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Hey, remember that time...

Recently I've been having movie-like flashbacks in my mind. Involuntary memory flashes of random moments in my past that leave me thinking 'where'd that come from' before it speeds off again. Flash. Waiting for a bus to Cam's at Glenroy on a cold morning. Flash. Sitting on the steps of Spencer Street Station after escaping from the calls at work. Flash. Chilling in my secret space above my wardrobe at Wallan. Flash. Fearfully standing outside the arts room by the 'Life be in it' paintings in primary school.

I didn't understand why these memories were coming up in this manner. Mostly they were negative, or stressful memories. On thinking on them more I realised their point and purpose. I've realised that in those moments and many others, I was caught up in the moment and in the negative emotions that were felt. My mind and body were overwhelmed by what seemed like such a definitive state. In that moment there was nothing else, no future, no past, that place was everything and it wasn't a good thing. But now, sitting here, in Preston at 2 in the morning, 2, 5, 10, 15 years on, does that moment at Glenroy, Wallan or wherever really matter now? Or, at least as much as I felt that it did then? Sure, all these little moments add up to make my history and who I am, but that specific moment, when the whole world was crashing around me is nothing to me now - no scars are left form it.

This realisation is relieving because when I feel that overwhelming state come on now I remind myself that once it passes it will be just that, the past. More importantly when it passes it will be insignificant, as insignificant as the hundreds of other times I've felt this way, regardless of how much it doesn't feel the case in the moment. Perhaps in a few years I'll have this random memory come: Flash. Standing at the Flinders Street Station intersection not moving after multiple green man opportunities because I just couldn't. Even 10 minutes later it was past and insignificant.

Trees and soil

I thought I saw you once, it was someone who wore green pants and an orange top, very earthy. But I guess it wasn't you. That's okay though, 'cause if I saw you now I think I'd dismiss you anyway. I might fear the interruption, because it would be an interruption to my world. I look forward to when it is you I see, even if I'm not ready now. It's not as if being ready has anything to do with it anyway, nor that being ready for you is something I can be. You will enter the room, and after some time of being polite and respecting the current set up of furniture you will begin to question the room, 'do you think a better place for that plant could be below the window?' Before I know it we'll be moving couches together, 'that works better there' and 'how about this here?' After which, I'll be living in a brighter, more open and welcoming room. Now I do wish it was you in the green pants and orange top.

Balncing; knives on one side, fire on the other.

Waiting, just waiting. Because there’s nothing else to be done. Eating excessively has been tried and failed, regardless of it’s immense success in the past. Now I just sip water, move around every so often to ensure I am not locking up and write. I am managing to prevent the anxiety from escalating into an attack which I think is a great accomplishment in itself even if I am unable to rid my body of the anxiety completely. I am performing a delicate balancing act right now. I’m on the edge of tipping over the edge into a panic but keeping myself upright. While I do so I also gently look at the other side and wonder what I can do to stop the anxiety altogether. In the past, when panicking, I couldn’t think see such a wide picture as I see now. Now is an improvement because I am picking up the tools to manage it.
Enough positive optimism, I need to vent, dammit! Fuck this is a pain! Fuck off! Leave me the fuck alone you fucking arsehole anxiety! Ah, better (well not really).

Not weak at my knees, My Knees.

Wednesday 14th October, 7:30pm.

I have just had someone tell me to write about him and then he'll read it. Since I have an epic blogger's block and a desire to move the pen, I will take his advice write about him but he won't be reading it. For the sake of this post we'll call this guy 'My Knees.' My Knees works at Lentils so my assumption on first meeting him a couple of weeks back was that we'd have some things in common, would get along and would have good conversation. This is far from true. Conversation with this guy is so incredibly awkward and more than that, this guy is a little creepy. *My Knees rubs Kristy's back as he walks by.* Make that a lot creepy. Truth be told, on first meeting him and when he showed an interest in me I did consider having some fun with My Knees and I reciprocated some interest. Oh how I wish I hadn't. I realised, after I had a reality check on him from my girlfriends, that I was just wanting to be into him because I was wanting a little fun. But to be with someone creepy and that has nothing going for me? Nothing is worth that.

I had a similar experience with a guy I met at Vegetarian Network Victoria's social dinners. Again, I hoped to have some fun with someone who walks a similar path to myself but instead I met 'Nick', we'll call him. Nick is not veg*n either, which is fine. I just wonder if these non-veg*ns hang in veg*n circles to pick off the weak from lack of iron. My iron levels are fine boys, leave me alone. So Nick, same deal, he seemed fine at first. Actually, he was lovely at first, very kind and we had awesome conversations. But then after seeing him a few times he got to telling me that he needs to have sex with me (or anyone) to prevent headaches. Nick moved up on the creep meter when he was offended that I hadn't invited him to my Mum's birthday dinner, I couldn't follow that boy's reasoning on that one. Nick exceeds My Knees on the creep meter with some seriously inappropriate behavior, after I had already said we weren't to be more than mates, at which point I stopped hanging with him, deleted his number and de-friended him on Facebook.

I was interrupted at this point by My Knees. My Knees making me super uncomfortable, My Knees not catching my hints, My Knees making me tell him straight that I am not interested. The boys I've dated (or whatever) since I've been single haven't all been like this. I've met some lovely guys, I've taken something from each of them and am really building a picture of who I'd like to be with, if it came to that.

And while on the topic of being single, it has been a year since Cam and I broke up! A year!? That is insane. I would say it feels like it was just yesterday but if that was taken literally I'd be crying, lonely and grieving. But figuratively, it feels like it was just yesterday. I am speed dating in a couple of weeks. Vegan specific speed dating, what fun. I wanted to do it last year when it was on but having just broken up with Cam, it didn't feel right. A year on now, I think it will be fun and who knows, perhaps I'll avoid the My Knees and the Nicks and find someone who I like. At the very least I'll meet some other vegans, which is something I'm craving after a year and a half of this lifestyle.

The point of my post? I'm not sure. Boys. Stay away from the creeps. Enjoy the nice ones.

Life goes fast, it's hard to make the good things last.

I visited Nicole today. Laying in the bed, if it weren't for the machines and monitors hooked up to her, I would have just thought her to be asleep, in a deep sleep. I held Nicole's hand and she held back, I rubbed Nicole's arm and she felt comforted. It was as if she responded to my touch but at the same she was not responsive at all. She was warm, which I was surprised by. I was then surprised by the surprise, I wasn't sure why was I expecting her to be cold, but I was. I spoke with her for a little while we were alone, I struggled with doing this. Going in there I had the intention of chatting to her about all sorts of things but once there I didn't know what to say beyond "Hey Nicole." Can I really tell her about my life? I can't ask her what's going on for her. I told her that I've been thinking of her every day. I told her I know she's strong and I'm proud of her. And then I stood next to her rubbing her arm until the family came back, it was nice to be by her side providing love and comfort.

Nicole's mum, Chris, wore a face of strength and bravery but below the facade you could clearly see and feel her intense anguish and grief. She is getting herself ready for this to be what her life is from now on. Mothering her grandchild and caring for her brain damaged daughter while keeping herself together and sober throughout. Chris spoke to Nicole with such tenderness and love, "that feels better now Nicole" as she rubbed cocoa butter into her hands and feet. She was a drained soul, weak and empty, but still was clinging onto something, whatever it is she can find to cling onto for the sake of Nicole, for the sake and Nicole's son. Such a strong woman to be able to endure this after already facing the death of her two eldest daughters. Incredible strength.

Nicole's partner's intense pain showed in his face a lot more. When I saw his face all I could think of was how I  would have felt if Cam had this happen to him. I couldn't begin to comprehend such torture. This pain is heightened by guilt of being the driver and walking away without harm. Dave tried to express to me how this torture feels but he couldn't. No one can take the burden and pain away from him, instead he has to sit with it and ride it out until it is time to feel relief. I watched Dave press the knuckles of his closed fist against Nicole's. I wondered if that was a unique thing to them and it made me think of the way Cam and I would scuff each others' palms. I pictured myself in Dave's position and Cam in Nicole's, if it were many years ago. My head dropped and I continue rubbing Nicole's arm.

Too tired to title (but not to alliterate)

When I was younger I thought, I genuinely believed, that males don't love like females do. I felt while females can fall in love and feel that full blown compassion and connection, males don't and perhaps can't. This was true, in my head, for both romantic relationships as well as father-child relationships. It's amazing how the messages we are fed as kids can impact on us as we grow. 'Males are self serving.' 'Males don't open their hearts.' 'Four legs good, two legs bad!'

It wasn't until a compassionate male fell in love with me that this misconception began to change. And even then, it took some time. Before Cam, I was seeing a boy who fit into this mentality I ran with quite nicely - he was a jerk, frankly. Enter Cam, stage right. Cam came into the picture and threw all what I had been told out the window. I was skeptical at first and needed convincing. It took me sometime to realise that he was for real when he expressed love towards me ("I am for reeeal", haha, remember Cam?). It was weird in the beginning, breaking down those beliefs that were firmly planted from a young age. I can faintly recall what it was like when the shift happened. I realised that Cam does love me as I did him and the same can be applied to the boys around me. I started seeing other relationships differently, I saw the male from a whole new angle.

