You might as well live…

Resume

Resume, by Dorothy Parker.

Can’t sleep: cockroaches, blue tongue lizards, and geckos will eat me.

So really weird and random things happen in my household all the time. I mean, really freaking insane things. Sometimes those things are spaced out a little, and sometimes shit gets cray real quick.
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Jujicus Ju’l Jorander – palm destroyer and terrible ballroom dancer

Once, a long time ago now, I wrote about a long night spent at the vet with one of my dogs. The Dopey One. I half intended to write more about my babies on this blog but never got around to it. Writing about things that aren’t real life is way more fun than reality.
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The Fear

Sometimes I love my solitude. Well, I love it a lot. I can go days without seeing anyone I know and not bat an eyelid. Some days, I revel in it.

I love the darkness too. I’ve always been a night owl, and comfortable in the dark. One of my favourite things is the moment when you’re about to go to sleep, or maybe just lying in bed trying to sleep, and you turn the lights off. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll find a moment of perfect blackness, perfect darkness, when you can’t tell the difference between your eyes being open or closed. No light, just perfect stillness, darkness.

There’s an analogy I once read, that some people only have so much energy to spend on certain days. Only a few things can replenish that energy, like sleep or being alone with a good book. I feel that way most days. My house, my room, and being by myself are what replenish my energy. And being with my boy. They are my safe havens.

I love my solititude, my perfect darkness, and my space.

But sometimes, I get afraid of the dark.

Sometimes, I’m afraid to be alone.

And being afraid scares me.

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Generalisations and stereotypes

I try not generalise or subscribe to stereotypes. Once you’ve subscribed to a certain stereotype it’s very difficult to see the exceptions to that perceived rule, and incredibly difficult for others to challenge your perception of that rule.

Some stereotypes can be harmless, some people do embody a stereotype regardless of whether they are the norm (stereotypes have to come from somewhere, I guess), and sometimes stereotypes are infuriating. Especially to those who do not conform to that stereotype’s characteristics even though they do fit into the category.

I find myself in that last group all the time. It truly is infuriating.
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I will ride with you.

*updated*

Okay, so I’m going to jump on a bandwagon for a moment.

Actually, I’m going to stay on this bandwagon.

Anyone in Australia – and some overseas – will know about the Sydney Siege that is happening right now and has been happening for nearly 13 hours. A gunman has people held hostage in a cafe in Sydney. Most are assuming he is a Muslim terrorist, at this stage. I won’t comment that part right now, except to say I’m hoping with fibre of my being that everyone makes it out unharmed, and the perpetrator never again sees the light of day.

*update – the siege is over, as of 2am, and while the outcome could have been better, it also could have been much worse. Sure enough, the gunman will never see the sun rise again, but his death comes with the tragic and devastating loss of two hostages as well. My thoughts are with those families, and the people who must now recover from this terrifying incident.
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Delicious indeed…

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Suffering in silence

Telling some who is highly sensitive to harden up and stop taking things personally is like telling someone with anxiety to relax and stop worrying.

Or telling someone with depression that their life isn’t so bad and to cheer up.

Or telling someone who is suicidal that they are selfish and have plenty to live for.
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Little Things – a memoir

brendaroseAnother piece of creative writing for today – a memoir with just a little embellishment for effect. There is a preface that goes with this piece though; a detail that is crucial to the story.

Four years ago today, a friend of mine passed away. A beautiful, courageous girl who was not yet 18, battled against cancer. She wasn’t one of the lucky ones. I wrote this piece about her a few years ago, and felt there was no better time to publish it to the world.

We all miss you darling girl, each year gets a little easier to bear – but this day is always going to suck.

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Day In, Day Out

The third step squeaked on the staircase but the plush, caramel carpet muffled the sounds of her footsteps. Their old floorboards had always been too hard and noisy. An armful of blankets obstructed Maggie’s view and she stumbled on a toy at the top of the stairs. A short expletive passed her glossed lips before she caught her footing. The blankets slipped an inch but stayed snug in her arms till she stowed them neatly in the hall closet.

Walls of cottage white spread through the second storey, interrupted only by high gloss doorways to bedrooms, the bathroom, and nursery. Easterly windows invited in warm streams of sunlight that showed flecks of dust in the air, though the flecks were not permitted to rest on any surface in the house. One door was just ajar and deep blue carpet extended inside. Maggie’s braclet-encircled wrist pushed on the edge of the door and revealed a room furnished to precision for a little boy.
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