Saturday, April 27, 2013

How serious is this shit?

How serious is this shit? May seem odd to you that I'm asking that but I'm serious about it. How serious is this shit?

I bought a domain a few weeks back with the idea that I would do some podcasts, the domain was a way of having space to host the files, but then I got stuck with the whole thing about having to design a webpage. WTF? I was just going to host some damned files! Small project turns into a thing of epic proprotions to procrastinate over. To add insult to injury I had to purchase another domain because I had an even better idea to procrastinate over.

It's not that I don't love myself but sometimes I'm pain in the butt.

I've done a lot of thinking lately. There's been a lot of rearranging in the part of my head generally referred to as the mind. A lot. A hell of a lot.

I fell into the trap of wanting to control everything, I'm really good at it, and so it caused me a lot of pain. I'm now limiting myself to watching my own thoughts and frankly, your own thoughts can be really annoying. I think a lot of crap. I've decided to treat my thinking much the way I would love to treat the neighbors barking dog: SHUT UP!!

I really love writing here but it's been sporadic lately mainly because I don't want to rehash those old, crappy thoughts. I would like to contribute something a little more class to cyberspace but at the same time I don't want to take this serious. It's entertainment. For me. Maybe even for you.

That's how serious this shit is.

I have to go write a webpage. Maybe.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Pleasure and Pain

One of my favorite women in the world, a very brave soul, has died.

"Are you going to be a warrior or a victim?"
Chrissy Amphlett

Monday, April 22, 2013

I wanna be like cats

Do you ever have days when you feel, without a doubt, that you’re destined for greatness but the problem is that you don’t know what it’s you’re supposed to be doing. I do. A lot.

I don’t know where it comes from but I suspect that I’ve fallen, completely and utterly, for the idea that I must achieve things. I must have a career. I must be a great boss. I must be a great colleague. I must have some awesome hobby that I’m awesomely great at. I must be a great mum. I must be a great daughter. I must be an awesome neighbour. I must be fit and healthy. I must look younger than my age. I must be a great lover. I must simply be the best I can be in every aspect of my life.

It’s fucking exhausting.

How about settling for mediocre for a change? We can’t all be fantastic all the time!

Why do we always have to have people we look up to and try to emulate? Why can’t we just be happy with the way we are and feel awesome about that? Why can’t we celebrate the fact that last week we achieved nothing and we lived on pizza because we couldn’t be stuffed cooking. And, we slept on the couch because we couldn’t be stuffed going to bed and preferred falling asleep in front of the TV. Why do we have to be so good at everything? Why do we always have to have goals and things to strive for? Why can’t we just be like cats and snooze the day away until life presents us with something worth taking interest in?

I’m just asking.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

How to lose friends and stop influencing people

I told you that Facebook was ruining my blogging, didn’t I? I did. I’m sure I did. I’ve been watching the followers disappear off my list here for the past few weeks so now I know who’s loyal and who is not. Ha!

Funny thing happened while I was Facebooking though…

There’s been a massive trend lately among Facebook friends to have some sort of (political) cause that they constantly hammer on about. I suppose you can always ignore it but I will give you a rundown of what I’m talking about:

The Hippie
Always posts Wayne Dyer-Deepak Chopra-Louise Hay-quasi-spiritual-new-age-inspirational shares with far too regular monotony. I couldn’t post that regular if I swallowed a whole jar of Metamucil and I certainly cannot imagine being that fucking positive about life. Mind you, if I check Facebook in intervals, i.e. take a break now and then, all this comes out like an acceptable dose of motivational hundreds and thousands sprinkled over my otherwise dreary day.

The Hippie gets to stay on my newsfeed, at least for this week, because she is all fluffy bunnies and little kittens.

The Thinly Veiled Racist
If there’s one thing that gets me snarky about living in Australia is that part of the population who likes nothing better than hanging over their BBQs on a Sunday, desperately clasping a VB (beer) in their little fat hands, tossing burnt snags (sausages) around on the hotplate while whining about boat people invading this lucky country of ours. A few thousand refugees a year have the audacity to hop onto rickety boats to cross an ocean in the vain hope that they will actually arrive in Australia so they can seek asylum, and be looked in a refugee camp on Christmas Island for years while the red tape slowly strangles their will to live. Apparently I missed an important message about these people: they’re criminals. The lot of them. Immigrants only come to Australia to rip us off and rape our children. My word! But wait, I’m an immigrant…does that mean that I……? No! I have been told that I’m not “that kind of” immigrant. After all, I come from a civilized country and of course, more importantly, I’m fucking blonde and blue-eyed.