A change in my thinking that fathers don't love their children came later (and perhaps these new beliefs are yet to be completely developed). The shift began when my eldest brother had his daughter. Of course Ben became a slave to the love he felt for his daughter when she was born - a strange thing to see. But seeing is believing, my friend, so I began to realise that fathers do feel love for their kids. As I continued to see more fathers this new belief strengthened and the misconception began to vanish. Although, still to this day traces of the old belief still remain, and it's no secret why this misguided idea has stuck. No secret why I feel surprised (?), unsure (?), relieved (!) when I see a male pushing a pram or holding his kid's hand.

You can always depend on the kindness of strangers

Kissing Kitten's snout tonight, right in that perfect spot, spooning her curled up body - a perfect fitting puzzle piece, and just to smell her (!) is blissful, just blissful. I love her so deeply, she is damn amazing.

This morning I woke without her in my bed, I did not know whether she was safe, how she was feeling, what she was doing - it was heart breaking. Today I put up lost posters. Poster after poster, each time I taped a poster to a pole I would see her gorgeous face smiling at me below the words 'LOST DOG.' Kitten's face should never be on a lost poster, I thought, to have to create this poster was crushing. The feeling that I would never see her again, that I would never hold her was more than I could bare. She was gone without a goodbye, I thought, without one last kiss. As I walked around Preston looking for Kitten I could feel the sun on my skin and sights of the beautiful world would ignite some excitement and happiness in me but then I would remember. I would remember and I'd ask myself if I could really enjoy these amazing things without Kitten, could I do anything without Kitten? Agony was felt, this feeling was sharp but short, it was replaced by numbness, an empty heart. I appreciated that numbness, I couldn't deal with the constant sharp pain of losing Kitten.

Lionel said to me 'what fucking good a microchip would do!' She would have to be turned in by someone for it to matter, and that wasn't going to happen, he told me. Are we really that horrible? I didn't put 'reward' on my posters. Seeing 'reward' on these posters angers me, how did this monetary reward bullshit begin? What sick bastard would only return someone's treasured friend to their loving home for a reward? Are we really that self serving? The night Kitten went missing a friend told me I can always depend on the kindness of strangers but I wondered, I was unsure.

When I saw Kitten walking the footpath on a lead, safe and happy, I couldn't be more relieved. The man who found Kitten was amazing, he really put himself out for the sake of my special girl. When she was lost and terrified in the storm he spent a great deal of time to catch her and he took her home and looked after her. I couldn't thank him enough; he saved my girl, kept her warm and happy and then brought her back to me. This man wasn't the only incredible person in this story; the person who messaged me after seeing a poster to wish me kind words in my troubled times was beautiful. The many people told us stories of hope as we taped up posters were lovely.That's what we are - Incredible. Beautiful. Lovely.

Fear and Ecsatsy in the Les Mills world

While team teaching yesterday I was fantasising about taking over the class, making it my very own permanent. Dreaming about this cute, comfortable class (which requires me to wake at 5:30 as opposed to 5) being mine, all mine. I'm not considering poisoning the class' current instructor, if that's how this has come across, but instead he is moving to America in 6 weeks. But they were just that, fantasies, I mean, 6 weeks (?!) come on! Nice to dream but I can't be taking my own classes in full in 6 weeks. I have a comfortable goal set for after the next release which is mid December.

During my participation in this morning's class, in a very Kristy way, I was shooting back and forth from thinking 'I can't be an instructor, it's just not in me! And do I even want to be?' to 'I can be great! Hell yeah I want this, this is my passion!' I think in the end I settled on the latter (and by 'I think' I actually mean, 'Hell yeah' :-p). After the class the instructor (a different one to Mr. going-to-America) said my naughtiest fantasies out loud, "you know, with Brad leaving you are in the perfect position to take his class over." You can't say those things! Or can she? And can I!? She said it with a straight face, no mockery there. And more than that, she said that of course I can ready in time!

Now blog, I feel like I am seeking guidance, like I need advice, I feel lost. But why? The path is clear, I talk to the coordinator about the possibility, I tell him I want that class. I work my arse off to be ready in time and I go for it, without hesitation. I said, "without hesitation," but still, I'm hesitating!

I think I have finally reached that point where it is actually hitting me that I am going to be an instructor. I have been living in this surreal, make believe land, I've just been going through the motions but not actually feeling it, nor believing it. Even when I have instructed, even my first time on stage - all a blur. The thought of having a class to call my own as being an actually possibility...omg, seriously, wow.

It's certainly been an interesting ride since the Body Step training, who would have thought the strain would be emotional as much as (or possibly more than) physical? The training weekend itself, which I don't think I told you about, dear blog, was certainly a damn hard physical test, 16 hours of training our bodies to be 'Body Step bodies' as they call it. And the emotional side, the pressures that we were put under, what we had to endure to pass. And I did that, I passed, so there must be some good fight in me! After that weekend came my emotional crash. A week of questioning everything, drinking, not exercising and smoking (smoking!?). After which I found Kristy again, remembered why I was in it, I felt the love for Body Step again and started training once more. The next emotional experience on my Body Step travels was my first stage appearance; shadowing the launch of 78! What this meant to me was incredible! To be part of this launch in such an important way, to be doing so in such an important class, with an amazing  instructor! And it was that, incredible and amazing, to say the least. Again, an emotional crash came, this one was shorter, perhaps 4 days and once again I remembered the passion and up I got. The next Body Step milestone was taking my first tracks. I chose tracks 5 and 6 from release 76 which is the release I fell in love with so hard you couldn't keep me away from Body Step even if you tried. Track 6 was the track I was assessed on and track 5 was the one I wish I was assessed on. It went well, for a first timer, I was pretty good. So I did not, just did not, see myself drinking Jim Beam in an emotionally shaken state that night, but again, the crash came. This one really blew me away, unlike the others it was fast and sharp. It hit as soon as the class finished, or much more accurately, as soon as the adrenaline rush was over. From the great emotional high I was on came a great fall, and I fell, like I say, into my friend Jim. But this was only the one night, although that night I thought there would be no way I'd instruct in 3 days time, the next morning I was up again and absolutely going to instruct again.

So that's where I've been, where I am going now? I have been sitting here thinking on how to answer that question and right now I don't know what to tell you, blog. I can't answer that question right now because I am going so fast from one extreme - not a chance I'm up there in 6 weeks, to the other - of course I can do it! From fearful to ecstatic! Questioning everything. If the previous pattern is anything to go by, this one shouldn't last through the night. Perhaps we'll talk again tomorrow and I'll tell you where I'm at then. Right now, time for Lentils baby!

Kristy's regular world again

In the office, 7pm, everyone has gone home for the evening, which is surprising for the people at this office but I suppose it is a Friday. The office is completely dark save a few monitors, I haven't bothered bringing light into the floor. I am here to collect my bags after just having left drinks with the work guys at the Bond Lounge and I am about to head to the gym. First I will have a protein shake, put on the dishwasher and take the tea towels for washing this weekend. Walking through the office, my mind distant with thoughts, I am shocked by the entire floor suddenly lighting up. I look up to see the walls light up a radiant orange and an instant later it is gone, darkness again. It is incredible how in an emergency situation, or perhaps just a situation you are unsure of, everything slows down. Your brain triggers the body's physiological responses and you are equipped to deal with the situation. In only a second your mind can have what seems like hundreds of calm and careful thoughts, as if someone has paused the spinning of the earth and said 'let me know when you're ready to play again.' In that second in which my world went from black to brightness my thoughts discussed the situation, 'what's that?' 'I'm not sure,' 'perhaps a terminal blew up,' 'it's coming from over there.' Although my thoughts were so responsive in the situation, it took so much longer, a couple of seconds, for my muscles to receive the message, for my head to turn towards the light. So I turned, and out the windows of the office, out in the city and across the Yarra I saw flames in the night sky. Huge fireballs, six or so, being blown into the air in a magnificent display. It is quite a scene, the power of the towers exploding the flames and in a moment they are gone, they became smaller and smaller balls of fire and then gone. Darkness again. I froze for a moment in awe of those few seconds in which my world slowed down close to a stop and then sped up again as the flames excited my mind and body. I froze for a moment, felt the warmth, the spark, the thrill and then all gone, I continued on my way to the kitchen, Kristy's regular world again.

