New Home

I've made the move to here...so much pretttier and proffessional looking, and so many more options.

Peaked Too Soon

"Hey Shana,

Sounds like you're slowly getting back on track. I must say it's been a weird experience for me so far. If I had a job/routine to go back to then I'd be more adjusted. I'm not feeling unhappy, far from it, but just kind of hanging and waiting for something but not quite sure what. Trips away and catching up with friends feel like punctuation marks, if you get what I mean. I've had a similar feeling before. No, actually I've probably had this feeling on and off for most of my adult life. It's definitely searching but not knowing what it is you're looking for. Something's missing (and it's NOT a baby). Oh God! I think this is the precursor to another existential crisis!

I got a little distracted by the nothingness that was going on around me. Now I'm settled, sitting in the lounge room with the afternoon sun filtering through the windows, a slight breeze, an icy cold beer and Sigur Ros playing in the background. I thought I might as well make this a social get together even if it's just virtual you and I alone.

Where was I up to? Pre-existential crisis. I often get the feeling that the best days of my life are already over. I think it comes from being an overachiever, having travelled quite extensively and doing some amazing things, all from an earlier age. It's like my life was (has been) compressed in time and things that people do over decades I've already done during my 20s. In the past 7 years, there hasn't really been anything going on in my life or that I've done that actually feels meaningful, an achievement or anywhere near exhilarating. It's almost like my life stopped at 27 (the age I often mistakenly mentally quote when asked how old I am). I have Thabo - he's the only really amazing thing that's happened in the recent years. But you can't live on another person alone.

I've just reread what I've written and it sounds rather depressing and hopeless...it is, in that I-wouldn't-necessarily-miss-my-life-if-I-died-tomorrow, kind of way. Oh shit! That sounds even worse. It isn't a feeling of depression, but more, resignation and until I'm able to find my passion/s, I think I might be stuck for a little while just drifting through life and wondering where I'm supposed to be. Killing time. What would ease my mind, is for some reassurance or confirmation that this will happen, and that my existence right at this moment, isn't all there is. Music makes me happy. Sorry, it's my mind drifting again as I listen to Sigur Ros.

I feel like a spoilt little shit that I'm not appreciating what I have. How many people are given as many opportunities as we are, good education, travel, nice places in which to stay, fantastic food...etc etc etc. You know what, Shana, Europe really isn't for me. {I digress from the above topic now...this is why I avoid long e-mails of free-form thought because I become schizophrenic and tangential}. I initially found travelling around Europe exciting because I'd not seen it before but I've sadly lost interest in it. The places I've most enjoyed because they impacted on me in some way are all in Africa or SE Asia. They make me feel grateful to be alive partly by allowing me to witness life in at it's simplest, human suffering and people's will and desire to live despite the adversity, and maintaining a certain dignity and pride. I feel touched and moved by the people. That's not something I've felt since moving to London and travelling around Europe..."

Tangerine Snot

For the past three days I've been blowing bright yellow-orange snot associated with an allergic rhinitis like sneezing and congestion but only with my right nostril. I thought it might have been an allergic/infective sinisitis/rhinitis although the symptoms were slightly different to my usual. I have now put two and two together. I did a line of coke (with my right nostril) a couple of days prior to the stream of snot. Strange that this is the first time I've had this reaction. Probably tainted coke.

Oopsy La La - 'Tis the End of Big Phil's Reg Grundies

I'd made a prediction at an early point in the conception of my blog that some day the name would come to an end. That day is today. I just got weary of Big Phil's Reg Grundies and have found a name more suitable to my needs. It's rather self-explanatory. Kind of sums up my life and who I am...but in a good way...I think. The greatest dilemma was if it should be "Oopsy" or "Oopsie."

The actual phrase was one that my gay friends and I would use back in the day when I was a fag-hag, to described anything/person/situation that was not quite right, confused, off centre, but could also be used in a complimentary manner by emphasising the "La La" in a soft seductive tone. It'll do for now.