The Thinly Veiled Racist was taken off the newsfeed because I DON’T LIKE FUCKING RACISTS!

The Militant Queer
She used to be such a great gal. She was smart. I mentored her. I taught her everything I know about technical writing and life and yet, yes yet, she learned very little from me. I knew she was lesbian, she made sure she told me in the interview when I hired her. It should have been a warning sign but I just don’t care who people sleep with. In fact, I’m so fucking selfish that I care more about who I sleep with than who anyone else sleeps with – and with “sleep with” I mean “has sex with”. She left and finally added us to Facebook and since then there’s been a constant share-and-post about fucking gay rights. Now let me see, back in the 90s when the whole AIDS thing was going on and actually KILLING people I choose to hug gay guys in the last stages of AIDS rather than trees. They seemed OK with it, in fact they seemed grateful because even their OWN FUCKING GAY TRIBE REJECTED THEM. I earned my fucking stripes, I think, so I don’t need to be told that I, as a straight person, am not doing enough. I don’t care if you marry a girl even though you’re a girl. You know what? I’m fucking glad you found someone nice. There! I said it. You came to our country (Are you a criminal? Your hair’s kind of dark… ) and we gave you Medicare, job opportunities and a career in your chosen field, more gay rights than you had in the US and most of all we gave you our friendship. What we found though is that we’re not gay enough for you and we have to suffer sermon after sermon about how fucking disadvantaged you are.

The Militant Queer was taken off the newsfeed because I do not want to turn anti-gay. Fuck that.

If it weren’t for the fact that Facebook serves as my only real means to keep track of my relatives back home I would turn my back on it and never look back. This whole thing about preaching your shit on Facebook is a crappy deal simply because these people would never ever do the same thing to my face (and never did while we were friends in real life).

M-m-m-makes me m-m-m-mad.

I’m just saying.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Do not attempt the techniques you are about to see without consulting a professional

You know how some people yo-yo diet, right? That’s not a problem I have. I pretty much eat enough crap all consistently to stay, shall we say, plump. I also eat really well and exercise so I do OK ticking two of the fit, healthy and thin boxes. That’s not bad. Two out of three. I could be a lot worse. I could be ticking none of the boxes.

So, if I don’t yo-yo diet what do I do? I know you’re sitting there waiting for me to tell you because I kind of set you up for it. I’m getting to it. Already!

I’ve had to go back on the Prozac. The upshot is that I don’t get any migraines while I’m on it and it seems to lessen the anxiety and panic attacks. The downside of it is that while it flattens the emotions that bother me it also flattens everything else. You cannot possibly fall in love when you’re on SSRIs and they’re working. You cannot. Everything gets flat, usual, plain and smoother.

Everything gets flat, usual, plain and smoother. It gets boring which is why when you’re on SSRIs you want to get off them. When you go off them and the emotional shit hits your mind fan, well then you want to get on them again.

I would probably have done OK without the Prozac still had things not turned up the heat on me at work. I would probably still be off the Prozac. That’s not how life works though so I’m back on them.

I have but one wish for myself this year and that’s to find my happy. How it happens doesn’t really matter as long as I don’t take up serial killing to achieve it. It’s going to be about moving myself closer and closer to me, the real me. (I know, it’s so cliché but there, I said it anyway.)

In order to find my happy I have to remove a lot of fear. If I had to go through and remove every little fear I have I’d be out of time before I even got half way. I’m going to short cut the whole business and aim for the big, THE big one: fear of death. My ultimate fear is that I will cease existing. My nightmares aren’t made of monsters and gory things. My nightmares are made of finding myself in a complete void where I know that if I for one millisecond stop believing I exist I will truly cease to exist and will never have been. Death. Complete and utter death.

My first task is so stalk myself. I’ve been doing a fair bit of watching myself and my moods in the past few years, and the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on during that time. Stalking is a different thing. It involves dogged determination, patience and monitoring. It involves bringing me back into a state where I do better, feel better and am more detached. By the time I’m finished with me I’m going to be bloody immortal (in my own mind) and able to detach if I wish to do so.

So for now:

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
Bene Gesserit litany against fear

P.S. If there's one thing I hate about living in Australia it's that raw element of thinly disguised racism; a fear of "boat people" and how they all, apparently, are criminals. To me, a person who pays to go on a rickety boat by sea in the vain hope of reaching Australia and a better future is either completely demented or running from something really bad. I tend to bet on the bad being the reason. But it's also a little bit ironic, don't you think, consider how this red country of ours started... Brought to you by stupid rant by "friend" on Facebook.

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