My old friend, how I don't miss you

1:30pm
Today is a beautiful day, the sun shines down on Melbourne's pretty buildings. People walking through the city are meeting friends for lunch and fair trade coffee. I sit at a table at the Bare Pear, a gorgeous little cafe that serves organic whole foods. On the bookshelf in this cafe I found books on topics of eating for good health. This is my kind of place. I have finished my delicious smoothie with fresh fruit, soy milk and a shot of flax seed oil. Today I lunched with Al, a special girl that one, always great to see her and catch up on our lives. Al has just left and I continue to sit, I am not going back to work, I just sit. I'd like to say that I am not working because it's my day off and I'd love to say that I just sit because I have nothing to do but enjoy this stunningly beautiful existence. I would love to say that, but I can't. Instead I'll tell you that I am not at work because the anxiety won't allow it, that I am continuing to sit because the paralysis is beginning to take me over and that I can't enjoy my surroundings because my insides are agonising. You've heard it all before; my heart races and races, on the brink of exploding - but it doesn't, I wish it would. My stomach feels and tastes revolting, turning and turning. The sickness can be felt from the bottom of my stomach right to my mouth where I feel like I am gagging on it. My head spins - it contains unwanted, overwhelming images. I can easily access my rational thoughts, 'everything is good,' 'this will pass,' but knowing these things, having my rational side still in tact is only torture because it not only makes no difference to the anxiety but I realise what it is like for it not to be there and I desperately long for that. Multiple times I have began writing to describe the locking up of the muscles but in not wanting to give in to a helpless, immovable body I think that of course I can move which means there is no need to write about it. When trying to move my leg the images in my mind become strong and painfully intrusive, knives, pills and accidents of all kind rush my thoughts. I keep saying to myself, 'just don't feel this way,' 'there is no need to be like this,' I sound like someone who doesn't get mental illness. 'It's not something I can easily control,' I respond to myself and amongst this internal conversation the images are flashing - flashing! A friend who I am meant to be meeting calls, I tell her that I can't meet because I am having a panic, quite frankly. 'Perhaps I can meet you later,' I tell her, 'depends on how this turns out.' What an odd thing to say, but it's the way this anxiety thing works, I could be fine in an hour or could be effected for days. My friend messages me, 'what can I do?' I don't respond, I don't know how to. What can she do? What can I do? What can anyone do? At this stage I am either heading to the doctors or to bed. I call my doctor, she is not in, I hold back the tears. Time for some intervention, Valium or a natural remedy? I have been sitting here for hours and hours now, drinking tea and smoothies to attempt to calm my stomach, man I need to pee! I call home, no one will be there tonight, is that a good or bad thing? I have plenty of friends to rely on if that's what I choose to do. What to do? My heart begins to quieten, my tummy is feeling more normal, I slowly and carefully consider the option of moving and I don't panic from it. It feels like the anxiety is subsiding.

7:45pm
After that episode I was able to gradually work on removing the anxiety from my body and mind and now I am anxiety free. I am in bed nearing sleep - an episode like that leaves one exhausted! It's a good thing I am looking to sleep now as I am teaching in an early Step class tomorrow. That's right, I will be fine tomorrow morning - I feel strong and together. That experience which I described right as I was in it, and ones like it, are really bizarre things. Sure, I study Psych so I get it on a intellectual level but even with the text book knowledge and even having had the first hand experience I still find it an incredible thing. It is amazing how one can be hit with the anxiety so suddenly and so strongly and after that that's it, they are lost to it, no control, no hope. And then it can be gone just as fast as it came an hour later or perhaps one might not be so fortunate and are still struggling a week later. When I was typing out what I had written all I can do is think was 'yep, that's what happened,' but since I am not experiencing anxiety now it seems so separate from me so surreal but when you are in it, it is your whole world.

So what now? Should I be getting treatment? I have been avoiding seeing a Psychologist because of the cost. I don't think the anxiety is severe or frequent enough for medication. Are natural remedies effective enough for this condition? I don't know if it will happen again within the next few days or not for another few months. Perhaps I should get myself some Rescue Remedy or some primrose oil or something of the like, see how I take to that. Things to ponder. What I do know now is it's time for a pie and sleep.

Oh, my friend from earlier just called. She has decided she is coming around to see me. What a truly great friend. Okay, now it's pie, Ange, then sleep.

The things that make us who we are

'How do you spell animal?' the young girl asks the back of her mum's head, clutching a permanent marker in her hand. Her mum tells her, not taking her eyes off the television. The girl remembers the combination of letters as she goes back into her bedroom where 'AN' is already written on the wall. She finishes the word with care and precision, 'IMAL.' The girl stands back, places the marker on her desk and looks at her work, she thinks this representation of what she loves looks good over the floral wall paper of her room.


She met him for the first time in the hallway, by the front door. There had been a knock at the door, the doorbell doesn't work and the familiar visitor knew this. The girl ran to the front of the house but waited for her mum to walk the hallway and open the door. The door opened to two guests; the girl knew the man who had knocked, he was the friend of her older brother, he greeted her mum but the girl wasn't interested in him. The other guest was what caught her attention, she was meeting him for the first time. On meeting her new friend, the girl didn't yet realise how he would change her, that he would teach her to love and respect all creatures, she would never be the same because of what they would build together. The girl fell to the ground and hugged her new best friend as he excitedly jumped all over her, licking her face.


The girl loved her encyclopedias and educational books. She would spend hours in her bedroom reading information on all sorts of topics. The sections she enjoyed the most, usually were about animals or the environment and she would copy these out in her notebook, word by word and trace the pictures. The girl came across a section on White Seals, there was a picture of an adorable seal lying in the snow. A fluffy creature with a tiny body, a cute round face. The girl read about the White Seal to horrifically discover that the babies are killed by way of clubbing and their fur used for clothing. The girl was outraged by this and thought everyone needed to know. She took the book with her to school and showed everyone the cute picture so they too could fall in love, she then went on to tell the people the horrible news about how they are beaten, their lives taken away from them for a selfish purpose. The girl knew they only pretend to care.


23 stitches the young girl had in her leg after she was bitten by the Blue Healer. In the hospital bed the girl asked what would happen to the dog. She had seen and heard enough to know what a cruel world she lived in and she wasn't stupid, the dog was to be killed. The girl didn't agree that the dog deserved this, it was his breeding that made him the way he was. The family loved their dog a great deal and would never let this happen again, they would keep him away from strangers if only he could live through this. It was only a slip in judgment and no real harm was done, the girl thought. The girl asked her mum to please not allow them to do it, the mum gave her daughter a look to say 'it has to happen.' Tears filled the girls eyes and she pleaded with her mum, she begged and screamed that a life shouldn't be taken. 2 weeks later the girl ran to the sound of the doorbell and opened the door. A young lady stood in the doorway holding a large koala teddy bear, she asked to see the girl who was bit by the dog. 'That's me,' the young girl responded and to this the lady handed her the koala, explaining that this was a 'thank you' for what she had done for their dog, her family couldn't appreciate it more.

Walking down the dirt road, the girl and her friend excitedly discussed their plans. 'We'll put flyers up in the shops.' 'We can make coupons.' The two girls planned to start a dog washing and walking business, after school and on weekends. When these girls hung out in their bedrooms, lazed out on the floor or bed, they would rarely speak of boys, instead these girls spoke about animals, passionately. They loved animals and hated the abuse and use of them that was seen all around. They planned to donate all the money that they earned washing and walking dogs to the RSPCA, they had no interest in keeping the money for themselves, they knew using it to help animals was more valuable. When the girls told their parents their plans, their parents couldn't say or do anything but give them looks that said 'darling, how do kids come up with this stuff?'

VCE at Kangan, the girl's class could orally present on the text they were studying or a topic of their choosing, they had free range. The majority of the class presented on either the text or on what was in the media at the time, gay marriage. The girl decided she wanted to do something different, something that would have an impact. She spoke to her English teacher for inspiration, she admired his view of the world greatly, how he would never be something or someone just because it was the norm or expected. He suggested that the girl might be interested in Australian philosopher Peter Singer's writing. The teacher thought the girl would be interested in this topic based on a creative writing piece she had done earlier in the year on the tortured experience of a dairy cow. The teacher had some of Singer's writing in his office which he gave to her as a place to start, she read with great interest the theories on Animal Liberation.

It was a Friday evening and the girl was driving home from work. A striking thought came into her mind. It was a thought in that instant which meant a significant and permanent change to her life. This girl was to be a vegetarian. She had lived with the guilt and disgust of eating meat for many years. For years she knew it was something she didn't want to be a part of but continued doing so, guiltily and painfully so. What it was about that moment, not a moment a year earlier or a moment a year later, she couldn't tell you. But there it was, she was to be vegetarian and there would never ever be another moment in this girl life where she would consider eating meat. Vegetarian, and although she didn't know it yet, veganism, would bring purpose and incredible happiness to this girl's world. And there she was, she had arrived at her destination.

Three Kristys and an Alf

This weekend (granted I still have most of my Sunday to go) has been a mush of being old school Kristy, the new Kristy and anxious Kristy who, chronologically, sits in between old school and the new Kristys.

Cam can vouch for this picture of old school Kristy. She enjoys nothing more and doesn't want anything but days, many, many consecutive hours, to stay in bed with a hot water dog, wrapped up in many blankets, smelling of someone who hasn't been a part of society for quite sometime and eating loads of junk food (in this weekend's case, the junk food has consisted of donuts, cakes, pies and sausage rolls from my much loved and conveniently close and cheap vegan bakery and of course, as like most weekends, a packet of Doritos and a jar of salsa which I included an avocado for dipping under the pretense that it will transform it into a healthy snack). Old School Kristy's hours are swiftly swallowed and never to be seen again by the consuming and stimulating images and noises of Theme Hospital and Warcraft 2, satisfying is the feeling of achieving the goals of and bringing order to a fantasy world, using those at my command to do so - cartoonish and cute characters be they - doctors, nurses and janitors or footman, arches and knights. And because that is not enough visual and auditory stimulation to serve as a distraction from reality, Futurama, Simpsons or a random chick flick (Dirty Dancing was the flick of choice this weekend) plays in the background as old school Kristy does her thing and does it well. Really, I think I would have spent the entire weekend in this embrace if only I weren't depending on Clinton's power cable to bring life to my laptop. But, alas, dependent I am and therefore have only been spending the hours that Clinton sleeps to live in this hospital or mythological forest - which, since good old Clinton is also being old school Clinton and sleeping for many hours, the time that I have with his power pack lasts me until the afternoon.