Smells of Home

Rain on a hot bitumen road

Frangipani

Freshly mowed lawn

Reef oil

Ocean

Playing the Race Card

God, how Moteesha shits me! I think I'm going to have to delete and block her on Facebook. I have never in my life met someone as racist as her, despite her proud Cameroonian nationality. She is quick to play the race card whenever herself or another person of colour is pulled up on. She has never explored that it could very well actually have been because of the person's laziness, incompetence, wrong-doing or fault that they were reprimanded, singled out, not promoted etc. and whatever issue was involved, involved everything but race.

I say that she is the most racist person because she hides behind her own black skin and shouts, "Racist!" at every white or non-ethnic-minority person because "if you're white then you must be racist". How easy, cheap and ignorant a thing to do! She will never learn and better herself by doing that. Those for whom she defends are quite clearly deserving of reprimand or not deserving of praise. Clear to everyone except her because she can't see past skin colour. Part of me would love to shove her race card right up her arse and tell her as it is. On the other hand, I have so many reasons why I will not:

1) I couldn't care less about her.

2) She would think I was being racist against her anyway.

3) She probably believes that ethnic minorities can't be racist.

4) She is too stupid to understand the irony of her accusations.

The Drugs Do Work

"I only write when I'm feeling depressed." It's been 4 months since my last post. Obviously the drugs are working. However, right now, I'm having a post-holidays back to work and an I hate London moment. Just spent a week with good friends in Spain and France - I'd forgotten how pleasant people can be until then. Coming back to London was like a smack in the face - no more pleasant and warm people, terrible weather, shit work and a relapse of the cough and wheeze that I've had for months. Really makes me feel that I'm allergic to this city. Unfortunately drugs aren't going to control it.

I've Been Conned

Despite multiple attempts at buying grown up work shoes, I always end up wearing sneaker type shoes for comfort. Not very professional but, hey, at least OH&S should be pleased. For the past 3 years, my leather Chuck Taylors have had a serious work out. Loose threads, open heels and wafer-thin soles...they have officially been retired.

Now introducing, Chuck Taylor Wool...


And Chuck Taylor Floral... My feet are happy.

Ciao Bella

Bought two Kim Hargreaves kits before leaving for Oz - Bella and Rebecca. Here's the story of Bella (in Bohemian)...

Tables Turned

"I don't want to be here."

"I don't want to be here, either," Thabo responded.

The mood was low the day after we arrived back in London and it hasn't quite lifted since. (Like being injected with a dose of 'depression.') These few days I've been experiencing a growing anxiety and fear that I'm about to go on a downward spiral again. I know that I'm probably just going through the normal experience of post-holiday blues. It doesn't help that it's cold and grey. But how do I know that it's not my medications failing me? As a result, I've done the very bad and frowned-upon patient thing. I've self-medicated by increasing my dose of citalopram. I'll see how it pans out and luckily for me, I have a few GP friends and a pyschiatrist friend with whom I'm meeting up in a week. And I'll do the very annoying request for personal advice "because you're a doctor". Interesting to have the tables turned.

Or having the shoe on the other foot.

Fish Out Of Water

Stepping out into the hot balmy air is like being wrapped in familiarity. The sensations of past experiences come flooding back (the ochre Aussie accent, the laid back friendliness, tanned exercised bodies, the singing cicadas) just snapshots in a collective time creating livestreams of relived memories. In short, nostalgia. That was me at the airport. Even the coffee from the little airport cafe tasted better than any of the shit they call "coffee" in London.

I've been in Brissie for 4 days now and have settled except for the ongoing jet lag. At 3pm sharp daily begins the battle to stay awake. I've succeeded once so far and going by past trips home, will take a week to resolve, which is fortuitous since we have a wedding to attend at the end of the week.

We celebrated my birthday having drinks at an old friend's home (Mitch, and his boyfriend, Ryan, who would put any one else's Vogue Living featured house to shame) with a handful my the dearest friends and their partners. This was followed by a flash dinner which Thabo insisted on paying for in its entirety. He has yet to realized that although the pound goes far in Australia, it doesn't make one obscenely rich. It was a fantastic night with everyone having a good time.

Thabo and I went back with Mitch and Ryan for a few more drinks. Part of the evening went like this:

Ryan: "Where's the fish?" Their Siamese Fighting Fish was not in the fish tank on the kitchen diner.

