially saving a four legged life. Right?

I brought him home in the cup holder of my car. The children immediately adored him. I did all the right things, worming, immunisations, spaying, the best food I could afford, a micro-chip, a collar with my mobile number… I named him Owen Wilson because of his eye colour… My kids didn’t get the reference.. They called him Catty. 

He’s cute & friendly, he does what he is supposed to… Where he is supposed to & only scratches or bites in self defence. We move house and he comes along, taking well enough to the larger space & freedom of his older months… Then he just stops coming home. At first I am worried, fearing the traffic…the children cry – I walk the streets calling his name.

Weeks go by, then months…

I hear a shriek from outside. It’s my daughter saying, “Catty!! Catty!” Then she’s crying because he has run back off as quickly as he popped in for a visit. He’s okay! I wonder where he’s been? Why doesn’t he eat the food I leave out for him? Fucking cats. I should have listened to all my friends. 

The doorbell rings, it’s a lady I’ve never laid eyes on. “Are you Owen’s Mother?” She asks… “Ahhh…well he’s my cat if that’s what you mean? Is he okay? I’ve not seen him for months.”… “Oh I just wanted you to know he sort of sleeps on my bed at night time now because I can’t refuse his sweet little face at the door when I tinkle at 1am… I pull the prickles out from his paws and bottom… He’s eating the good food from the Vet & he is safe, I don’t mind… I’d have all the cats in the neighbourhood… It’s his choice you know? … Not to go home…”

😳

Wtf do I say to that?

“She’s claimed him.” States a friend who has owned cats for years. 

“Hmmm she’s keeping him.” Says another… 

but what can I do? She’s right… It’s his choice to come home or not… How can I say I own him if he was free & there were no papers signed… A microchip means nothing to the Cat himself… Who am I to decide where this nocturnal little jerko resides? We have a deck, four noisy children & a bed for him in the garage. She offers lush grass filled with bugs to chase, no children, two other cats, her bed to sleep on AND the best cat food money can buy. 

I’ve not got a leg to stand on.

Do I have a right to be upset? I don’t think so. 

Do my kids? Perhaps. 

Can I do jack about it? No. 

I’m not going to force an animal who prefers to roam – to sleep in the garage and eat the cat food a broke single mother can provide. 

I walk across the bedroom floor leaving a trail of drips behind me and usher him outside with my foot. I wind all the windows back in to less-than-an-inch open & get back in my bath. 

My Dad says I dodged a bullet. My Cat-liking friends say lets make a plan to get him back! My allergic ex-boyfriend says the cat was an asshole anyway.

I am a human. He is a cat. What right do I have to do anything other than have a rant about it online then sink down below the bubbles?

Why I don’t watch the news…

So it’s 4:24am and I have just dreamt that the Queen died. I felt sad… She’s the same age as my Grandmother & I feel like I’ve grown up with William & Harry… Princess Diana and Prince Charles even got married the same year my parents did… It got me thinking about the news.

My Physio asked me yesterday what my take was on the Lebanon Kidnapping. I had to ask him to fill me in, because I don’t watch the news. Now that I’ve mentioned it, being a single parent myself – well – they’ve all gone about it in a shitty way, but I’m with the Dad on this. You just don’t let your creep new boyfriend share a bed with your children. FFS. 

Anyway – most of my friends and family know that I haven’t watched the news for years. It’s depressing as all shit & I sort of wonder why so many people DO watch the news!! There have been a few published studies relating general human depression and frequent doom & gloom news watching, but I am unsure as to why more humans haven’t come to this realisation themselves?! 

Most of the news stories I remember from when I was young revolved around death, like when Princess Diana died, or Michael Hutchence or Geoff Buckley… Even the April Fools stories from the 90’s when I was in Primary School were scary: “A Cat bigger than a farmhouse is terrorising a country town..” – WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING US?? 

I remember being at home, randomly channel surfing on the 11th of September 2001 when those two planes hit the twin towers. All the coverage suddenly switched to the panic and mayhem of NYC and subsequently, the World almost instantly. I woke up my parents. We watched for hours. 

We are in Australia, so I know I tend to feel far away from these things, but that night, I sat there feeling like I was right there in the middle of it. I was crying and afraid; which of course was the aim of the game for those terrorists, and to this day – all of them. Panic. Worldwide fear and pandamonium. That is what they want. Well fuck that. They’re not getting it from me. I decided then, at the tender age of 18 not to watch the news & I haven’t. Not since then. 

Don’t get me wrong, I know about important current events… From friends, from FB, but fucked if I’m gonna spend my life living in fear  or regretting bringing children into this world, or feeling sad and depressed at the state of human kind and the environment. No, I’m not going to drag myself through an hour of that every night, or every morning, just to feel… What? Afraid of the Internet? Scared of people? Constantly shocked and upset by the sick, abusive freaks who live amongst us? 