Once Clinton rises and takes back his laptop power, I am one distraction down and feeling the anxiety coming on. This is when the new Kristy steps up, takes the reins and sends away the anxiety the way she knows best - the gym! So off I head into the city on both my Saturday and Sunday to pump the iron and pound the treadmill belt (but not train in Body Step, just this weekend - long story perhaps for another post). The new Kristy is adrenaline fueled, feeling good about herself, loving that she is working towards a huge and great achievement (perhaps like combating the goals in her fantasy worlds but this one is something real and something admirable). After the gym, the new Kristy food shops (loving the feeling of being in the fruit and veg and health food sections of the supermarket) and cooks a healthy meal (hollowed out tomatoes stuffed with tofu, fresh basil, mushrooms, spinach, pine nuts and left over avocado from when old school Kristy existed). The new Kristy meets a friend for herbal tea and warming conversations on a wet and cold day. The new Kristy, arriving home, still laptop-powerless and unable to crawl back into old school Kristy's world, takes on an alternative (and healthier for the mind) path to distract herself from the anxiety and let time be consumed - reading a damn good book while listening to damn good music. Cloud Atlas and Emotional IQ are my current reads which send my mind into a happy and calm state. And of course my usual music choice to match this cognitive state being predominately the Kinks and Kimya.

Clinton has just popped in asking 'where his power at? Bitch.' He allows me 10 more minutes to finish my post and then it is time for old school Kristy to morph into the new Kristy. Oooh, I just moved position in my bed and oh my, a major case of pins and needles in both my feet and my butt is painfully numb (is that possible?) - the result of not moving an inch for the last however many hours Theme Hospital has been controlling me (although I was under the impression that I controlled it, pfft). In this dual Kristy world, the third Kristy, anxious Kristy, has made herself known at different times. Her presence is strongest in the transition from one Kristy to the other, hence my heart mildly racing now, as well as at night or on first waking. I am not too annoyed with anxious Kristy for making an appearance because, truth be told, she isn't saying too much, she speaks quite softly this weekend and isn't causing me too much strife (strife? I think that's Alf's from Home and Away's word. No Kristy that I am or have ever been has watched Home and Away).

And that's my weekend - lovely. (Now I'm quoting the Pancake Parlor! Struth! Or is that what Alf says, 'Struth!'? Why the hell am I talking like Alf anyway!?)

Holos, "whole." Kaustos, "burnt."

This morning I was remembering about when I first learnt about the Holocaust, I stated thinking about this on my way from my morning Step class to work. What got me thinking about the Holocaust was a rude Step participant who decided to make my instructing experience a difficult one, a big jump from one thought to the other, but somehow I got there and here I am.

I didn't learn about the Holocaust until year 9, which I think is quite shameful. It was in English, which I always thought was an inappropriate place be introducing these occurrences to students. Sure, we were studying Elle but it became a matter of exploring the concepts of the Holocaust as opposed to the concepts of the book. So complex and intense are the concepts, perhaps better suited for History or a social science subject. Anyway, there we were - the teacher cramming 30 students into a small square in the center of the class room which was measured out and segmented by chairs. This was to simulate the confined space that the victims were subjected to as they rode across the country to the concentration camps. It was good to see the teacher thinking of ways for us to really understand what it was that these people went through but I remember thinking that he'd have to throw some corpses and feces in with us and leave us trapped for weeks to imagine what hell awaits us to even being to come close to simulating the experience.

I wonder how a teacher stands in front of a class and explains what happened during this time, how do they say, "During WWII, not that long ago, a group of people systematically and very consciously tortured and killed more than 11 million fellow beings, as disgusting, painfully and inhumanely as possible." - I guess like that. I remember my reaction, it was confusion and lack of understanding, "huh? what!? why!?" The questions flooded in, the jist of them being, "why would people do such horrific things to another?" - Or how could they!? I slowly began to understand with explanations such as the area being in a Depression, the genocide was designed so that people didn't see the great affects of their contribution or the individuals detaching themselves from what it was they were doing - they were just 'making the trains run on time.' Having studied Social Psychology and the experiments done specifically on the questions, 'how?' and 'why?'. I begin to understand further.

I think that's one of the main reasons why I study Psychology. To understand what forces contribute to a person's behavior because for someone to just be bad or evil doesn't cut it for me. I study Psychology to understand objectively and scientifically why people do the things they do. I feel more comfortable with being a person with these human qualities and living in this world when I can explain or understand behavior in this way. I still struggle with the questions daily, 'why would/how could someone consciously, and even intentionally cause another person pain or distress?' Usually when caught in the situation, the objective Psychologist is thrown out the window because I see something so horrible happening and all I can do is feel the pain and repeat the questions in my head, 'how?' 'why?' And these questions send me insane, quite honestly. It does my head in to see it happening, it does my head in to see it being allowed to happen. More than that, it makes me depressed.

So what are my ways of dealing with the empathetic overload? Firstly, I volunteer myself to help others; this is my biggest motivating factor. Because although, admittedly, I do turn a blind eye to a lot of suffering in the world (some of this suffering occurring in my own home), a way of me dealing with the pain that surround us in this world is knowing I am at least doing something, I am at least helping someone. It means when I ignore a homeless person on the street I can tell myself that I am doing what I can and that I can't help everyone. The other way I deal with all of this, like I've mentioned, my mistress Psychology. When I can't take it anymore, Psychology allows me to hide behind a clipboard and lab coat and instead of feeling the pain of this world. I think up explanations and sometimes, justifications for such behaviors and for the state of society as a whole and that way I am not so much feeling it as I am observing.

Ah, defence mechanisms, a fascinating Psych concept that has very much been on my mind lately. More to think on the topic, more to blog on the topic.

Jenny

Jenny, aged 14, until recently lived with her Dad. It was just the two of them living in a small, 2 bedroom house. Jenny deeply loves her Dad and it is clear he loves her too. Despite the great relationship they share, after Jenny's Dad lost his job and his drinking started in the morning she couldn't live with him anymore, the Department told her.

Jenny stays in a foster home now, a loving family; 3 kids, 2 parents and a dog that the family walks every night, together. The family is a bit too nuclear for Jenny's comfort but she'll admit it is nice to have some routine, even if it is, at times, too routine. Living in a home with breakfast at the table and a bed time is certainly different, she is told she'll adjust. Jenny is used to being the only of her friends at school that has the unusual family. Her friends all have a Mum and a Dad at home, whereas Jenny has always seen her Dad as both parents in one. When Jenny was little, her and her Dad would build a tent in the lounge room or eat ice cream for dinner, but not every night. When Jenny reached puberty she was more comfortable talking to her Dad about the changes than her friends were talking to their Mums. Her friends ask Jenny why she doesn't live with her Dad anymore, if he is so 'cool'.

Jenny's Dad didn't tell her when he started feeling the despair, he usually tells her everything but he didn't want to worry her about this. She's too young to have to face something like what he was going through, he would think. The drinking was only a few each night to feel better, not a problem, he would think. He had no idea it had become as bad as it was now, he thought about this for hours as he sat in an arm chair in his now empty house.

Jenny's Dad, although missing her terribly, is glad that Jenny is being looked after while he gets better. He explained this to Jenny when they met in a room with couches, a coffee table and toys and teddies surrounding them at the Department. The Department workers observed the conversation as tears roll down both faces. Jenny's Dad tells her it won't be very long at all, and she will still go to school and Netball and see her friends so not much will be different. They will still see each other, just once a week, he tells her as he gestures to the interview room designed to be warm and safe.

When Jenny and her Dad meet, Jenny tells him all about school and Netball and what she has been up to during the week and on the weekend. He will tell her he is doing better, each week he says he is doing better. Jenny wonders how many more times they need to meet like this, how much 'better' he needs to get before she can go home, but she doesn't ask. On the nights that Jenny sees her Dad at the Department she doesn't go with the family to walk the dog or eat dinner at the table. Pizza on Thursday nights, Jenny is allowed to eat in her room on her own. The family understands that she needs some time to herself on this night. The other nights, however, Jenny enjoys walking the dog, she is happy and talkative.

Jenny has made a new friend. She is a bit older which suits Jenny fine as she has always felt she enjoys hanging out with adults more anyway, at least cool ones like her Dad. In her new home the kids are young, still in Primary School and the Mum and Dad, while nice, are a bit too stuffy. So Jenny enjoys hanging with her new friend, it shakes up the dry routine a bit. Jenny didn't know what to think of her at first, she came around one night and ate with the family, Tuesday night, pie and veggies. At first Jenny thought she was from the Department, after dinner while the family walked the dog, they stayed home together and she explained that she doesn't work for the department. Instead she is just a girl at Uni who hopes to make friends with Jenny. They can hang out, she can help with homework or if Jenny ever wants to chat she can give her a call, is how the girl explained it. Jenny was a bit unsure at first, but now they get along great, she's a cool girl, Jenny thinks.