Me: "Has he jumped out again?" This would be it's third time since they've owned him - he was once found on the floor and another, in the kitchen sink - both times he was able to be resuscitated by placing him back in the tank.

Mitch: "Is he on the floor?" And so we all look towards the ground. By our feet was most of the fish. The rest of him was smeared across the floor.

Me: "Did someone step on him?" Quite clearly someone had but I felt the need to state the obvious.

Thabo: "Well, it wasn't me." At this point, we all looked down at the soles of our shoes. There was no fish seen but on the sole of Thabo's shoe was a wet stain. Amphibious fish; Can survive on land but is no match for Thabo's foot.

I really miss hanging out with old friends.

Back to the Motherland

3 days until we board the Heathrow Express and on our way to Home. It's always a mixture of excitement and apprehension with these trips across the world. Will I be welcomed home? Will it still be the same Australia that I love? Am I going to get homesick with the thought of having to leave again so soon?

We'll be making a short stop in Sydney for a wedding. It seems like (and is) years since we left. I feel a certain sadness at returning because so many of my friends have since moved away. I only have a handful of people I need to catch up with. And there's a sadness about having moved from such a beautiful city. I remember the feeling, quite well, of exhilaration every morning I walked over Pyrmont Bridge, across the harbour and through the city bathed in morning sunlight. And the intense blue skies. I felt that amazement everyday; Being overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding me. I haven't felt that since leaving.

And Brisbane, my childhood hometown. I love her more each time I return. Watching her grow and slowly come of age. My family and friends close by. I'd love to resettle in Brisbane. Of course, it's not quite a possibility with Thabo's work. And I do feel guilty that I can't be closer to my parents. Dread comes over me if I dwell on it too long. It must be a sensation familiar to every 30-something year old - ageing parents and the sick feeling that time is running out to get to know them more, to continue to share your life with them. It's hard to do living across the world from them. I hope that there is plenty of time ahead.

Nerd Family and Metamorphosis in Rhumba

Ta-da! I frogged the sleeves of my Jilly cardi and now have a poncho and a vest in Rhumba.

I've been shopping at various sites trying to get a hold of Ribbon Twist in Rabble (out of stock and no longer in production, I was informed by one shop) and am awaiting Racy to make myself yet another poncho. Here's Ava in Rabble that I prepared earlier. I'm waiting in delicious anticipation for my two Kim Hargreaves kits. The Hargreaves have been very sweet over the phone sorting out my order.

Our lounge room resembles a hobby and craft store at the moment . I've been into knitting and Thabo, in an effort to relax and relieve the stress of work, has been building model aircrafts. We're like two children playing with our toys. Or as he fondly refers to it, "We're the Nerd family."

Knitty Narwee, A Hater of Cats

I've started knitting again. The last time was about 2 years ago when the nurses and I got into a scarf knitting frenzy. I started again just before Christmas, as a way of calming myself. Meditation, if you will. But this time, I'm actually knitting real things. Here's my list so far: 2 scarves, 7 beanies, 2 ponchos and a cardigan. I'm in love with Rowan Ribbon Twist yarn (I'm about 3 years behind everyone else) and Kim Hargreaves' patterns. I've ordered 2 from her website.

These are some of my beanies knitted from Rowan Country. Not enough heads, so I've given them to friends and family.

This Jilly cardigan is from the Ribbon Twist Collection. It looked great in the book in red. I'm not too impressed by it. In the colour Rhumba it looks like a granny's cardigan. I thought about giving it to my mum initially but have decided to take it apart and make another poncho instead.

The Ava poncho is so graceful. I fell in love with it immediately. Here it is in Regency. I've made myself one in Rabble and am awaiting more wool in other colours. So mum, my Aunty and my friend in the States (who is experiencing a Homer obesity moment as a result of excessive doses of carbimazole for her hyperactive thyroid) will be receiving wooly gifts made with love.

In any case, I've become a real knitting geek. I've been searching knitting blogs to check out other people's works...and I'm bloody posting photos of my own knits! Thabo calls me his Knitty Narwee. But at least I don't have a cat. God, how I hate cats and it seems like every other knitter out there has a cat. Knitters and cats. Single women and cats. Lesbians and cats. What is it with cats? But I love dogs and get more excited about being able to own a dog one day than I do about babies. Then I'll start knitting dog clothes. Yep, gonna be one of those sad people who treats their pup like a real baby.