No. Everyone has a choice, and mine is not to watch the news. 

I get my weather from a weather app, traffic from the map app or the radio if necessary, Bushfire warnings from my FireReady app, and sport… Well I can google that or see what my mates are ranting about on FB. I get updates of the War from my housemate on her deployment 😑 great. (I hope you are noting my sarcasm.)

I don’t believe it’s a fair (or useful) measure of intelligence to know how many women or children were abused on Naru because our Government is fucked or how many gun deaths there were today in America because their gun laws are ridiculous or even which anorexic celebrity got married (why do those stories make the news again?). What is the point of bogging down your otherwise happy life with negative shit BY CHOICE on a daily basis?

Call me ignorant as much as you like, however I would prefer to spend that hour of my life reading to my children, listening to their highlights of the day, the three of us talking about one thing each that we are proud of for the day, and cooking them a nutritional dinner.

I hope other humans are making this choice too, and I would love to hear your opinions.

  

**update… Have just logged into FB… Prince Died 😭 WHAT THE FUCK? Omg I am devastated. Case in point. RIP Prince – I hope there is Thunder all through the night… X 

How do you know when you’re ‘grown-up’?

At first, i thought it was when my first boyfriend suddenly dumped me after five years and i decided to move to England, alone, at 19… wasn’t grown up then… just experiencing grown-up emotions…

then i thought it may have been the first time i was proposed to when was 21. nope.

When i walked down the aisle to marry my first husband, pregnant with my first child… well that was a definite contender… however, 8 years later and with a second child, i am not convinced that was very grown-up either.

Receiving my government signed and stamped Divorce papers in the mail was quite grown up i thought at the time, “yep, this is it… i am finally a grown-up!” – but still didn’t really feel it until this morning when one of my oldest and dearest friends said to me, “i realised without even know it, I turned into one of those people who is procrastinating about pretty much everything…” and then my Physio who i have known even longer said, “i just don’t like having to maintain my body…” – i agree with both of them. I feel the same as both of them. Perhaps we DON’T “grow-up” so to speak.

Perhaps we just grow older, less patient, less motivated and more frustrated.

Growing-up, when i was a kid… was drinking alcohol and driving cars. I suppose i didn’t think much about the responsibility of a ‘grown-up’, because as a child, i was blissfully ignorant.

Does knowledge make you a grown-up? I look at my Grandfather who arguably knows more than the lot of us, because he has been around almost 90 years, however he acts more childishly than my six-year-old son!! So i would say no to that one too.

Maybe i need to stop worrying about what behaviours i think are grown-up or not and start enjoying life in general… stop putting time limits on myself, stop thinking “what if?” and “when this….” or “when that…” – and just BE.

What do you think?

 

 

…the good fight…

What are you supposed to do when you are more passionate about someone than you have ever been in your whole life and you want to fight for them… but they won’t even consider a conversation… how can your feelings be that strong when theirs clearly are not? Can you imagine chemistry?

I am perhaps guilty of having too positive an outlook on life and have been accused by a few of blokes of being all “rainbows and unicorns” – forgive me for saying “fuck you” to all of them because at least I am not a depressed alcoholic, drowning my sorrows every day and every night and hiding behind a put on smile, at least I am not so far up my own arse that I would ever judge another person for their job description, or level of income or sexual orientation, at least I am not so gutless that I wont even attempt to open the floodgates on my own history of shitty skeletons and try to sort them out on hope of finding happiness and being stable enough to accept it. At least I would never, ever abandon someone I truly loved in their most desperate time of need.

I have been brought up to fight. To fight for what is right and to fight when you find that person that makes you think and feel and open up spontaneously and have shared passions with; you fight for any little part of their life that they will let you be a part of and for the comfort of their arms and their love and their smells and their cranky little mannerisms; you fight for their apocalyptic larders and their paranoid under-car-checking and their awesomeness written about in real, published books. You fight for their knowledge and belief in all that is good and for their strength to surround you when you are afraid; you fight for their Dad jokes and for their beautiful family and for your own beautiful family. You fight because you know that if you DID fly off the back of their motorbike one day they would wait by you in the hospital until you woke up; and you fight for that chance to remind them that they CAN let go and that they DO deserve happiness and that you will help them get through their baggage and come into the clearing and be there for them always. You fight for the amazing sex, the insane intimacy and your mouth shaped in a silent “OH”; you fight for the moment between pain and pleasure when they hold back until you relax into it and you feel everything combine into one, the intensity almost too much to handle; you fight for the back scratches and bites and gripped arms and bruises and sore wrists and aching wanton sexual desire you have for them.

You fight for that moment to happen again where the words “I love you” were on the end of your tongue and you didn’t say them for fear that they would not be reciprocated. You fight.

You just fight. You just don’t give up on something like that.

…or at least I do, I would, I did… but they didn’t. So it’s their loss. They wont ever have that chance again.

I am not your second chance.