Jenny texts her new friend after school to see if she wants to hang. 'Cool, I'll come around, I'll bring that book I was telling you about,' is the reply. Jenny likes hanging with her, they do adult things like go to cafes and talk about books and boys. Sometimes she goes with Jenny to the Department to meet her Dad, Jenny prefers this than her foster Dad taking her. Other times Jenny will call her friend at night, under the doona, and they will talk for over an hour! Jenny likes that she doesn't tell her that she should be going to sleep because she has school in the morning, they don't talk too late anyway.

Everything that has happened for Jenny over the last few months has been a big change and of course a difficult thing. Jenny knows her foster family, her new friend, the Department and her Dad are all doing what they can to help her. Some nights Jenny cries when she misses her Dad or doesn't understand why things seem harder for her. But most of the time she is strong, like her Dad asks her to be, and she is happy with her foster family and new friend.

I love my bear in his cave

Thursday, September 17, 6pm

Here I sit in my funky cave. A truly blissful moment, relaxing on the couch, listening to The Cat Empire, sipping peppermint tea (being proud that it's not Bourbon). These days there is not much in my life that I'd like to be different. Sure, it's hectic and at times overwhelming but it has been carefully designed and architectured by me to be just how I want it.

In the notebook that I currently write in I stumbled upon some writing that I did in January. In this piece I spoke of the grief around the break up with Cam and more specifically how being on my own was an issue for me. After so long of of being in a partnership such as ours it's not an easy thing to move away from. Turns out once you break through missing what's familiar it's quite a nice thing.

I've been pondering on independence lately - independence of moving out, independence of being manager-less and of course, independence by way of the single-hood. When Cam and I were dependent on each other, we had each other to make decisions with, while this was at times a good thing, it was often a dangerous thing. It had a similar affect to group think. I found we tended to support each other in bad decision making more often than good. We were great at taking in turns to disguise, justify or down play the consequences of such decisions. And of course from this habits aren't too far behind.

In the first episode of being single I ran with the bad decision making habit, whether it be with my health, my finances or other. After a little while, I stopped short to realise consequences exist and I am the only one around for them to affect. This is both a scary and empowering thought. Scary because when I get overwhelmed or would like support, I look around and it's just me. Empowering because this life becomes all mine to mold, decisions are mine to make and benefits are mine to reap.

So this being solely responsible for myself thing goes one of two ways. Sometimes I'm scared, overwhelmed and fumbling. Otherwise I'm empowered, in control and like I say, deliberately architecturing an awesome life filled with funky caves with gorgeous inhabitants and a pot of peppermint tea.

The 8th one across...

Reading Asia's letters tonight, I'm clicking on the particular colors which I can expect to be to a boy and, ah, exciting. And she does excite me, her descriptions, her talk of 'fucking,' same goes for writing by another, exciting. And I've had a few drinks tonight so I can say these things. The thing I miss most about being with someone is the regular sex, and I don't even need regular, semi regular will do me. Thoughts of sex has been bombarding me recently, I see a boy and that's it, my thoughts will be there, without going into too much detail. I want and need him. Surprisingly it's not the case with girls though, it surprising because girls do it more for me sexually, maybe I think it actually might happen with the guys where as it's not so likely with the girls. I wonder if it's going off my meds that has sent my sex drive through the roof. Whatever it is, something's given or perhaps I should say something's got to give or I'll...what happens if one's deprived of sex? Hmmm, maybe I'll be finding out.

Sex, hmmm. I remember having a conversation with Court a long time back, I guess I was still with Cam, about sex and what it was to us. To me, back then, it was something special and not to be shared with just anyone. I guess back then, with Cam being my only and my love I had the luxury of that way of thinking. Attitudes have definitely taken a shift since then. Still, to shag someone they need to be someone to me, but the criteria has, ah, relaxed over the last year.

My boozed state is wearing off, wanting to blog on the topic of sex is becoming less. If you had of caught me an hour ago I would have been much more interestingly discussing the topic, more, ah, descriptively. Probably safer this way, saves me waking in the morning to delete evidence of the night before.

Always will I be strong and proud.

No longer will I work towards gaining the approval of someone who holds no respect for me anyway.

No longer will I allow this unfounded criticism to slap me to the ground.

No longer will I think I should have done something differently to satisfy these expectations that I'd never hold for myself or anyone.

No longer will I let my place in this world be challenged nor my confidence in myself be shaken by these destructive attitudes.

No longer will I be left feeling the sharp pain of rejection by someone who disapproves of my core attributes.

No longer will I be convinced that my best qualities are in fact down falls.

No longer will I feel lonely and fearful of abandonment because of my beliefs or experiences.

No longer will I hurt myself to be accepted or justified.

No longer will this negative energy get a pass into my space.

No longer will I see someone else negatively because they too have had these attacks directed at them.

No longer will I be sorry for who I am.

Always will I surround myself by and collect the energy from those who love, accept and respect me - unconditionally.

It's funny how certain memories stick with you and seem to continue to have an impact long after they no longer matter, and some barely mattered to begin with. One day, quite a few years ago, Cam and I were catching the V-Line from the City to Craigieburn. That's where our car was parked and we were cruising our way home to Broadmeadows from there. As we got off at Craigieburn I saw a woman who was obviously stressed speaking broken English to the train conductor. This lady had boarded the wrong train and was trying to get to Glenroy, she didn't understand why the train didn't stop there or how she was to get home now. The train conductor was being fairly inconsiderate, he pretended to be supportive but was really giving her the 'it's not my problem' brush off. Of course my thoughts went straight to giving this lady a ride home to Glenroy, after all it is 10 mins out of my way. For her to find her way home now would be really, very horrible - this was before Craigieburn was Met, so not an easy trip and additionally her Engish skills were lacking and she was obviously confused about where she was. In the end, for reasons beyond my control, I couldn't take this woman home. I walked passed her and away carrying her problem with me as a heavy burden that belonged to me. I still think about this lady, more often than I really should, after all she is bound to have found her way home by now! When I think of her I feel pained that I couldn't help her, I feel a sense of responsibility and mostly I feel regret.

Why has this memory emerged itself tonight? I've been thinking about my desire to please people and how in doing so sometimes leads to doing wrong by me. I continued to think about this and how this tendency can leak into my relationship with boys. I thought about times when I have spend my evenings doing anti-Kristy things (drinking and watching cricket!) for a boy, or how when told I have to be 'all in or all out' I jumped to say that I am all in (which resulted in a relationship crash not long after because I really should have stood my ground on what I want to begin with).

This sort of behavior has also been a issue for me when it comes to boys and sex. Don't get me wrong, I am not about to sleep with a guy just to please him. Actually, I had a guy asking me to spend the night with him a week or so back, long story short, it lead to me forcing him off me (I have no issue with that) - that's not the kind of thing I speak of here. In these surroundings it can be easy for a girl to fall in line with the 'a boy will only like me for sex' kind of thinking. I guess what I am saying is while I am not one to let someone use me, especially physically, I have allowed this kind of thing, on a smaller scale, to go on.

I think self-esteem plays a big role in this kind of behavior, another reason this topic is hot on the mind - today has been a low self-esteem day (which fortunately for me is something I am not too often affected by). When I am feeling critical of myself and a certain someone else is presenting with confidence and being so sure of themselves (and sometimes putting me down at the same time) I feel my power being stripped and as if I have to give them what they want. If a confident boy is saying to me, 'I have other girls waiting to date me so it has to be all in or all out,' for instance, the part of Kristy that lacks in confidence will give him what he wants. This train of thought is leading into the issue of respect and whether the guy respects me. On a low self esteem day I may ask myself the (obviously ridiculous) questions, do I deserve this respect? Or what can I do different to gain this respect? Which further encourages the confidence in the boy and the put down of me and leads into the doing what the boy wants which of course only leads to a deeper lack of respect.

This is the part where I'd go on to speak about how I am to correct this issue. But I don't need to do that, it's all obvious - love, girl power, R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Perhaps I'll watch an episode of Gilmore Girls to learn a valuable lesson in how to relate to boys :p

I think I have some in my drawer at home?

Sharp pain in the chest along with a fast racing heart. Head light and dizzy, however full and pounding at the same time. Stomach aching with nausea, pleading for vomiting. Panic felt for no reason which results in panic over the panic, because I know how bad it can be. Where's that Valium?! Oh, that's right, I threw it all away! Quite rightly too, Valium is only an easy way out. And how so easy it is, how blissfully quiet my previously anxious world turns once I slip a few. Yes, definitely for the best that they have been tossed.

So what's happening now? Is it just the pressures of this life I am living, combined with the pressures of the upcoming Board Meeting resulting in a temporary relapse? Because I am certainly not going back to that place, I won't allow it!...or am I? The images are returning, thoughts become obsessive. Where's that Valium?! Oh, that's right, I threw it all away!

I remind myself to remind myself it will pass and when it does I won't even believe that it was felt at all. Because Kristy's world will be grand again. Right now it feels all encompassing and permanent but at the back of my mind I know better, I know it will pass, let it pass... Where's that Valium?! Oh, that's right, I threw it all away!