28 Days Later

28 days later and I feel human again. My motivation is back and I'm able to carry on with normal activities of daily living. I have been grocery shopping without fear and am back on track with cooking from scratch with real ingredients. I haven't wished for my own demise for over 3 weeks and at work I'm generally cheerful. I've started laughing again. What a welcome thing to be to do! And my favourite; I've gone back to actively procrastinating. I can choose to procrasinate. It's not just a never-ending dark tunnel in which I walk now.

My legs drown in sweat every night but that's the only down side of being on my Happy Pills.

Sometimes this feeling of "I'm alive" sits like a bubble in my chest ready to burst into uncontrollable laughter. I don't have the sensation of elation but I'm really looking forward to when it eventually comes.

Feeling Better But Sweaty

Last week was day 7. Whether it was a placebo effect or the medication starting to kick in, I don’t know. But I do know, I feel a little lighter. For the first time in months, I didn’t tear up walking to and from work. I no longer wish I was dead. I feel like, although things aren’t great now, I have things to look forward to in the future.

Saturday, I almost felt normal. I didn’t get the shits. I didn’t feel like killing people who bumped into me on Oxford street. And I managed to stay this way the entire day and night. Even Thabo noticed a difference, saying that I seemed positive and much livelier.

I had a set back yesterday getting upset over a tiny issue. It cumulated in me feeling the same inescapable universal woe. “I wish I had a different life.” I hate the life I have and there’s no escape from it.

Other than that, I'm hopeful that things are starting to look up for me. I have the strange side-effect of waking up drenched in sweat, like I've gone to bed in wet clothes, but it only happens with my legs.

Belated Christmas Present

I finally received the Christmas present I wished for. Now, day 2 of citalopram. No major effects yet except insomnia, anxiety about anxiety being a side-effect, feeling spaced out and a pervasive sense of dread and apprehension (always apprehensive about things I might need to do - I can't even enjoy quiet moments because I'm in a constant state of dread about what might- and it's for non-issues. I can't go to the corner store without feeling anxious or preparing myself mentally). Actually, that was all there before the medication.

I know it takes 2-4 weeks for effect. I'd like to know what happens after that. A slow rise of me becoming me again? What if before-now-me isn't all that she was cracked up to be? Right now I see me as a failure as a person who had been given every opportunity in life - good home, education, friends, partner - and I've dumped all over it.

I want to throw my career out the door because I'm so afraid that my cover will be blown, that I don't know my way around. Still. My self-confidence is zero, I'm always second guessing myself, and I can't commit to what I think I know is right. I had a shit day at work because I wasn't sure of myself and couldn't give anyone a straight answer. I wanted to run and hide. I say to myself that I don't care about having this career. I don't know if I say this to make me feel better, or if I'd be better off without it.

I don't know if I have certain thoughts because I'm depressed or if the essential me really believes them. Thabo tells me, "You're wonderful. Everyone sees that except for you." I don't like me very much.

A Country Run By Shaved Monkeys

This country truly is run by shaved monkeys. Administrative staff, payroll, government office workers, telephone operators of banks, gas, electricity boards…the list is endless and I’m excluding Indian call centre operators.

I still receive letters from telephone/gas companies where I have cancelled the account. What part of “No” do they not understand? In a few instances, I’ve cancelled twice. Did I inadvertently cancel my cancellation?

Pay Office were informed weeks in advance that I would have an earlier start date than the usual hospital term. I again reminded them just prior to my start. Being paranoid and distrustful, I contacted them to ensure that I was being paid for my work. No, I was not.

The Postal Redirection have not been able to enter our correct name and address details on each occasion that we have used their service. For God’s sake! I’ve written down the details exactly as they should be – all one has to do is to copy them. I just can’t understand where the difficulty is. What part of the task is causing a problem?

