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.