The best thing I can do is to not let myself use the anxiety as an excuse to 'get out' of something, in this case - work. It's a duel between my subconscious and conscious selves. Both stubborn, neither wanting to back down. The subconscious part of me thinks it better to avoid a challenge, it's main deciding tool is past experience and it's main motivator is to relieve discomfort. The conscious part knows that dealing with the challenge head on and leaving it in it's dust is truly the best way to eliminate discomfort, it's main tool is logic and main motivator is logic. I'm calming down...logic wins.

Sunny Beans

Today is the first day in September and the first day of Spring. Spring is a beautiful season; birth of new life and new possibilities, optimism and hope are in the air. I am very much looking forward to the nicer weather it brings as well.

I am saddened to be leaving August, however. August being Hands Up For the Homeless month; raising money and awareness by cruising the city streets in my pjs with a teddy and balloons in hand or hosting a Hands Up morning tea at work was loads of fun. I have worn wrist bands to represent what it all means and to stand up for the cause all throughout the month. Every time I have seen the bold colors wrapped around my wrist I would think of my commitment to not just this cause but commitment to living my life dedicated to improve the lives others in this world. A burst of excitement and passion every time I saw the bands, a feeling of comfort as I slept with the bands attached to me; I will certainly miss that. They are still on my wrists, I think it is time *removes bands.* Fortunately I move straight from one project to the next. Tonight I am hitting up Anglicare to hopefully get involved in their volunteer program mentoring foster children.

Yes, I will absolutely feel less hungry if I eat half my bean and give the other half to someone with no bean than if I ate the whole bean.

Venus? Or is it Mars?

Personally I don't like to see a distinguishing line between men and women. Instead I prefer the line as horizontal and a continuum not a divider; masculinity to the left and femininity to the right. Sure, you will generally find more males congregating to the left and more females at the other end. But when looking at people individually, they can fall anywhere along the continuum, and they will. A person's sex doesn't dictate their gender. A friend of mine who although was born with a female anatomy, has always been a male and eventually transitioned into a male's body, actually, this is more a case of gender dictating sex, perhaps the way it should be.

The other extreme to my way of thinking is ideas like males shouldn't express their emotions, where as females are over emotional, for example. That specific sexes exhibit particular behavior and things of the like. Some people see social depictions of male and female roles as true, as set. Oh boy, don't get me started on the frustration of gender stereotypes. Please, saying 'he's a male' isn't an explanation of someone's behavior, there is minimal correlation there. And how does being male and a dancer equal a homosexual? - these are just a few frustrations I've faced of late. Those ideas around sex and gender are fine if that's what you hold, just doesn't sit pretty with me.

I do accept that sexual hormones do affect a person's behavior, thinking, and emotions to some extent, which will push them towards their sexes' side of the continuum but factors like personality, upbringing, values and just basically who the person is, plays a bigger part and could find a male sitting comfy to the right and vise versa.

I have been fortunate to dodge the 'boy meets girl' and the subsequent gender role playing part of the program. A big chunk of my post-puberty life was spent with someone who also didn't fall in line with social expectations based on his sex and happily sat where he felt comfortable on the continuum. Lack of exposure to the games that adolescent boys and girls play which reinforces gender roles (except for receiving the occasional bunch of flowers from my boy) is probably what developed my sense of this continuum. Makes for another reason why I am grateful that relationship I had, perhaps without it I may have developed into a chick flick watching, make up wearing, waiting for the ideal male to make me whole kind of girl *shudders*.

The reason I bring these ideas up now is because I have left that comfortable relationship where I didn't need to think about sex and gender issues; previously my partner and I both happily sat on our places on the continuum which worked but now I have moved into the dating world. Since I have been put in 'the game' I have actually caught myself saying things like '...because he's a boy,' or 'what a girl wants...' when really it should be something like '...because he's [insert name here]' or 'what Kristy wants,' *hangs head in shame.* I have actually been playing games which rules I don't really understand, 'I need to wait 4 days before I can text him? What? Why?' It's not a comfortable thing to do, so at first I ignored the rules, if I like this guy I should just straight out let him know, right? Failure. So perhaps I'll give this game a try, after all I am female and he is male perhaps it's the way it should be. I took my girl friends' advice and made him chase because of course 'guys love that!'. Failure. Then I think perhaps I should stick with dating females. Although this thinking just reinforces those pesky stereotypes again, expecting a certain thing from being with a girl just because she's a girl.

I think all I am saying here, again, is fuck pigeon holes. I'll bring it all down to is it's an individual thing, where we sit, what we want and, as always, who we are. "Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up muddled up shook up world, except for Lola."

Perhaps some Pooh Sticks instead?

Why are there so many birds in the sky just now? Ho hum. Why did I do it this way and not that way? Ho hum. Why do colds and flus get me feeling so down and anxious? Ho hum. Today has been filled with 'ho hums.' Although it is less the relaxed, carefree, curious 'ho hum' but instead the unwanted, overwhelming, obsessive kind. Am I going back to that place? Ho hum. Why am I sitting in the seat and not that one? Ho hum. What will tomorrow feel like? Ho hum.

Thanks Postman!

Now that I am a lady of leisure, er, not at Uni that is, I've been doing a lot of reading and thinking around the works that I have come across. I've been much more mindful and analytical of the words in music of late as well. As I've been diving into such literature, I can't help but ask why I can't write like they do, where is my original thought, why aren't those my beautifully crafted words? Although I love words, I love literature, I think that writing or creating original work is not something I can skilfully do. In lit class I was always very good at analytic work, breaking down, understanding, exploring and critiquing works of others. I had moderate capabilities when it came to writing when it wasn't entirely original; in instances when I was already giving something to use or work with, such as style parodies or when the topic or structure or whatever was given to me. But creating something from nothing was always a struggle. So perhaps I'll accept that I won't be an artist with words and that this blog is the closest I'll get to it - which ain't too bad. I certainly enjoy cruising on other people's works, I'll be happy enough with that.

I have been reading the recent piece created by Lenka Clayton and Michael Crowe lately and have fallen in love. I think this writing in particular is what has sparked the envy in me and the want to be able to create something incredible myself. Although I have been feeling this with most works that I have encountered lately, Lenka and Michael's in particular makes the desire to create beautiful words strong because I can so closely relate to this piece. I relate to the philosophy behind the work, relate to the spark that gave reason to it's creation, relate to what they hope to achieve from it, relate to the design of the work, relate to the approach they took, relate to the words and final outcome itself, I can just relate to it all. I think it would have been an amazing thing to do, just amazing.

This work makes me think of a letter I wrote in high school, it's funny how similar my letter was to Lenka and Michael's in fact. I planted this letter in the pages of a carefully and purposefully selected book in the library. There the letter sat waiting for the next person to choose this book and stumble upon the letter, and for the next person after that and so on for, hopefully, many years. I remember checking on my letter months after planting it to find someone had wrote back 'you need a life' and left the letter in the book. I thought this was fantastic, it had began! Oh, to see this letter now and if it had amounted to what I had hoped for, a chain of writing by strangers; those who picked up this particular book, for whatever reason, to find this letter inside, to read my writing and the writing that followed and then to contribute and to leave behind a part of themselves for the next person to read.

I am about half way through Michael and Lenka's letters. The more I read, the more brush strokes are added to the stunning and high spirited picture that is being created here. A picture that entails dinosaurs, hermits and giraffes, just to name a few. With each letter I read I feel uplifted, excited and simply happy. I am inspired to make every moment of my life meaningful, and to strive to do incredible things with my life - to travel the world, to meet beautiful people, to appreciate the experience of simple things, like climbing a mountain or hitch hiking instead of taking the bus! What an awesome affect these two artists are having on me and not just me but hundreds of people that have taken something from their work. Gorgeous.

Love Kristy xo

Then A Fucking Miracle Occured

And I thought it was super geeky to post about how much I love Body Step, but to post about how much I love Touch? As Jas would say, ‘Come on!’ But it's true, I really do love this place. In a recruitment interview today, Alice's response to the question 'what is the culture like at Touch?' was felt straight in my heart. When reading an email thread about Touch’s servers, named for spirits and beers, I swoon. Oh boy I love computer nerds. This place is my baby and the people are 'my guys.' My guys are really awesome and I love ‘em. My job is to make these people happy, can't get much better than that for a job description. And check out that view! It really is nice to have a job that I enjoy, I've been here nearly two years and I am yet to snap like at previous employs. I recall one day, when I was still at the NAB, in a random occurrence I got drafted by a different department to help a manager with odd admin jobs for a few hours. I was so happy for that, being off the phones and having fun with a whole lot of odd jobs and that was only a for a few hours! Now that is my full time job, plus it’s so much more! Oh, and did I mention my view?! So on that note, time to get back to work.

They say I can't rap about coke no more.