Hello, Council Tax department. We’ve moved. These are the names of the people ie. Thabo and I, who will be residing at this address. Our first council tax demand – “Dear Dunce and Thumbo…”

Hi, Council Tax. It should be T-H-A-B-O and I on the account. "Well, Dunce needs to call us." But Council Tax, Dunce doesn’t live at this address, nor will he, or has ever. What is the point of me letting you know the details of the changes if you’re not going to act on them? "Okay, I’ll changed it to yours and Thabo’s name. Anything else I can help you with today, Ma’am?" Yeah, how about, get a brain?

Hello, Thames Water. We’ve moved. Thabo and I will be residing at this address. Our first Thames Water bill – “Dear Dunce…”

Every day, there is some kind of, even if minor, battle. What concerns me greatly is that professionals aren’t immune to lack of common sense or intelligence. My lawyer exhibits no discernible work pride or is it competence? I paid through the arse to have a professional sort out my HSMP application. I needn’t have. I’ve had to mark up every form that she completed and sent to me for signing. Scarily, she even got my visa category incorrect. Here’s just a list of other things that made me question her abilities:

Commenting on how policy changes through Home Office into chaos. WTF?? Did she mean “threw” Home Office into chaos?

Incorrectly writing my address on separate occasions. You can’t just put the flat number and postcode without the street number; Is she not aware that many flats can occupy the same street?

Printing incorrectly my e-mail address on documents despite corresponding with me via e-mail.

Me having to clarify what she means in each of her e-mails…Thabo, who is a master drafter of contracts had difficulties understanding her. Eg. “You will be invoiced when we have received the completed application.” What? You mean you haven’t received the application I sent you three weeks ago? (She meant, yes, they have received my completed application. They are waiting for HO processing). I still haven’t received my visa-stamped passport but I have been invoiced. So, I’m left wondering if her initial statement was just wind, or if they’ve returned my passport but obviously to the wrong address.

(Arrgh! I irritate myself with all this nit-picking.)

She asked, “What were we going to charge you for our service?” Umm, did she actually mean how much I think she should charge for her service (disservice)?

Unfortunately, she came recommended by a friend. I could see that her purposeful manner and manly booming voice could give the impression of straight-shooting no-nonsense let’s-do-this~ness. The lesbian haircut helped too. I wonder if she could have done a better job if she was a lesbian, ‘cos you know, she’s a woman, I’m a woman. Sisters doin’ it for themselves. Who am I kidding?

You're Depressed

And so it drags on. Attended my counselling session which allowed me to blubber and voice, for an hour, how I've been feeling. She was very nice, picked up on verbal and non-verbal cues, paraphrased well and empathized.

She concluded with, "I think you're depressed. You should give anti-depressants some serious consideration." Well, no fucking shit!

"Have you spoken to Dr Mahmoud about it?" How many other ways can I tell him? The first thing I said to him was, "I'd like to talk to you about starting anti-depressants." He must want me to make my first suicide attempt before committing to a diagnosis. I feel even more helpless because he hadn't made any follow-up so I'm stuck in purgatory until the New Year. How can getting a prescription be such a protracted difficult process? How I hate him.

Coming Down

Drank myself silly and danced the night away to bad music. I recall dancing with the he-must-be-gay-but-seems-to-be-trying-to-get-it-on-with-all-the-girls waiter. One of the nurses drove us back to our neighbourhood and I thanked her by vomiting over her car, just the outside, but it's still vomit that needs to be cleaned up. And like a tired old story, I had to be walked home, then passed out in the lounge room leaving Thabo to put me to bed.

I was so acutely aware of my intention to drink excessively. All night I felt prickly and socially awkward- unhappiness trying to push its way through. I woke up this morning still drunk. As the alcohol wore off, feeling down in the dumps came on. It felt worse than any other drug-induced come down I've had. The same shit ten times worse along with guilt, shame and hopelessness on top of the hangover.

I couldn't go to a friend's birthday bash tonight because I was so fearful of breaking down in public, in front of others and humiliating myself more. Or humiliating Thabo. He made sure that I knew that he was sticking by me through all of this. He sent me this message on his way out:

"You are the most beautiful person in the world. We will get better. I will make sure of it."

I'm in a bit of trouble. I hope my counselling session goes okay. I'm scared of it turning out the way it did with the GP. He was my last hope and it felt like he destroyed it.