Just think, it's been over 2 weeks since 'Wonderful Wednesday.' Re-reading that post I noticed the mention of my fortnightly cycle; ten days good, four days bad. This pattern has taken place over the last 6 or so months. I'd have a crash, I would go somewhere dark for four days, deciding I don't want it I'd claw my way out, I'd have more motivation and bounce than before the crash, I'd want so much for myself, I'd work towards it at full speed for ten days, then I'd crash again. Like I say, it's been 17 days and no such crash and what's more, I know there isn't one waiting for me. As I said in the 'Wonderful Wednesday' post, that night Kristy, the real Kristy, came back to me, she returned and she hasn't left since. What do I mean by 'the real Kristy'? Basically there was a shift inside me that altered my 'core existence' (for lack of better word). Perhaps a better way of seeing it is that the real Kristy was always there and when the anxiety lifted it could been seen/felt/heard/whatever again. Previously, the anxiety didn't lift as such but instead was covered by happier things. This resulted in not feeling the bad but instead compensating which resulted in an overly happy, overly excited way of being which can be just as exhausting. But now, instead of covering the anxiety, it has passed by and I am left with neither the anxiety feelings nor the compensating positive ones but instead, raw Kristy. Raw Kristy is peaceful, content, and genuinely happy. Kristy in this state has a strong base that doesn't get knocked over easily.

In a segway sashay, I may have lost one cycle but I am pleased to have picked up another. "I got my period today" "Oh good lord!" *spits wine*. The reason I mention this is that I am pleased to announce I am a drug-free, natural woman! No more anti-depressants, no more Valium and no more artificial hormones pumping through me! Ah, a sigh of relief. I very much prescribe (pardon the pun) to the idea that our bodies are designed to heal themselves, to correct imbalances and to strive towards homeostasis. I like medicines to only be used as a last resort. My body has thanked me since I have gone off my regular medicines and funnily enough, since the medication's side effects far outweighed the benefits, I am much healthier since I have gone off them. So the last fortnight, without all the previously mentioned shit to be surrounded by I have been focusing on my life, much nicer.

The Crowd

Walking down Swanston Street tonight I passed many of Melbourne's buskers, something that I always love. Street artists with chalk in hand, guitarists who do their best with their vocals but should probably just stick with the guitar, bare footed folk with drums and dances - all great. Tonight one particular busker stood out to me, except I couldn't tell you what he was playing or doing. What stood out was his basket for money. In it sat a metal bowl in which there was a lucky charm or something of the sort. Next to the bowl, in the basket, was a large novelty one hundred dollar note.

This set up of his basket stood out to me and I walked another block with my mind running around it. I then reached my destination and proceeded to get caught up in my own shit, getting lost in my own world. After I pulled myself away from such self serving thinking I made my way back down Swanston. On the footpath, about half a block from where this busker was, lied his one hundred dollar note. I began hypothesising what had happened for this man and his note in that hour or so that I was submerged in my own life.

Thinking over many possible hypotheses then lead me to think about this man's day. If something so significant (as I saw it) could happen in that particular hour than what could have his day been like?
And what about the rest of his world?
Where does he live?
What people surround him?
What are his thoughts like?
What about his emotions?
Where has he come from?
What things has he seen?
What is he yet to face?
When he dies, will he regret something?
Is he happy?
What about the hundreds of people that passed him as he busked?
And then there is the rest of the world.
Oh my! Millions of questions about millions of people!

Perhaps this is what my Psych meant by 'obsessive thinking' when he prescribed me some new meds to combat them. But you know what? I want to know about the millions of people! I want to hear their stories, I don't want my only focus to be my life and the people that surrounds me's lives. I want to know why this busker placed this fake one hundred dollar note in his basket and what his thoughts were when he did it. I want to know the answers to all the questions that flooded my mind as a result of seeing his basket.

Yay to my most nothingness post yet!

While my laptop is out of order, and it has been for weeks now (!) my blogging ability has been affected. Writing on paper and then typing it up as soon as I get a chance on Clinton and Sarah's laptop is how I have been doing it and it's certainly not ideal. Usually my posting is motivated by that writing spark that hits but now instead of waiting for that spark I wait for Clinton and Sarah's laptop to be free and I jump on it. So here I am, Clinton and Sarah are out and I have no reason to post except that the laptop is free. But while I'm here let's see what I've got...

My mind is basically filled with two streams of thoughts right now. Firstly, the mundane but nagging thought I really need to return 'Watchmen' to the video shop (!) and secondly the slightly more interesting but probably premature to post about thought of my new friend who I 'met' yesterday.

Let's first tackle the the DVD conundrum, and as much as it shouldn't be, it really is a conundrum. It really comes down to procrastination, and I am sure I am not alone with this one. There are things in life, no matter how simple a task nor how much I need to do it, I just simply don't. A little man inside me tells me I really can't do it and I believe him, I believe him! He's a liar folks, don't believe a word he says. I know each day that passes and I don't return it costs me, and why would I pay when I don't need to? Craziness! So on the way home tonight I built myself up for returning it...and then Sarah and Clinton and therefore their car are not home, so another day's late fee is added on. Ah well, at least tonight it's a legit reason and I'm not listening to that liar. Ha, I love that I am writing about returning a video and late fees while The Kinks' 'Get Back in Line' plays in my ear, it speaks of important and real issues and I speak trivial, gibberish shit. Lovely! On that note, while we are here, August is 'Hands Up for the Homeless' month, buy yourself a copy of 'The Big issue,' get involved in the cause or even simply read an article on homelessness and break through the barriers of misconceptions and lack of understanding. There we go, redeemed myself.

That's enough about that, now the second train of thought I mentioned was my new friend. The reason I said it's premature is the same reason that I put 'met' in ''s. Because technically we haven't met as yet. To me he is a business card, a five minute phone call and some messages planning to meet. Yes, definitely premature. Let's just say, yay to meeting new friends, yay for seeing all those that surround me as potentials friends and yay for putting myself out there to make such friends.

Now, it is time to end this post. I am cold, hungry and tired, I think perhaps I will find some food and if not I will just crash and be asleep before my belly can get too grumpy at me. Hmmm, I wonder whether it's alright to have my what would be fifth protein shake for the day, that seems excessive, but I did just do two hours of gym perhaps that's justification? Now I am just typing my thoughts as the come, this is really not what this blog is for, I really must stop...now.

Music is...

What music does to a person is truly fantastic. I couldn't know what it does for you but for me, the way it fills me with such powerful emotions, takes me to another world and affects me mind and soul, it is incredible. I don't understand music in terms of it's structure, how it's built, the technical terms and all that. 'Ah yes,...beat...melody...chords...bridge...- quite right," are words that wouldn't come out of my mouth. All I can do is listen, feel, get transported somewhere else and then land again having taken something from it and hopefully able to describe where it was I went.

The Kinks, I am in love. Fabulous calming, chill out music. Although, their affect is on my thinking more so than my emotions. The Kinks are perfect to write or read with. The music is inspiring, it opens my mind and encourages deeper thinking. Hmm, despite listening to them now, describing their impact without just spouting buzz words is a struggle. *Closes eyes, lies back and listens.* There it is. Listening to The Kinks is as if a powerful ocean wave tears through my mind when I hear them. The wave pours through my mind's corridors and rooms. It washes away the junk and crap that has built up, that is cluttering my mind and gets in the way of the flow of meaningful and clear thoughts. Once the wave rushes out, a fresh and clean mind is left. The salt from the water then stimulates the brain's nerves - the neurons spark and connect and sharp thinking is the result. I continue to listen, both their words and their music lights up my brain and a post, a realisation, a great read, whatever it is comes from it. A trip fueled by sharp thinking is the result. Listening to them, I am somewhere I simply cannot describe, I wish I could because it is amazing. I would love to take a trip with The Kinks and some weed, I can only imagine how well they would compliment each other and how much more incredible that trip would be!

Next, my other love - *selects The Cat Empire on my iPod.* Now this music grabs me and rock 'n' rolls with me, spins me, lifts me, dips me. It is beautifully positive, uplifting music that lights up my face and my heart bursts in a good way. 'Ah, that dose of one, four, five puts the life back in my breath' - I couldn't have said it better myself, but since this is my blog I really should give it a go. I fell in love with those guys at the second concert of theirs that I went to. That night, although I was sober, I felt like I was drunk and high on the incredible energy that they create with their instruments. This energy dived from the stage, poured into the mosh pit and surrounded the crowd, pulling them together as one joined consciousness. The combined energy of The Cat Empire and the crowd built and built and the explosion was incredible. My veins were filled with electricity that was warm and comfortable but sparked with excitement at the same time. Tears are swelling just at the thought of that incredible night. On their albums, The Cat Empire do what they can to get their energy out into the world, except it's caged in a CD. Still amazing but nothing like the release of raw energy on stage, in which you know they are in a trance and ruled by their instruments. You know when Felix runs around on the stage, between the multiple instruments he is working, he is caught up in the crowd's reaction to his music, each concert is unique and the thrill never dies. When Harry gets in front of the mic to let loose that incredible voice, you know its incredibleness comes from the emotion and purpose that fuels it.

I could go on, I still have The Flaming Lips, Kimya Dawson, Cat Stevens and David Bowie to express my love for. Each of them, just like The Kinks and The Cat Empire, give me something that no other could, each have their unique reasons for making me fall in love, each take me to different worlds in which I find different, but always oh so amazing, thoughts and feelings there. But I am tired and it is time to lie down and let music send me to sleep.

Wonderful Wednesday

Time for a ranty, uncoordinated, just get it out there, see where is leads me kind of post. You would have noticed a theme in some of my previous posts around asking why my thoughts and emotions have been so messed up. Trying to make sense of why I haven't been 'ace' despite having a fantastic life laid out before me. The first posts on this topic expressed mostly frustration, lack of understanding and questions. As I continued along, sorting my shit out, the posts changed to insights, understanding and more directed questions. As my reasons for choosing an anxious and down life become clear (because it is a choice) I hope to keep the momentum going to burst through this bullshit bubble.
Oh my! My thoughts just went to Wayne Coyne blowing up a gigantic orange bubble above his fans at Festival Hall. Suspense built as the bubble got bigger and bigger until it was enormous and eventually bust - confetti or 'magic space dust' exploded out and fell on a crowd of people sharing a collective consciousness *Pauses to realise the awesomeness of Wednesday's concert* Wow!

Anyway, back to what I was saying- bursting through the bullshit bubble - momentum - yes. Continuing on from the previously posted insights, and ones yet to be posted about, Wednesday was very much a wake up experience for me. Firstly, I was told a story about a girl who struggled with her health all through school. It started with colds, moved onto asthma, continually progressed through illnesses and by the time she was at Uni she was hit with mental health issues and suicidal tendencies. After many suffering years, the key to getting past it was realising she was using ill health as a way to 'free ride' life or to avoid life's challenges and difficulties. That's not to say the health issues did not exist, just that they originated with wanting to get out of something, wanting attention or whatever and manifested into something much bigger. The mind is an incredible thing. "Does that man she's crazy?" "No, it means she was faking it." "Well actually, it's a little of both."

The same is true for me, and Cam please don't complain that this stuff is obvious and I should have got it years ago, please refer to 'Perhaps the patches or gum?' From that story I started thinking about my situation; I have continually been asking myself why I can't be happy when life is so good - I'm sure you've heard my whinging. The answer is because I subconsciously thought to have a life that is good I need to struggle. Instead of going with life's regular struggles, working hard at school and work, putting in what it takes to build good relationships, facing hardships and obstacles and whatever else, I thought I could bypass all that by taking on a new set of struggles in the form of depression, anxiety and the like. This ‘works’ on a short term basis; I get special consideration at Uni and I get time off work but in the long run, I fail Uni and I find my financials looking a little dry. While all along this back firing ‘free ride’ has just been painful. Lose-lose.

The other significant event that happened on Wednesday is being told that all this shit is obvious to my friends and they are sick of it and as a result they are becoming less of my friends (excluding an exceptional few). My first reaction to this was anger – ‘Well fuck them if they can’t hack it! If they can’t be there when a friend is in trouble then they aren’t friends at all!’ at which point I deleted a few choice names out of my phone. Then came sadness at the thought of losing my friends and being isolated. After all, the reason I made the decision to be open and honest about this stuff was to avoid isolation but it is happening anyway. And then came shame and embarrassment that people are ‘bitching’ about me, that people are seeing my behaviour and thinking – well, I really don’t know what they have been thinking but it can't be good! Finally, motivation and empowerment came along, to use these realisations to change things, to stop this bullshit and get my dignity back. That night I recall feeling like Kristy - the real Kristy. I haven't felt like that in a long time and I couldn't describe it but it was very welcome.

The mortification of the whole thing has been a real sting, I can be excited to get my life back and that’s great but the embarrassment of the whole situation is sharp. Feeling this embarrassment, I really wanted a quick fix. I thought about apologising to my friends for the last 6 months but realised I of course don’t need to apologise, never did I intend to fuck people around and to ask someone to apologise for stumbling, well that's just stupid. In the end I realised it is just a time thing, slowly they will start seeing me as Kristy again, seeing the smile and bounce that they fell in love with. In the mean time, I guess I just deal with some isolation and loneliness...But you know what? I'll be so damn busy at work and at the gym I won't even notice!

I’d like to say that in the end I am only left with feelings of insight, motivation, empowerment and excitement. But to be honest, I am left with a cocktail of mixed emotions. I still feel a sense of anger at my friends for turning their backs, I feel the embarrassment and regret, I feel cautious and fearful that this positive place that I am in is my timely and routine 10 days of goodness which inevitably turns into 4 days of darkness and despair, I feel uneased about realising and rejecting the defence mechanisms I’ve been using for many years, I feel some loneliness and confusion in there...but mostly I am left with feelings of insight, motivation, empowerment and excitement!

Muffin trays and moisturiser

If you really want to hear about it, I can tell you. But it won't be one of those stories where you start with the childhood stuff and work up. We all had a childhood, lousy or spoilt it makes no difference now. No difference to me walking in my front door after a day at work and with another day at work ahead of me. I sat on my bed for about 10 minutes, thinking about this and that. I could go ahead and tell you what I thought about but you'd probably think I'm crazy, hell, I think I'm crazy. I picked up an empty glass that was by my foot from the night before. I had nothing else to do so I picked it up and poured some Scotch into it. The glass was the kind you find at a grandma's house. It had an ugly pattern on it in frosted glass, old-style, like it had been around forever. I felt sorry for old people when I thought about them and drinking from this glass made me feel goddamn depressed. I took another sip of Scotch and put it down. I stood up as if I had somewhere to go and then realised I didn't so I just lied on the floor, I figured the bed had been sat on enough. I could see underneath my wardrobe, a moisturiser bottle had fallen there. The sight of this bottle made me smile, although I wasn't sure why. At the sight of it my mind had flashes of happy images. The kind you see people having in the movies. That's what my mind was thinking before, if you really have to know, except the flashes weren't all happy ones. In the movies people usually have these flashes when they are dying or messed up in some way. You probably think I am messed up, I certainly think about dying. At unexpected times, I'll think about going out a window or in front of a bus or maybe with pills. If moisturiser make my mind flash with smiley images who knows what makes for dying flashes. And I don't always die, in my thoughts, sometimes I just go to hospital or bleed a lot. My head is still flashing, smiles and bleeding. I stand up like I am old, like it's a real effort as if there is someone around to give me sympathy. Maybe that's why I want to go to hospital, but what would I do with flowers and balloons anyway? I poured another Scotch and sat back on the bed. The flashes go to these muffin trays that I bought, they seem really important to me right now. Thinking about them I feel smiley and depressed at the same time, like I said goddamn crazy. I thought about whether I was going crazy for a moment, I hoped I was because then I'd go to hospital. I reminded myself that hospital are only full of people being polite and quiet and the smell of disinfectant. I poured another Scotch and thought about calling my friend William, we could have a good talk about books or work. I changed my mind, it's late and he's probably tired or doing something. I lied back on the bed, I felt cold but didn't pull on the quilt, I don't know why not, like I didn't deserve it. My mind continued flashing, mostly memories from my life but also messed up things like muffin trays.

If I knew then what I know now

Sitting on the bus heading home from Broadford Secondary College I sat in between the bullies and the bullied - this was basically my place in high school. The bullies would reach over me to the seat in front in which a quiet and vulnerable boy sat. They would flick his ear or put stuff in his hair, he would respond with a slight movement of his head but never would he turn around nor would he say a word. The bullies would laugh, but perhaps they just didn't understand the truly damaging affect bullying can have on people, perhaps they thought it was unfair but their position was safe and they would not dare risk losing it, or, and my heart tightens at the thought of this, perhaps they simply found it funny and enjoyed it. I would ask them to stop, point out that what they are doing is wrong or move their arm away, but how does that really help? I know that this situation hurt me as much as it did this bullied boy. And it wasn't just him, everywhere I looked someone was being teased or tormented or someone was being made to believe that they have less worth. The school was accepting of this hierarchy as true, simply playing the role that they found themselves in without question or a desire to change things for the better, teachers included.

Standing on the oval I could see the 'groups,' hanging in their claimed areas around the boundary, the 'populars' and the 'nots' and then the sub-groups amongst them. Turning around to see this inclusive/exclusive behavior, my world would spin faster than I was. I couldn't understand why people would fall in line with this 'American Highschool' way of being and I certainly couldn't understand why someone would enjoy bullying someone else. Was anyone truely themselves? Was anyone truely happy?

I found myself hanging 'down the back' with the 'smokers.' I loved this group because they were never exclusive, anyone could make that walk acoss the oval into the crew behind the pine trees. It was very much like a drop in center, the group would grow and shrink as people came and went. Anyone who tried to initiate groups, roles and levels would have eyes rolled at them and were ignored, anyone who tried to bully weren't welcome. If it wasn't for the smoker crew seeing the ridiculous of the bullying and role playing that surrounded us I would have snapped a lot earlier.

But alas I eventually snapped, half way through year 12 no less. Coming to school every day was too damaging and that was it I couldn't be in such a misguided and immature environment anymore. Like I said, I was rarely the victim of bullying but seeing it occurring everywhere, sharing the pain with or feeling frustration towards those around me was what really broke me down. Looking back on it, 6 years on, if I knew then what I know now I would have done something different. I don't regret leaving; like always, it was what was right for me at that time. But let's say I was the person I am now then instead of going into Mr. McKenzie's office and saying that I am leaving, I would have marched into Mr. McKenzie's office and said that I'd like to help start a 'no blame' bullying prevention and resolution program for the school. I wouldn't have left because even though I was still in the same environment, I would be doing something to correct it instead of being crushed by it. Fortunately for me I will be working in that field. I can help these kids; the bullied, the bullies and the ones who see it, help them understand what is really going on beneath these roles, why this hierarchy is bullshit and how they should look beyond the 'Ameican Highschool.'